Savannah squeezed their arm. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t press.
They walked to the car together.
* * *
Savannah’s apartment warmed quickly. Garlic hit the pan. Onion followed. Tilly chopped while Savannah washed produce at the sink. They moved around each other without friction, instinctive spacing, and shared awareness.
Savannah’s phone sat face down on the table.
Tilly noticed.
They slid the onions into the pan and listened to the sizzle.
Savannah leaned back against the counter, watching them. Not distracted. Not scanning. Just there.
“What?” Tilly asked.
Savannah shook her head. “Nothing. I just…”
She stopped.
Tilly waited.
“I like this,” Savannah said. “I like who I am in this.”
Tilly felt it register before they named it.
“Me too,” they said.
Savannah nodded, gaze dropping. “I’ve been… steady. Lately.”
Tilly set the spoon down. “I can tell.”
Savannah looked up. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn’t unraveling.
“I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.”
Tilly stepped closer and rested their hands on the counter on either side of her. Not pinning. Just close enough to matter.
Savannah inhaled.
“I love you.”
The words landed wrong first. Not badly. Just suddenly.
Tilly felt their chest tighten, instinctive and sharp, like their body needed a second to decide what to do with something that fragile.
Savannah froze immediately. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, I just—”
Tilly moved before the rest of it could spill out. Hands at her hips. Solid.
“Hey,” they said.
Savannah stopped.
