That earned her a full laugh. Harper leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “Ohhh, even better. So what’s she like? Tall, short, brains, biceps? Give me something here.”
Jamie shook her head quickly, heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m not giving you anything. I barely know her myself.”
“Mhm.” Harper tapped her pen against her notepad, eyes twinkling. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve already got it written all over your face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush this hard, Garrison.”
Jamie tried to bury her face in her screen, but her cheeks betrayed her. Every time she thought of Erin’s wry smile across the coffee shop table, her chest did that ridiculous flip.
She shook it off and buried herself in prep work. Live hits didn’t wait for daydreamers. By the time she was on set, standing beside the anchors, she had her professional mask firmly in place. At least until the words tangled on her tongue.
“And later in the show, we’ll have an update on the city’s transit barn—board.” Jamie stumbled, her face heating as the wrong word slipped out. Dennis didn’t miss a beat.
“Careful, folks, you don’t want livestock on the Red Line,” he joked, drawing a laugh from Alison and smoothing right over the moment.
Jamie forced her smile wider, but she felt the heat crawl up her neck. She counted the seconds until the camera cut away, already replaying the mistake in her head.
Back at her desk, she winced again. She prided herself on control. She didn’t trip over words. But today, her focus kept scattering to places it shouldn’t, like the way Erin had leaned closer over her coffee, voice lowering as if the whole shop might overhear them.
Tilly slid into the chair across from her, laptop open. Normally they would offer a wry comment about Dennis’s joke or tease her into laughing it off. Today, they just nodded and said, “Good save.” Their tone was polite, neutral. Nothing more.
Jamie blinked at them. “Thanks,” she said carefully. But Tilly was already typing, eyes fixed on the screen. The distance sat heavy between them, sharper than any joke could have been.
By the end of her shift, Jamie’s nerves were raw. She ducked into the hallway, phone in hand, and thumbed out a message before she could second-guess it.
Survived the day. Barely. Hope yours was better.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, heart thudding like she’d just broken some unspoken rule. Ten minutes later, as she packed up her things, her phone buzzed.
Better now. You did great today.
Jamie read it twice, then a third time, letting the warmth of it settle low in her chest. Erin’s words were brief, restrained, just like the woman herself, but they cut through the static of her day. Jamie bit her lip, grinning to herself as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
For the first time in weeks, she didn’t dread coming back tomorrow.
* **
Friday nights were for grilled cheese. No matter what city, no matter what job, it had always been her ritual.
Jamie tied her hair up, pulled the loaf of bread from the counter, and buttered the slices in an easy rhythm. Her phone buzzed against the counter.
What’s on the menu tonight?
She smiled instantly, thumbs flying.
Grilled cheese Friday. Nonnegotiable.
Another buzz.
That’s a tradition I can respect. Do you take it seriously, or are we talking lazy bread-and-slice-cheese style?
Jamie laughed under her breath as she flipped the pan on to heat. She tried to type with one hand while juggling the spatula in the other.
Excuse me, I’m a professional. Real butter. Golden brown. Gooey center. Gourmet stuff.
The bread started smoking while she was still correcting a typo. She cursed, fumbling with the stove and her phone at the same time, and managed to flip the sandwich just before it burned. Her heart pounded with the ridiculous fluster of trying to text and cook like she was fifteen again.
On impulse, she swiped to call before she could talk herself out of it. The line rang once, then—
“Garrison?” Erin’s voice, warm, low, already making her smile.
