Something worse.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t—
Her eyes flicked to the gear closet anyway.
Tilly was no longer talking. They were rolling a tripod out, jaw set, eyes narrowed as they scanned the assignment board. Their gaze caught the producer who had just shouted across the room.
For a split second, it felt like the entire newsroom paused.
But then Tilly looked away.
And Savannah did too.
Too fast. Too obvious.
Henry returned with a marker and started crossing names off the whiteboard.
“Savannah, you’re on the business corridor preview with Andrew,” he said without looking up. “Tilly, I want you pre-positioned for evening standups if the storm shifts. Stay loose.”
Savannah swore she saw Tilly’s head turn slightly at their name. Not toward her. Just toward the sound. But their shoulders tensed, like their body betrayed something their face wouldn’t show.
Fine. Good. They were both pretending.
Andrew showed up with printed notes and a coffee that smelled like caramel and regret. “Let’s roll.”
“Yep,” she said, grabbing her bag, though her eyes darted to Tilly one more time.
They caught each other in a glance neither meant to make.
Savannah stiffened.
Tilly looked away first, but only by half a second.
Just enough to sting.
Just enough to matter.
More than it should have.
Outside, the wind knifed across the parking lot, sharp enough to make Savannah’s eyes water. Snow hadn’t started yet, but something about the air felt heavy. Expectant.
Andrew rattled off details, but Savannah barely absorbed them.
Every time she blinked, she saw Tilly in the gear closet again, jaw tight, eyes flicking her way before snapping forward — like her brain refused to move on.
This was ridiculous.
And completely out of her control.
They barely talked.
They barely knew each other.
That should have made this easier.
They had exactly one moment that almost felt warm outside City Hall and a cheek kiss that barely counted.
So why did her chest feel tight?
