“I think we are,” Erin said. She swallowed and added, because the promise needed a shape, “I will apologize to Tilly. Not tonight. Not in a half measure. I will do it properly. I will not ask anything from them except the chance to tell the truth. You can be there if you want to be. Or you can let me handle it and tell you when it’s done.”
Jamie’s hand slid from Erin’s cheek to her shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you.”
The kiss that followed didn’t reach for heat first. It reached for weight. Itwas slow and careful and full of the kind of certainty that makes space instead of taking it. Erin felt her body answer with relief. When they drew apart, she rested her forehead against Jamie’s and let herself breathe.
They stayed like that for a long time. The city did what cities do outside the window. A siren in the distance. A pair of voices walking by the building door, tinny with humor. The soft click of the oven cooling. Leo snored once and startled himself awake.
Erin spoke without thinking, and the words surprised her with how easy they sounded now that they were out. “I have not felt this hopeful in a very long time.”
Jamie’s answering whisper carried a smile. “Me neither.”
They didn’t rush to fill the rest of the night. They sat and talked about nothing for a while, then about everything for a few minutes, the way people do when the big thing has been said and the rest can be soft. At some point Jamie’s head found Erin’s shoulder, and Leo shifted to put one paw on Erin’s shoe like he had to be part of the stack.
When Jamie finally stood to go, the hour had reached that gentle place where sleep begins to feel like a favor. Erin walked her to the door and made sure the hallway was empty and safe, an old habit that made Jamie laugh and call her a gentleman. Erin didn’t argue. The kiss at the threshold was quick and sincere and made of everything they had agreed to.
“Text me when you are home,” Erin said.
“I will,” Jamie said. She grinned as she backed a step away. “We will figure it out. Together.”
“I know,” Erin said. And she did.
After the door closed, Erin stood for a long moment with her hand on the knob. Leo came to sit beside her like the keeper of the apartment’s last light. She scratched his head and let the quiet fill in.
In the kitchen, she put the leftover salmon into a container, rinsed the plates, and poured a small inch of wine into her glass. The first sip tasted like citrus and relief.
She took her phone from the counter and opened a blank message to Tilly. She stared at the empty field until the blinking cursor reminded her that astart didn’t have to be perfect to be clean.
Hey, she typed, then deleted it.Hi, then deleted that too. She set the phone down and pressed her thumbs to her eyes until color bloomed there. Not tonight, she told herself again. Not a half measure. She would do it right.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Jamie.
Home. Goodnight. Sweet dreams. Tell Leo he is the best boy.
Erin smiled without reservation and typed back.
He knows. Goodnight. Sweet dreams.
She set the phone on the counter and let herself lean against the cabinets with a softness she didn’t often allow. The apartment smelled faintly of lemon and the air from outside still clung to the curtains. She thought of the park and the cracked Formica of a diner long gone and the way Jamie had used the worduslike a door opening.
She would sleep and then wake and go back to work and tell the truth the way she was meant to. She would write the apology in her own voice. She wouldn’t expect forgiveness. She wouldn’t rehearse the outcome. She would only promise the fact of her regret and the proof of her change.
For the first time in years, that felt like enough.
Leo nudged her knee and she laughed, a quiet release. “You did good,” she told him. “You were very helpful.”
He wagged once in agreement.
Erin turned off the kitchen light and the apartment settled. The city outside went on, but inside everything found its place. She brushed her teeth, folded the new blanket over the back of the couch again because she couldn’t help herself, and checked the lock on the door twice. When she finally slid into bed, she pulled the covers to her shoulder and called the night by its name.
Hope, she thought, and let herself believe it.
Twenty Six
Jamie couldn’t remember the last time she’d walked into the newsroom with a smile she wasn’t faking for the cameras. Tuesday morning, she dropped her bag by her desk, humming under her breath, and caught herself before the second verse slipped out. It didn’t matter. Harper, sitting a row over, had already noticed.
“Well, somebody’s in a good mood.” She arched an eyebrow, lips curving into a grin. “What’s his name?”
Jamie froze for half a beat, then turned just enough to smirk at her. “Her. And I’m not telling.”
