Savannah hesitated for half a second too long. “We’re… trying it out.”
Harper nodded, satisfied. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Savannah shot her a look. “What does that mean?”
“It means you didn’t deny it,” Harper said. “And you didn’t say ‘we’re just hanging out.’ Which tells me you’re not just hanging out.”
Savannah’s mouth twitched despite herself. “We’re being careful.”
“I love that for you,” Harper said. “But also, congratulations on having sex with someone you actually like.”
Savannah nearly dropped her pen. “Oh, my god.”
Harper laughed, low and delighted. “Relax. I’m happy for you.”
Savannah shook her head, cheeks still burning. “I hate that you can read me this easily.”
Harper stood, tapping Savannah’s desk once. “You don’t hate it. You just hate that you’re not hiding it.”
Savannah watched her walk away, heart still thudding, then glanced toward the equipment lockers.
Tilly was there, laughing quietly at something someone said.
Savannah smiled.
Harper wasn’t wrong. They were sleeping together.
And for once, Savannah wasn’t trying to pretend it didn’t matter.
* * *
Out in the field, everything clicked.
They were set up outside a Dorchester triple-decker, red and blue lights still pulsing against the clapboard siding as firefighters rolled the hose back toward the trucks. The street smelled faintly of smoke and wet wood. Yellow tape cut the sidewalk in half, forcing neighbors to cluster across the street in coats and slippers.
A family stood near the curb, wrapped in Red Cross blankets. One of the kids clutched a stuffed unicorn, its horn bent slightly to one side like it had been grabbed in a hurry.
Savannah had one earbud in, listening to the producer.
“Two treated for smoke inhalation,” she repeated quietly. “No serious injuries. Fire started on the second floor. Cause under investigation.”
She turned back, and Tilly was already there.
The tripod was set. The frame was clean. Ladder truck, flashing lights, the darkened second-floor windows, all balancedwithout crowding the family across the street. Tilly lifted two fingers in a quick, silent question.
Savannah nodded once.
Tilly adjusted without a word.
Savannah zipped her jacket, tucked her notes into her pocket, and stepped into position. Tilly handed her the mic without looking, their timing so smooth that Savannah didn’t even break stride.
“You good?” Tilly asked.
“Yeah,” Savannah said. “Same plan.”
Tilly’s eyebrow flicked up. “Got it.”
Savannah took a breath and launched into the standup, voice steady.
