Page 103 of On a Deadline

“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.