She reached into the truck bed for the tripod at the same time Tilly did. Their fingers slid across the back of her hand.
It wasn’t even a full heartbeat. Just a shock of warmth that hit both of them at the same time. Under Tilly’s skin, something lit up fast and unwelcome. Savannah’s hand was soft and warmer than expected against the freezing metal.
Savannah’s breath stuttered. Tilly felt it more than heard it. Savannah’s fingers curled on instinct before she caught herself.
They jerked their hand back like they had touched a live wire.
“Sorry,” Savannah said quietly. Her voice cracked on the first syllable. Her cheeks colored faintly, not from the cold.
Tilly swallowed. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this was fine. The space between them felt like held breath.
They loaded the rest of the gear without another word. Savannah hovered nearby, hands half-lifted like she wanted to help but didn’t trust herself to get too close. Her shoulders were tight, pulled up near her ears. She kept rubbing her arms like she was cold, but she wasn’t shivering. It was nerves. Tilly recognized the difference immediately, the same way they recognized the shake in her exhale when she tried not to cry.
They finished loading and closed the back door. The slam echoed off the concrete and made Savannah flinch. Her eyes flickered downward like she wished she could hide from the sound.
Savannah climbed in, slow and stiff. Tilly got in on the other side, started the engine, and adjusted the mirrors that didn’t need to be adjusted. They just needed something to do with their hands. Anything that didn’t involve touching her again. In the mirror, Savannah’s reflection flickered for a moment, eyes downcast, lips pressed together to keep them steady.
The radio crackled on with a soft acoustic song. Savannah stared out through the windshield like she was trying to memorize the horizon. Her breath fogged the glass in faint clouds before fading.
Tilly pulled out of the lot.
The silence felt thick enough to choke on. The heater hummed a low note through the cab, mixing with the muted sound of the tires on wet pavement.
Two blocks passed before Tilly noticed Savannah rubbing her hands together. She tried to do it quietly, like she didn’t want anyone to see she was freezing. Her fingers trembled anyway, pale from gripping the rundown sheet earlier.
Tilly sighed under their breath and opened the glove box. The spare hand warmers were tucked next to an old paper map, edges curled from years of being shoved aside. They set one onthe console between them, halfway between the seats, neutral territory.
Savannah stared at it like it was a fragile offering she didn’t know if she deserved. Her throat worked in a swallow before she reached for it. Her fingers brushed the warmer with hesitation, like she was afraid it might disappear.
“You should take it,” Tilly said, eyes still on the road. “It’s cold.”
Savannah hesitated. A long moment. Too long. Then she picked it up and pressed it between her palms.
“Thank you,” she said. Soft. Sincere. The kind of voice she hadn’t used with them since the hotel. It made something twist in Tilly’s ribs.
Tilly nodded once. “Yeah.”
The truck hummed along the bridge. Gray water rushed beneath them, choppy from the wind. Savannah shifted slightly, angling her body toward the window again. Her reflection in the glass looked tired in a way Tilly had never seen before. The kind of tired that happens after you cry. Or after you stop yourself from crying. Her breath fogged the glass again, faint and uneven.
Tilly gripped the wheel harder.
They thought about that night for one stupid second. Her breath against their neck. The way she had looked at them when they were both half-asleep, soft and warm and open. The way she had shut down the moment morning light hit the room. How her eyes had gone wide and careful, like she didn’t trust herself to stay.
They forced the memories away.
They didn’t get to think about that. Not right now.
“Do you want the heat higher?” Tilly asked.
Savannah blinked. “What?”
“You’re cold.”
“Oh. I’m fine.”
Liar.
