Chapter 8
Eight
Jamie knew she needed to pull her mind back from wherever it had wandered, but Friday night kept tugging at her. Something had been off, though she’d only caught fragments of the story Monday morning in the newsroom.
She and Tilly sat side by side, the scanner muttering while Jamie sorted through her inbox. Tilly halfheartedly clicked through some adventure game, silence stretching until Jamie finally blurted, “So… what’s the deal with you and Erin Calhoun? You two act like you’ve got history.”
Tilly’s shoulders stiffened. “Drop it, J.”
Jamie tilted her head. “C’mon. It’s obvious. Did something happen?”
With a sigh, Tilly clicked harder on their trackpad. “Her car died Friday. She called me. I couldn’t go; I was in Cambridge. So she walked.”
Jamie blinked. “In the rain? From the station?”
“Yeah. That’s Erin. Stubborn as hell. Don’t waste your sympathy.” Tilly’s eyes stayed locked on the laptop, shutting down the conversation.
The image clung to her: Erin alone in the storm, badge locked in her car, shoulders squared against the rain. Erin was a cop—she didn’t need saving—but the thought still twisted in Jamie’s chest. She didn’t know what unsettled her more, the picture itself or how much it mattered to her.
Jamie sighed and looked up at the digital clock on the wall.
12:19 p.m. She shook her head, attempting to clear the thoughts from her brain as she came back to reality, where she sat at the news desk, staring blankly at her inbox.
It was Monday, and she’d come in earlier than usual for her shift, hoping to find something, anything, worth turning into a story.
The newsroom seemed unusually still, though Jamie wouldn’t dare say the q-word out loud.
She swiveled in her chair, taking in the sparsely populated common room.
Phones rang in short bursts, keyboards clattered in uneven rhythms, the scanner mumbled its usual monotone.
The hush pressed in, sharp and heavy, until the sudden shriek from the scanner split the air.
“Fire reported at four-eight-seven Columbia Road. RP states at least two trapped occupants.”
Jamie’s head snapped up. She grabbed the nearest notepad, jotting the address down.
Beside her, Tilly was already halfway out of their chair, slinging the camera strap over their shoulder. Their expression stayed neutral, but their clipped movements said enough.
“You ready?” Jamie asked, standing.
Tilly gave a sharp nod. “Let’s go.”
Jamie didn’t miss the way they avoided her eyes. She shoved her pen into her bag and followed them toward the exit, the tension still buzzing even as the urgency of the call pulled them into motion.
* * *
Jamie stood in front of the still-smoldering remains of a townhouse.
She and Tilly had been fortunate enough to arrive while there were still active flames on the house, and Tilly had managed to capture a firefighter carrying a young child and a small dog out of the burning home.
She knew that video would be stellar for her story.
She’d interviewed the babysitter who had been caring for the toddler when the fire started, and then the single father who had rushed home when he’d heard the news.
He’d been an emotional wreck, understandable given the circumstances, but he hadn’t been able to hold himself together long enough for a coherent sound bite.
Professionally, it meant the interview was a wash.
Tilly was just a few feet to Jamie’s right, filming some extra b-roll footage for her package when Jamie heard her name from somewhere behind her.
“Garrison!”
Jamie turned quickly on her heel and found Erin Calhoun walking toward her. Even in the chaos of the scene, Erin stood out—dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail, tall and lean in her uniform, moving through the crowd with that same quiet authority she’d had at the press conference.
“What are you doing here?” she asked with a confused look as Erin got closer.
Erin chuckled, stopping a few feet short of where Jamie was standing.
“What, aren’t you happy to see me?” Erin teased, one brow lifted just barely enough to be smug without committing to it.
Her tone was soft, but there was a spark there — like she already knew she’d caught Jamie off guard and was choosing to enjoy it.
Jamie shook her head. “No, I mean, yes. I’m—”
She was stumbling over herself, and Erin seemed thrilled to have sent Jamie into such a tizzy.
“No, I just meant that police don’t typically respond to fire calls. So I’m not sure why the police PIO is here.” Jamie finally sputtered out.
Erin shrugged. “I was driving back from Medford, heard it come over the scanner, and figured I’d swing by.”
Jamie arched a brow. “Medford’s all the way across the Charles. You just happened to be coming back right then?”
Erin shifted, suddenly less sure of herself. “Okay, fine.” She gave a sheepish little smile. “I keep the scanner on in the car instead of music sometimes.”
Jamie blinked. “Seriously?” A laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “Normal people use Spotify. You’re telling me your playlist is just police chatter?”
Erin ducked her head, smiling despite herself. “Yeah, well… it beats the radio DJ playing the same Taylor Swift song on repeat.”
Jamie gasped dramatically. “Okay, first of all—watch your mouth. And second, yes, I own every album, re-records included. Some people collect stamps. I collect Taylor Swift bridges and let them wreck me on Fridays.”
Erin shook her head, still smiling, and Jamie felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn’t usually admit that part of herself so quickly, but something about Erin’s sheepish grin had made it feel less like a confession and more like a dare.
A firefighter’s voice carried over the noise, barking an order toward the smoldering house. The moment broke, tugging Jamie back to the smoke and chaos around them.
Erin followed her gaze toward the paramedics, then nodded at the child bundled in his father’s arms. “He looks okay.”
Jamie exhaled, clutching her notepad a little tighter. “Yeah. Lucky break. The babysitter was smart and covered his head with her T-shirt.” Jamie said softly, the weight of what-ifs weighing on her.
“That’s good.” Erin turned back to face Jamie. “Did you get what you needed for your story?”
Jamie stared blankly at Erin for a moment before her question clicked. She threw a hand over her shoulder toward where Tilly stood, still filming. “Oh yeah, got some good flame video. You know how the execs love that kind of footage.”
When Erin registered Tilly standing off in the distance, her body stiffened in a way that was only obvious to Jamie because of how closely she was watching her.
“Well, uh… I just wanted to tell you I really liked how that story on the Medford case turned out last week.” Erin rubbed her hand against the side of her thigh.
Jamie smiled. “Thanks, my boss did too.”
Erin nodded, then took half a step back toward where she’d parked her cruiser. “That’s good. I should probably go.”
Before she could stop herself, Jamie was leaning in and found her hand on Erin’s upper arm. “Do you maybe want to get coffee again?”
Erin’s cheeks flushed pink, and her mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. Jamie laughed, dropping her hand from Erin’s arm.
“Relax, I’m not asking you out. I just thought maybe we could hang out since I’m still so new in town.”
Erin’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she nodded. “I didn’t think… Yeah, coffee would be good. Can I get your number, or am I stuck with emailing you whenever I want to talk to you?”
Jamie smiled and snagged the pen from behind her ear. She grabbed Erin’s hand and pulled it in between them before carefully writing the ten-digit number on Erin’s palm. “There,” she said, holding onto Erin’s hand a beat longer to admire her work.
Erin looked down at the numbers on her hand and smiled. “I’ll text you,” she said before taking another step back.
“Be sure that you do,” Jamie said, lifting her hand in a small wave, only to realize she was still smiling long after Erin had gone. It surprised her how good it felt to have something to look forward to again, even with the sting of smoke in her eyes.