“Would you maybe want to get breakfast with me?” they asked. “And talk. If you’re up for it?”
Savannah’s shoulders lifted with a slow inhale, then fell again. She turned back to them, expression cautious but open.
“Breakfast?” she repeated.
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “Somewhere neutral. Eggs. Coffee. No pressure to clean or perform or host.”
That pulled a small, reluctant smile from Savannah. Just a flicker. But it was there.
“Okay,” she said. “Yeah. I think I could do that.”
Relief spread through Tilly’s chest, quiet and steady. “Okay.”
They stepped back to give her space, heart beating slowly and hopefully for the first time in days.
Savannah disappeared back into the bedroom, the door closing softly behind her.
Tilly stayed where they were.
They sat on the edge of the couch, elbows braced on their knees, hands loose and empty, and let the quiet settle. The apartment felt different in the daylight. Less charged. More honest. The kind of quiet that invited thinking instead of filling space.
They stared at the blank TV screen and tried to sort through the knot in their chest.
They knew what they needed to say.
Not all of it. Not at once. But the shape of it was there.
I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.
I shouldn’t have walked out.
I should have stayed.
Those parts were easy. Necessary.
The harder part was the note.
They still saw it when they closed their eyes. The list. The careful observations. And then the last word, sitting there like a verdict.
Problem.
It had landed somewhere tender. Not because Savannah had written it, but because part of them had believed it already. Because it echoed old fears they’d spent years tamping down. That they were difficult. Too much. The kind of person people tolerated until they didn’t.
They hadn’t said that part out loud.
They should.
But not like an accusation. Not like a weapon.
They didn’t want to win this conversation. They wanted to understand it.
Savannah was thoughtful. Methodical. She observed things before she trusted them. That was part of why Tilly admired her. It made sense that she’d catalog someone new, especially someone who unsettled her.
Tilly needed to hear the why.
Not to argue with it. Not to defend themself out of it.
Just to know.
