Erin got there fifteen minutes early. She always did. The sun was slipping behind the trees, and the garden sat between gold and gray. The pond held the last light like a coin. Ducks skimmed the surface and decided they were done for the day. A child argued about five more minutes; a parent bargained for three.
She took the same bench she’d used a dozen times on lunch breaks and pretended the wood wasn’t damp against the backs of her legs. She watched her reflection ripple and settle and ripple again, something to look at while she tried to find the right words.
I miss youfelt too soft.I’ve been thinking about yousounded fake.I want to try againmade her chest hurt.
Jamie had apologized. Erin believed her. But believing wasn’t forgetting, and she was still trying to separate those two things without turning it into distance.
A breeze moved across the water, lifting the hair at her temple. She folded her hands in her lap and breathed in the end-of-day city: cut grass, pond water, faint coffee, the warm smell of pavement cooling.
Movement caught her eye. Jamie was crossing the footpath, hair catching the last light. Two cups in her hands. Erin’s heart kicked, small and embarrassing. She hadn’t asked for coffee. Jamie had just remembered.
Jamie slowed when she reached the bench, like she wasn’t sure she was still invited to sit. Erin nodded.
“Hey,” Jamie said.
“Hey.” Erin took the cup. Their fingers brushed. The heat startled hermore than it should have.
Jamie sat beside her, a careful inch of air between them. Citrus shampoo—familiar, stupidly comforting.
“How’s Leo?” Jamie asked.
“He’s good. Still hogs the bed.” Erin smiled before she could stop it. “He misses you.”
Jamie’s laugh was quiet. “Yeah?”
“He checks the door sometimes.” Erin looked down at the lid. “I do too.”
The lamps along the path hummed to life.
“Work keeping you busy?” Erin asked.
“Too busy. Henry’s got me doing parades and ribbon cuttings. Says I need lighter.”
“Do you?”
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s weird not chasing the loud thing.”
“Chaos seems to like you.”
Jamie huffed a laugh. “Apparently.”
They let the silence sit a moment. A gull crossed the last strip of sky. A jogger passed, counting breaths.
“I turned down a story yesterday,” Jamie said.
Erin looked over. “Really?”
“Big one. The source wanted me to twist it, make someone look bad. I couldn’t do it. Not after all this.”
She laughed once, small and tired. “I’m learning.”
Erin studied her. “That’s good. Means you’re still you.”
Jamie’s smile eased but didn’t last. “I meant what I said before. I’m sorry. For making you feel like you were just… useful.”
The word hit. Erin looked down. “It still hurts,” she said. “But I believe you.”
Jamie nodded. “I know. I don’t expect it to stop hurting right away. That’s on me.”
