Savannah smiled like it was a joke, taking a second longer than it should have. “We were efficient.”
“We still are,” Tilly said. “Just separately now.”
They pushed through the door before she could answer.
For a moment, Savannah stood there with her smile still in place, like an expression waiting for the rest of the performance to catch up, before following Tilly outside. Like she wasn’t ready to let the moment end there.
“You’re allergic to compliments, huh?” she said.
Tilly stopped walking, but didn’t look up. “Only the ones you give.”
“That’s rude. I’m great at compliments.”
“You’re great at self-promotion.”
“Close enough.”
That earned her a glance, quick and sharp. Savannah grinned. “See, that was almost a smile. I’ll take that as progress.”
“You’re grading my facial expressions now?”
“Only when they’re this rare.”
Tilly shook their head, a quiet laugh caught under their breath. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet,” she said, following as they brushed past her, “you keep showing up.”
They didn’t answer, but the corner of their mouth twitched before they walked away toward their rig.
Inside, Harper reappeared, balancing a muffin on a napkin. “You and Franklin split up?”
“Different assignments,” Savannah said.
“Bummer. You two were scary good together.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Scary?”
“In a good way. Like synchronized swimming, but with deadlines.”
Savannah let out a practiced laugh. “We’re coworkers, not a circus act.”
The rest of the morning blurred into pre-shoot rhythm. She checked scripts, rewrote her tag twice, pretended not to notice the space where their banter usually lived.
Out in the field, the train-delay story was as flat as it sounded. Commuters in bad moods, a gray sky pressing down. Andrew framed his shots cleanly and said very little. Savannah hit her standup perfectly on the first take, then asked for another.
“Still rolling?”
Andrew nodded. “Looked good.”
“Let’s do one more for safety.”
He reset without question. By the third take, her throat ached, and her fingers were stiff from the cold, but the phrasing was flawless. She told herself that was why she kept redoing it—because she wanted it perfect, not because she missed that subtle nod Tilly gave when a line landed right.
A gust of wind caught her hair across her face. Andrew lowered the camera automatically, waiting. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she said, brushing it back. “Just… too much air movement.”
“Wind,” he said dryly.
