Chapter 31
Thirty One
Three days after the presser, the newsroom still hummed with talk about it. Jamie could hear her own voice bleeding from a monitor near editing, someone replaying the clip for the third time that morning.
“Garrison,” Henry called from across the bullpen. “That question of yours made the morning briefing. ‘WCVB’s question leads to transparency.’ You should frame it.”
Jamie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Guess that’s one for the reel.”
He didn’t notice the stiffness in her tone. “Anyway, you’re on something calm today. Parks department. New playground, green initiative, five o’clock live hit. Should be a quick in-and-out.”
“Got it,” she said, grateful for something that didn’t involve flashing lights or a press crowd.
As Henry walked away, Harper leaned around her monitor, mug in hand. “You keep landing questions like that, they’ll put your name on a banner.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
Harper laughed, but Jamie’s stomach twisted.
The clip ran again on another screen. She didn’t mean to look, but she caught it anyway. Erin at the podium, voice steady until the word warrant. The brief flicker across her face. The sharp end to the briefing.
Jamie turned back to her laptop. She’d spent most of yesterday pretending not to read every headline. Everyone else had called it a win, but she hadn’t slept well since. She kept wondering if Erin had watched her segment that night, if she thought Jamie had handled it fairly.
Her cursor blinked on a blank script page. She forced her focus back to work, typing the slug line for the parks story. Something quiet. Easy. A story that couldn’t hurt anyone.
The assignment took them to a small park tucked between a neighborhood and a community center.
By the time Jamie and Tilly pulled in, most of the setup was already done.
A few city workers in bright vests were arranging folding chairs, and someone was fighting with a banner that refused to stay straight against the podium rail.
Tilly killed the engine and looked out the window. “So, our big scoop of the day is new mulch and a recycled-plastic slide. You must be so proud.”
Jamie smiled. “Pulitzer stuff.”
“Pulitzer for fluff.” Tilly grabbed the camera bag from the back seat. “You want the fifty or the wide to start?”
“Fifty,” Jamie said. “Keep it pretty. If we’re going to do filler, it might as well look good.”
They worked quietly for a bit, falling into an easy rhythm. Jamie clipped her mic, tested levels, and scanned the park. Kids played in the distance, parents clustered near the shade. It was the kind of assignment that used to frustrate her. Now she was grateful for the calm.
“You’ve been quiet,” Tilly said finally, breaking the silence. “That usually means you’re either pissed about something or you’re thinking too hard.”
Jamie looked over the camera’s viewfinder. “Neither. Just tired.”
“Mm.” Tilly adjusted the tripod leg, not buying it. “You and the department’s favorite PIO stop talking again?”
Jamie hesitated, trying to sound casual. “No, we’re fine.”
Tilly’s eyebrow lifted. “That sounded like a lie.”
Jamie lined up a shot instead of answering. “We talked after the presser.”
“And?”
Jamie exhaled. “And I might’ve stayed over the night before that.”
Tilly froze mid-motion. “Stayed over?”
“Yeah.” Jamie lowered the camera. “We spent the night.”
Tilly blinked. “Oh.”
“It wasn’t casual,” Jamie said quickly. “It wasn’t some hookup or whatever you’re picturing. It just happened. And it mattered.”
Tilly’s expression softened. “All right. That’s different.”
“Yeah,” Jamie said quietly. “It was.”
For a second, neither of them spoke. The sound of a leaf blower started somewhere down the path, and a little kid let out a shriek-laugh near the swings.
Tilly busied themself with focus. “You like her.”
Jamie didn’t deny it. “I do.”
Tilly nodded, not unkindly. “She looked rough that morning. Guess I know why now.”
Jamie smiled faintly. “Probably for more than one reason.”
Tilly shifted their weight, pretending to fiddle with the lens even though it was already perfect. “She… reached out to me,” they said finally.
Jamie’s head snapped up. “She told me she was going to, but I didn’t want to assume—”
“It surprised me,” Tilly admitted. “In a good way.” They offered a small, crooked smile. “She didn’t make excuses. Just… said what she needed to say. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it.”
Jamie let the air ease out of her chest. “I’m glad. You deserved that.”
Tilly nodded. “Yeah. And look—” They met her eyes fully now, steady. “If you two are trying something… I’m not against it.”
Jamie blinked. “Really?”
Tilly shrugged, almost embarrassed by the sincerity. “I’m not handing her a gold star, but… she’s trying. And you’re happy. That counts.”
Warmth rose under Jamie’s skin before she could stop it. “Thank you.”
“Don’t get mushy on me,” Tilly muttered, grabbing the handle of the tripod. “We’ve got a playground to immortalize.”
By the time they wrapped their b-roll, most of the crowd had thinned.
The parks director waved them over to film a short interview before the ribbon cutting.
Jamie lobbed a few quick questions about the new equipment and grant funding.
He gave the same answer she’d heard a dozen times before.
Safe, soundbite-ready, nothing anyone could twist.
While Tilly packed up the tripod, Jamie pulled her phone from her pocket and saw a new message.
Heard the park’s the big story today. National-level journalism.
Jamie smiled before she could stop herself.
Somebody’s been reading my rundown.
Somebody needed a distraction from a day full of apologies.
Rough morning?
Rough week. I’m fine. Just tired.
“Fine” is a cop word.
Don’t profile me.
Jamie grinned at the screen.
You walked into that one.
You’re insufferable.
You like me that way.
A pause, then:
Unfortunately.
Jamie laughed softly, glancing toward Tilly to make sure they hadn’t noticed.
Tilly was loading cases into the trunk. “Everything good?”
“Yeah,” Jamie said quickly. “Just Erin.”
Tilly shut the trunk with a thud. “Of course it is.”
Jamie rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Her phone buzzed again.
I’m being pulled into something messy. Not official yet, but it’s coming. I shouldn’t say more. I just… thought of you.
Jamie blinked at the screen. Erin never texted things like that. She never said anything that could sound like a confession.
Her reporter brain lit up immediately. Curiosity, instinct, all of it. But the rest of her felt still. Erin wasn’t feeding her information. She was reaching out.
You don’t owe me details. But thanks for trusting me with that.
Don’t make me regret it.
Wouldn’t dream of it. Also, please tell me you’ve eaten something besides coffee today.
Coffee and a protein bar count.
Barely. Hydration?
Technically yes. I’m sipping water right now just so I can tell you that.
You’re impossible.
You like me that way.
Touché.
You’re bossy.
You like it.
A pause, then:
Yeah. I do.
Jamie’s stomach flipped. She stared at the screen until Tilly nudged her. “We done here?”
“Yeah.” She pocketed her phone. “Let’s get back.”
The drive was quiet. Jamie watched the city roll past through the windshield, lights flickering on in shop windows as the day stretched into evening. When they hit the station lot, she finally exhaled.
Inside, she edited fast. Cut the interview, stitched in her standup, cleaned the sound. It aired cleanly during the five o’clock block, the kind of harmless story that filled airtime without stirring anyone up.
Her phone buzzed again.
Thanks for not pushing earlier.
Comes with the territory.
You always have to be a reporter, huh?
Pretty much. But I’m also me.
I like both.
For the first time in two days, the newsroom felt quiet. She thought about how people still saw the presser as her win, but this, this small, secret corner of honesty between them, felt like something else entirely.
She didn’t reply. She just sat there, watching Erin’s name fade from the screen, feeling the hum of the computers and the low chatter of the night crew fill the air.
It wasn’t a story. It wasn’t a win. It was something real. And for now, that was enough.