Jamie leaned against the counter, grinning. “Yeah. I figured this was easier than setting my kitchen on fire trying to answer you.”
Erin laughed softly, and it tugged at something deep in Jamie’s chest. “Fair enough. So walk me through this so-called gourmet grilled cheese.”
Jamie plated the sandwich and sat at the table, phone pressed to her ear. “Butter-to-bread ratio is everything. Golden on both sides, gooey Kraft single in the middle. Gourmet stuff.”
“Gourmet?” Erin repeated, amused. “Do you garnish it with parsley too? Maybe a light aioli?”
Jamie scoffed. “Okay, now you’re justbeing mean.”
“I’m being honest. I’m trying to picture the seriousness you’re saying this with.”
“Well stop picturing it,” Jamie muttered, cheeks burning.
“Too late.” Erin’s voice dipped. “It’s cute.”
Jamie grinned, then hesitated. The words came quieter this time. “Honestly, it’s kind of a comfort thing. After the divorce, Friday nights were the worst. Everyone else was out, and I couldn’t even make myself try. Grilled cheese was easy. Ten minutes of something warm that didn’t feel like giving up. So I just kept doing it.”
There was a pause on the other end, quiet but not heavy. Erin’s voice softened. “Then it’s not just a sandwich. It’s survival food.”
Jamie’s throat tightened, but she managed a small laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Somewhere between soup pairings and stories about disastrous meals, the conversation slipped deeper. Jamie told her about college nights cooking cheap pasta with her ex. Erin told her about precinct takeout shifts that felt more like family dinners than work. The hours blurred.
At one point, Jamie glanced at the clock and blinked. “It’s past midnight.”
“Still awake?” Erin asked.
“Mmhm,” Jamie said. “Barely. But I can rally if you’re going to make fun of my cheese standards again.”
Erin hummed. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of material, believe me.”
“Bring it.”
“Okay. First of all, the Kraft thing? Criminal.”
Jamie laughed into the pillow. “Then arrest me.”
A beat.
“Don’t tempt me.”
Jamie shifted under the covers, phone still tucked close to her ear. “I don’t really want to hang up yet.”
“Then don’t,” Erin said simply.
So she didn’t. The two of them stayed on the line, voices quiet, words winding into softer shapes as the night stretched on. Erin told her about Leo’s obsession with tennis balls, and Jamie admitted she still triple-checkedher alarm every night before sleep. The conversation slowed until silence felt just as comfortable as speaking.
Jamie’s eyelids grew heavy, her cheek pressed against the pillow, the phone warm in her hand. The last thing she heard before sleep took her was Erin’s voice, softer than she’d ever heard it.
“Sweet dreams, Garrison.”
Twenty Seven
Erin had spent Wednesday morning with her elbows on her desk and her chin balanced on one hand, the glow of her monitor tinting her skin a cold gray. The cursor blinked at the top of a Word document labeled “Press Release – Draft.” The title header she’d typed three times already was bland but necessary: Boston Police Department to Announce New Community Safety Initiative.
It was the kind of work that lived in the margins of her job. No flashing lights, no crime scenes, no late-night calls about shootings. Instead, she was the voice behind the department’s curtain, writing lines that would later be spoken by someone else at a podium. That morning her task was to finalize a release about the department’s new partnership with the Massachusetts State Police, a collaboration meant to crack down on organized theft crews that had been hitting retail corridors in the suburbs and bleeding into the city.
The information was not public yet. The release had a bright red banner across the top of the draft: EMBARGOED UNTIL 2:00 PM FRIDAY. Erin stared at it as though the text might start pulsing. She knew what it meant. Nothing could be said aloud until the clock flipped. No reporter could hear so much as a whisper before then. But the words still pressed heavy against her teeth, like a secret that wanted out.
