Chapter 11
Eleven
Erin shut the door behind her with a quiet click, leaning against it for just a moment.
The apartment smelled faintly like laundry detergent and lemon cleaner, the kind of neutral she kept on purpose, easy to breathe in after days that smelled like smoke and sweat and too much city air.
She slid her badge and radio onto the counter, lined her boots by the door, and gave herself exactly ten seconds to stand still.
That was all Leo allowed. His nails skittered across the floor, tail wagging like a metronome. He nosed her thigh with enough force to nearly knock her off balance.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Erin said, crouching to rub his ears. “Monday’s the worst. You don’t have to tell me.”
He huffed, leaning into her hand, then darted toward the door with a pointed look back.
“Bossy,” Erin told him, shoving her feet into a pair of worn-out tennis shoes. “Fine. You win. Walk first.”
The cool evening air slipped under her collar when she stepped outside. Leo padded along like he owned the block, nose buried in every tree and hydrant. Erin let him lead, hands sunk deep into her pockets, letting the city settle around her.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she told him as he yanked her toward a patch of grass. “I spend all day keeping rookies in line and you’re still the pushiest partner I’ve got.”
Leo gave a snorty little huff and wagged his tail harder. Erin shook her head, smiling despite herself.
“Don’t look so proud. You didn’t see me today. She was there.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She cleared her throat, tugging gently on the leash. “Jamie. The reporter.”
Leo glanced back at her like he was listening. Erin groaned. “Yeah, that one. The one I keep… I don’t know. Not avoiding, but not…” She cut herself off with a laugh that sounded too sharp in the quiet. “God, listen to me. Talking to a dog like you’re my therapist.”
They walked another block. Erin pulled her hand free to adjust the leash, catching sight of her palm. The ink was mostly gone, smudged into a faint gray shadow. She brushed her thumb across it anyway, pulse tightening.
“She’s new, she’s pushy, she doesn’t take no for an answer. And somehow…” Erin trailed off, shaking her head. “Somehow I don’t mind it as much as I should. That’s the problem.”
Leo perked his ears, tail wagging hard enough to make a soft rhythmic thump against the leash.
“Oh, don’t take her side.” Erin tugged him along again. “You’re supposed to be my guy.”
By the time they looped the block, Erin’s shoulders had loosened, the tight coil of the day easing into something manageable. She shook her head, telling herself she’d left Jamie on the street hours ago. But the thought followed her inside anyway.
* * *
Erin sat cross-legged on her couch, hair still damp from her shower, Leo’s head heavy on her knee. Her phone buzzed against the cushion.
You can’t be all soft and thoughtful one night, then strut around in uniform the next like you own the block.
Erin huffed out a laugh before she could stop herself. She rubbed Leo’s ear, shaking her head. “Own the block, huh? What do you think, do I strut?”
Leo thumped his tail once, unhelpful.
She glanced back at the message, fingers hovering. She could answer honestly, admit that sometimes the uniform felt like armor, that confidence came easier with a badge on her chest. But honesty was riskier than banter, and Jamie had left herself wide open.
Erin let her thumbs fly.
…I don’t know what you’re talking about.
She smirked at the screen, waiting. It didn’t take long for Jamie’s reply to light up.
You absolutely do.
Sounds like someone’s letting me get under her skin.
Not the point.
Then what is the point, Jamie?
The POINT is that you can’t just… flip the switch like that. It’s confusing.
Confusing or distracting?
Leo’s ears twitched at the knock on the door. Erin smiled; she didn’t need a clock to tell her it was Monday. Surviving the hardest day of the week always earned her a little reward.
Sure enough, when she opened the door, a small white box from the 24-hour bakery sat waiting. Cannoli. The same order every week.
Leo trotted in a hopeful circle as she carried the box inside. “Not for you,” she told him, though she already knew he’d end up with a bite of the shell.
Erin set the bakery box on the counter, peeling back the lid to reveal the familiar dusting of powdered sugar. She bit into the cannoli, cream sweet against the crisp shell, and leaned her hip against the counter. Leo watched every move with mournful eyes.
Her phone buzzed where she’d left it on the couch. Then again. And again. By the time she picked it up, three new messages stacked on top of each other.
Okay, you can’t just say things like that.
You’re doing it on purpose.
This is supposed to be a friendship, remember??
She sank onto the couch, thumb hovering over the keyboard, already imagining how red Jamie’s face must be on the other side of the screen.
Say things like what? I was being professional.
Professional??
You literally called me distracted.
That is not professional.
Erin’s thumb hovered over the screen, debating how to answer Jamie’s three-message spiral, when the phone buzzed again — this time with an incoming call.
She blinked, surprised, then shook her head with a quiet laugh.
“Of course,” she muttered, and answered. “Jamie?”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Jamie blurted immediately. “I just— I was trying to say you can’t be two different people and then I made it sound like you’re out here flirting with every reporter and I swear I didn’t mean—”
“Jamie.” Erin’s voice lowered, just enough to be soothing. “Breathe.”
A shaky inhale rattled through the line.
Erin bit back a smile. “You really called me to… clarify your clarification?”
“That’s not— I wasn’t— I just didn’t want you to think I was accusing you of—”
“Flirting?” Erin supplied, far too smoothly.
Silence. Then an audible pillow-muffle groan.
“Oh my god,” Jamie muttered. “You’re impossible.”
Erin leaned back into the couch, stretching her legs out. “Maybe,” she allowed, “but you’re the one calling me at ten o’clock at night to reassure me you didn’t mean to imply I flirt too much.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It’s what you spiraled about.”
“I didn’t spiral!”
“You sent me three messages in ninety seconds,” Erin said dryly. “If that’s not a spiral, I’m filing a missing-person report for your composure.”
Jamie made a strangled sound somewhere between outrage and embarrassment. “Why are you like this?”
Erin grinned. “Because it’s fun.”
Another muffled noise. Erin could practically see Jamie’s face buried in a pillow, legs kicking like she was fighting gravity itself.
A beat passed — softer this time — before Jamie’s voice came through, small at the edges. “I just didn’t want you to think I was being weird.”
“You are being weird,” Erin teased, gentler now. “But in a way I don’t mind.”
Jamie went quiet.
Erin sat up a little, the smile fading into something steadier. “If I’m making this harder for you, I can stop. The teasing. The… whatever you think it is.”
For a moment, nothing. Just breathing.
Then Jamie whispered, “…No. Don’t stop.”
Erin’s chest tightened. Her reply slipped out before she could think too hard.
“…Okay.”