Erin watched steam rise off her cup, thin and curling. “I kept rehearsing this like it was a briefing,” she said. “But I don’t have a speech. I just missed you. And I want to see if this can still work, if we’re careful.”
Jamie’s voice went small. “I want that too. I don’t want to screw it up again.”
“We probably will,” Erin said. “Both of us. But I still want it.”
Jamie let out a shaky laugh. “Okay. Then what do we do?”
Erin looked at her, the question too big and simple all at once. “We start over. Not from the beginning, just from here. Coffee sometimes. A walk. Talking again. No pretending it never happened.”
Jamie nodded, eyes wet but steady. “That I can do.”
Erin exhaled, a small breath that felt like the first real one in weeks. “Then that’s it. We just keep showing up for that.”
“For us,” Jamie said.
Erin’s mouth curved. “Yeah. For us.”
They fell quiet again. A leaf hit the water, spun, disappeared.
“You look tired,” Erin said.
“I am. Haven’t been sleeping. Keep waiting for a text I told myself not to expect.”
“Same.” Erin traced the cup seam with her thumb. “Maybe we try anyway.”
Jamie smiled, eyes softer. “Yeah. Maybe we do.”
* * *
They finished their coffee without much more talking. It wasn’t forgiveness yet. It was something to stand on.
When they stood, Erin brushed Jamie’s sleeve—small, deliberate. “See you soon?”
“Yeah,” Jamie said, smile steady. “You will.”
Erin watched her go until the path curved out of sight. The lamps buzzed faintly. The water moved slow under the bridge. On the sidewalk beyond the garden, traffic thinned to a hush. Erin tucked her hands in her pockets and let the ache settle where it belonged.
For the first time in a long while, it felt like forward.
Forty Eight
Life finally felt like it was smoothing out again.
Not perfect, not easy, but steady enough that she could breathe without checking if the air would give out. The city moved at its usual rhythm: horns, crosswalks, chatter outside coffee shops. For once, Jamie felt like she was keeping pace instead of chasing it.
Her mornings had settled into something simple. She woke up early, scrolled headlines with her first cup of coffee, and let herself enjoy the quiet before the day started. Work felt lighter now, the kind of busy she used to like. No tension humming beneath the surface, no pit in her stomach waiting for the next thing to go wrong. Just assignments, deadlines, and the quiet satisfaction of doing them well.
She was back to neighborhood stories and community pieces. A ribbon-cutting at a new elementary school, a bakery reopening after renovations, a firehouse fundraiser where kids got to tour the trucks. It wasn’t the kind of work that led every broadcast, but she didn’t mind. These were the stories that reminded her why she’d wanted to report in the first place.
Even Harper had noticed, tossing her a grin across the newsroom one night. “You seem more like yourself lately,” she’d said, and Jamie hadn’t known how to answer except to smile back.
Because she did feel like herself again. Or at least a version she could recognize. The heaviness she’d been carrying for weeks had quieted into something manageable, something she could live alongside instead of under.
And somewhere in that quiet, there was Erin.
Their talk had settled something inside her. Nothing dramatic, no bigdeclarations, just honesty. They’d agreed to keep showing up. To stop measuring everything by what went wrong before and start seeing what could go right. It wasn’t fixed, but it didn’t need to be. For now, it was enough.
That afternoon, she stopped by the precinct to follow up on a short piece about a neighborhood watch group, coffee in hand and camera bag slung over her shoulder. It should’ve been a quick stop: ask a few questions, grab a quote, get out.
