6
Erin stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, watching dust motes drift through the morning light filtering between her blinds. She’d been awake since five-thirty, her mind replaying the same fifteen seconds on an endless loop.
Lena’s hands in her hair, the taste of wine and want, the way Lena had whispered her name against her mouth like it was something to be savored.
The coffee maker beeped from the kitchen, its automatic timer indifferent to the fact that she’d forgotten to put the carafe underneath the night before. The smell of burning coffee joined the symphony of her mistakes.
She rolled out of bed, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor to survey the damage. Coffee dripped steadily onto the hot plate, filling her apartment with the bitter scent. This was what happened when you came home from kissing your professional rival and forgot basic domestic tasks.
Her phone sat on the counter where she’d dropped it the night before. Three missed texts, all from Lena, all sent after midnight.
“I reviewed the case files again and found something we missed.”
“Early briefing tomorrow? I want to go over evidence before meeting with the teams.”
“Let me know your availability for a follow-up discussion.”
Erin read each text twice, searching for clues beneath the careful, professional language. Even Lena’s texts were measured, carrying no hint of the woman who’d pressed her against the side of her car in Lavender’s parking lot, kissing her like she was drowning and Erin was air.
The shower water ran too hot while she tried to convince herself this was manageable. Professional adults had momentary lapses in judgment all the time. Stress, alcohol, the intensity of working a difficult case together—it was practically inevitable that some boundaries would blur.
Except boundaries didn’t usually blur with that much desire behind them.
Steam fogged the bathroom mirror, and Erin found herself grateful not to see her own reflection. She didn’t need to see the way her mouth was still tender or the small mark Lena’s teeth had left on her lower lip during those desperate few moments against the car.
Her uniform hung pressed and ready on the bedroom door with “Fire Marshal” emblazoned across the back in reflective letters that caught the morning light. She was professional and competent, the kind of person who was supposed to not make reckless decisions in parking lots.
She dressed with unusual care, checking her appearance twice in the hallway mirror. Her hair fell in its usual waves around her shoulders, the red hue catching the light in ways that suddenly seemed too noticeable. The green irises of her eyes looked brighter than normal, or maybe that was just her imagination.
Coffee. She needed coffee and a plan.
The replacement pot brewed properly this time, dark and strong enough to cut through the fog in her head. She sat at her small kitchen table, phone in hand, cursor blinking in the text field.
What did you even say to someone after that kind of kiss? After admitting hidden desire so raw it had surprised both of them?
“Good morning” seemed insufficient.
“About last night…” felt too dramatic.
“See you at work” was cowardly.
She settled on professional neutrality.“Morning. Ready for another day on the case.”
Sent. It was safe and distant enough to give them both room to pretend if they needed to.
Lena’s response came within minutes.“We should try a fresh perspective on yesterday’s interviews. Want to grab coffee before work?”
Even in daylight, even through text, Lena was giving her an out and a way to frame this as a professional collaboration that had gotten temporarily complicated by stress and proximity.
Erin stared at the message, knowing she should take the offered escape route and meet Lena somewhere public and safe, keep their conversation focused on the case, and let whatever had sparked between them fade back into professional tension.
Instead, she found herself typing,“My apartment? I have good coffee and we won’t be interrupted.”
The invitation hung in the ether for five excruciating minutes before Lena’s response appeared.“On my way.”
Erin set the phone down and looked around her apartment with new eyes. Suddenly the unmade bed visible through her bedroom doorway seemed significant, the stack of case files on her coffee table felt like a feeble attempt at normalcy, and themorning light streaming through her kitchen windows promised no hiding spaces.
She was inviting Lena into her personal space, alone, less than twelve hours after they’d kissed with enough heat to fog car windows. This wasn’t a professional consultation. This was her choosing to see what would happen when they stopped pretending their partnership was purely about catching an arsonist.
