Couldn’t believe she had actually done that.
Not because she didn’t want it —
because she did.
And that was new in a way she didn’t know how to handle.
Tilly shifted just slightly in their seat — not toward her, not away, just enough to breathe in.
It wasn’t the kiss.
It was how much it had meant.
“Sav—” They started.
“No.”
Her voice cracked, too sharp, too quick.
Tilly went still.
Savannah kept her eyes forward, hands balled so tight her knuckles hurt. “Don’t. Please don’t say anything.”
Tilly watched her for a long moment, expression unreadable — not offended, not hurt, just careful.
“Okay,” they said quietly. Almost neutral. But not quite.
Savannah pressed her palms to her thighs, grounding herself. The air felt thick enough to swallow. “I just— I can’t… I can’t do whatever you’re about to do. Not right now.”
Tilly nodded once, slowly.
Understanding without retreating.
“I’m not going to push you,” they said.
Voice low.
Level.
Honest.
More honest than she could handle.
Savannah shut her eyes, breath shaking. “Then don’t talk.”
Another beat of silence.
Tilly exhaled, steady and contained. “Okay.”
And that was it.
They sat in the parked truck with a blizzard pounding outside, the kiss vibrating between them like a living thing neither of them dared touch.
The silence wasn’t comfortable.
It wasn’t peaceful.
It was charged.
