Page 97 of On a Deadline

Erin smiled at that. “I get that.” She paused, tracing a finger along the rim of her glass. “It’s been strange being back. Everyone treats me like I’m made of glass, or like I might slip again.”

“You won’t,” Jamie said before she could stop herself. “You’re solid, Erin. You always have been.”

The words hung there, gentle but certain. Erin looked down, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile. “You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full, weighted with all the things they weren’t ready to name yet. Jamie sipped her drink, her knee brushing Erin’s under the table. Neither moved.

“So,” Erin said after a moment, voice lighter. “If this whole journalism thing doesn’t work out, what’s plan B?”

Jamie tilted her head. “I’m supposed to have a backup plan?”

Erin grinned. “You don’t strike me as someone who sits still long.”

“Maybe not,” Jamie said, smiling into her glass. “But I think I’d like to try someday. You know—find some kind of rhythm. Something that feels settled.”

Erin tilted her head. “Like what?”

Jamie hesitated, then shrugged. “I used to picture myself as one of those anchors who could do it all. Big career, happy family, the kind of life that looks put together on camera. I don’t know if that version of me still fits, but I guess I haven’t stopped reaching for it.”

Erin’s voice softened. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Jamie looked up at her. “No,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t.”

Dinner stretched longer than either expected. The plates cleared, their conversation drifted from work to small confessions—favorite late-night snacks, the worst stories they’d ever had to cover, the way both of them secretly hated Boston’s winters but loved how the first snow always made the city quiet. It felt easy, like breathing again after too long underwater.

When they stepped outside, the air had cooled. Streetlights blinked off the wet pavement, and the sound of a saxophone carried from a nearby bar.

Erin hesitated before speaking. “I’m just a few streets over. You could come by for a bit, if you want. Coffee, wine, whatever sounds good.”

Jamie smiled. “Yeah, I know where you are.”

Erin’s lips quirked. “Right. Guess you’ve been there once or twice.” She paused, softer now. “Leo would lose his mind if he saw you.”

Jamie met her eyes. “Pretty sure that goes both ways.”

Erin laughed, the sound quiet but genuine. “Then come on.”

Forty Nine

Erin unlocked the door and nudged it open with her shoulder. Leo came trotting out from the hallway, tail wagging so hard his whole body moved with it.

“Hey, trouble,” she said, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door.

Jamie crouched without a word, letting Leo nuzzle into her hands. “Still the best greeting in the city.”

Erin smiled. “He’s been waiting for you.”

Jamie looked up, still petting him. “Guess we both have.”

The words landed and stayed there. Erin turned toward the kitchen, reaching for something to do. “You want a drink? I’ve got wine, maybe a beer somewhere.”

“Wine’s good,” Jamie said.

Erin poured two glasses and carried them to the couch. Leo jumped up first, settling in between them like he owned the place.

They talked for a while. About the restaurant, about the way the saxophone outside had somehow been perfectly off-key, about nothing important. It was easier that way.