Chapter 50
Fifty
Three weeks later, they had found a rhythm.
Most mornings started at Erin’s place. The coffee pot clicked on before sunrise, Leo wedged himself between them like he paid rent, and Jamie somehow always stole the pillow Erin wanted.
Erin left first most days, hair still damp, tie crooked until she fixed it by the door.
She would kiss Jamie’s cheek, promise to text on her break, and Jamie would pretend she wasn’t waiting for it while answering emails at the counter.
It wasn’t perfect. Work still tugged at them in opposite directions, but it was easier than Erin ever expected. They showed up. Sometimes with words, sometimes with food, sometimes just with presence.
Tonight was one of the easy ones. Erin got off early, and Jamie wrapped her segment before six. She showed up with Thai takeout, the smell filling the apartment before Erin even reached the door.
“Pad see ew,” Jamie said, holding up the bag. “Extra lime. And I brought the sesame cookies you pretend not to like.”
“I don’t pretend anything,” Erin said, already stealing the bag.
They ate at the counter because the table was buried under case notes and a half-finished puzzle. Erin passed her the broccoli she didn’t want, and Jamie slid the peppers onto Erin’s plate without a word. Leo sat at their feet, sighing like he’d been forgotten by the world.
“You can have a little rice,” Erin told him. “One bite. You’ve earned it.”
Jamie laughed. “Your negotiation skills are being wasted on press calls.”
“Don’t tell my captain.” Erin grinned, then stole the last cookie.
They cleaned up together. Jamie rinsed, Erin loaded the dishwasher like it was a science. A text buzzed on Erin’s counter; she flicked it silent and took Jamie’s plate from her hands.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Good. PTA bake sale. A mural in Dorchester. My bakery guy gave me a bag of day-olds I’m definitely not supposed to take on camera.” Jamie smiled. “It felt nice.”
Erin leaned a hip against the counter. “You’ve been lighter lately.”
“I feel lighter,” Jamie said. “I think we’re getting better at not borrowing trouble.”
“Progress,” Erin said.
Jamie’s phone buzzed next. She glanced at it, then turned it facedown. “Desk wants a quick hit on a small fire near the Pike. They don’t need me.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Jamie smiled. “I used to think saying yes to everything made me a better reporter. Now I think saying yes to the right things might make me a better person.”
Erin laughed. “Look at you, all wise and balanced.”
“I read it on a tea bag,” Jamie said.
They moved to the couch. Leo sprawled across both of them, heavy and warm. The lamp cast a soft gold circle over the half-done puzzle, a lighthouse against a storm.
“What’s this one supposed to be?” Jamie asked, pointing at the box.
“Metaphor,” Erin said.
“For what?”
“Take your pick.”
Jamie laughed and clicked a piece into place. The quiet that followed was steady and familiar.
“I told Harper about the anchor thing,” Jamie said. “The big career, happy family version of me I used to picture.”
“And?”
“She said I don’t have to figure it out yet. That I can want things and still wait to see if they fit.”
“She’s right,” Erin said.
Jamie hesitated. “You okay if I still want too much sometimes?”
Erin reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah. Want as much as you want. I’m not a quota. I’m just here.”
Jamie smiled. “I can work with that.”
They talked a while longer, traded stories, finished the puzzle’s border.
Erin told her about a misprinted sign at work that had the entire precinct calling the sergeant Chief Clams. Jamie told her about a kid who gave her a tour of his school and introduced her to every class pet like royalty.
They laughed until Leo grumbled at them for disrupting his nap.
When Jamie’s segment replayed on the muted TV, Erin caught her own grin reflected in the window. Jamie looked proud again, sure of herself and grounded. Erin’s chest ached in the best way.
Later, they took Leo out for a short walk. The air bit cold but clean, the city humming around them. They bumped shoulders at the crosswalk. Small, easy things.
Back inside, Erin started the kettle while Jamie changed into one of her shirts. Leo circled his bed and flopped down with a groan.
“You ever think about the park?” Jamie asked as they got into bed.
“All the time,” Erin said. “About almost saying the wrong thing before I finally said the right one.”
Jamie laughed softly. “You did okay.”
Erin brushed her thumb along Jamie’s wrist. “So did you.”
They fell quiet again. The apartment breathed with them. The radiator ticked once. Traffic passed outside. Leo snored at the foot of the bed. Jamie turned onto her side, facing her, eyes half closed.
“I don’t need a label tonight,” Jamie murmured. “I just want this. I want to keep showing up tomorrow.”
“I can do that,” Erin said. She hesitated, feeling the words press up against her ribs before she let them out. “I love you, J.”
Jamie blinked, surprised for only a second before she smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Erin said, soft but certain. “I do.”
Jamie’s hand found hers under the blanket, their fingers tangling together. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I love you too.”
Erin pulled her closer and pressed a kiss into her hair.
Outside, the city dimmed and settled. Erin thought about the garden bench, the ducks, the terrible parking, and the way Jamie had said yes before she could talk herself out of it.
Erin stayed awake a little longer after Jamie’s breathing evened out.
She stared at the ceiling, tracing faint shadows from the streetlight outside.
The sound of a siren drifted somewhere far away, then faded.
Leo shifted once at the foot of the bed, his tail thumping once against the floor before he sighed himself back to sleep.
She felt Jamie’s heartbeat against her arm and thought about how long it had taken to reach this version of quiet. There had been months where silence meant distance, where she mistook stillness for loss. Now it just meant safety. It meant home.
Jamie murmured something in her sleep, half a word Erin couldn’t catch.
She smiled anyway, brushing her fingers through the hair that had fallen across Jamie’s cheek.
For a long time she had convinced herself that love was something to control, to manage like a press conference.
Something you prepared for until it went wrong.
But this—this was nothing like that. It was simple.
It was showing up, over and over, even when it scared her.
Outside, a late-night bus hissed to a stop at the corner. The light on the wall flickered and stilled. The city kept moving, even at this hour, and for once Erin didn’t feel behind it. She felt part of it.
She thought about tomorrow. About Leo’s morning walk, about the case files she had to review, about Jamie’s segment pitch meeting and the way she always came home wired with new ideas. She thought about the small, ordinary things waiting for them both and how, somehow, that felt like everything.
Erin tightened her arm around Jamie and pressed another kiss to her temple.
“Goodnight, J,” she whispered.
Jamie stirred, murmuring something that sounded like her name.
Erin smiled into the dark. “I’m here,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And she meant it.