“Pretty much,” Tilly said. “They’ll feed me until I can’t move, then send me home so I’m not useless for the twenty-sixth.”
“So I get you back for the post-holiday slump,” she said.
“Look at that,” Tilly said lightly. “A gift.”
She smiled down at her hands. “If you want… You can text me. While you’re there. For the bit. Sweater evidence. Tablescape proof.”
Tilly’s eyes flickered toward her, warm. “Yeah,” they said. “I can do that.”
Her chest tightened in a way that wasn’t painful — not exactly.
They drove the rest of the way in a quiet that felt like something thawing. Back at the station, they carried in gear together. The newsroom looked even emptier now, lights turned off across half the floor.
At the gear cart, Sav lingered.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I hope you have a good time. With your family. With the sweater. And the bells. And the napkin rings.”
Tilly’s mouth quirked — a half-smile they didn’t bother hiding.
“…do you want to come?”
Sav’s heart stumbled.
“What?” she asked, quiet, not startled — just caught.
Tilly’s fingers tapped once on the edge of the cart, the only sign they’d surprised themself. Their voice stayed even. Too even.
“Tomorrow. Or Christmas Day. If you’re not going home. You can come by. It’s just food and too many candles and my mom forcing everyone into sweaters. Nothing dramatic.”
Sav blinked at them, warmth rising in her chest so fast she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Tilly…” she said, softer than she meant it to be.
“It doesn’t have to be a thing,” they added quickly. “I just… didn’t want you spending the whole day alone.”
Her throat felt tight. Not painful. Just full.
“That’s… really sweet,” she managed. “But I don’t want to crash your family stuff.”
“You wouldn’t be crashing,” Tilly said, and something in their voice — small and earnest — made her pulse jump. “They always make too much food anyway.”
Sav smiled helplessly. “Let me think about it?”
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “Of course.”
The invitation hung between them. Fragile. Warm. Real.
Sav swallowed once. “I’ll, um… see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “See you tomorrow.”
She walked toward her desk with her heart beating a little too loud, a little too fast.
Behind her, Tilly watched her go, the faintest hint of something hopeful tugging at their expression — like they weren’t sure what they’d just done, but they didn’t regret it.
