Savannah swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to say yes,” she said quietly.
Tilly’s eyes lifted to hers. Steady. Honest. Unnervingly kind.
“I wanted to,” they said.
Savannah’s fingers curled against the countertop as heat washed up her throat. She didn’t look away this time.
The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It pressed in around her, warm and electric, like the air before lightning strikes.
Tilly stood just inside the doorway, hands still in their pockets, shoulders lifted the tiniest bit like they were holding themselves back. Their eyes stayed on her, steady in a way that made Savannah’s breath stutter.
They looked calm, but she could feel the tension radiating off them. Like they were weighing something. Like they were afraid to move wrong.
Savannah didn’t move either. Her fingers only curled tighter around the countertop, knuckles whitening. She didn’t think she could speak again without breaking something open.
Tilly’s voice came quietly. Careful. “Savannah.”
The way they said her name—soft, low, almost reverent—made her pulse climb so high she thought it might tremble out of her throat.
She should’ve stepped back.
She didn’t.
Tilly took one step toward her.
Slow. Measured. Like they were approaching something fragile. Like they were giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
Another small step. Close enough now that she could feel their breath. Her back pressed harder into the countertop, even though there was nowhere left to go.
Tilly lifted a hand, hesitated—really hesitated—hovering near her cheek like they needed permission she didn’t know how to give.
Savannah’s breath shook as she whispered, barely audible, “It’s okay.”
That was all they needed.
Their fingertips brushed her cheek first, feather-light, a touch so gentle it almost didn’t feel real. Savannah’s eyes fluttered, heat flooding beneath her skin. No one had ever touched her as though she might break.
Tilly dipped their head slightly, searching her eyes for the smallest sign of retreat.
She didn’t retreat.
So they kissed her.
Softly. Carefully. A kiss that felt like an exhale. Their lips brushed hers once, warm and tentative, tasting like patience and restraint and something that scared her more than anything else tonight.
Savannah inhaled sharply against their mouth, her fingers lifting from the countertop without permission, hovering near their shirt before she forced them back down again. She wasn’t ready to touch. Wasn’t ready for how badly she wanted to.
Tilly pulled back just a fraction—not gone, just enough to see her.
Their forehead nearly touched hers. Their voice was a whisper. “We can stop. If you want to.”
Savannah swallowed, chest tight.
“I don’t,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Terrified.
