Full.
Too hot and too cold at the same time.
Savannah kept her gaze glued ahead because if she so much as glanced at Tilly’s mouth again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to breathe.
And Tilly — god, Tilly — sat there like a solid wall, like they’d been wanting this for weeks and had finally tasted it and were now holding themselves absolutely still so they wouldn’t spook her again.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The storm howled.
And the kiss sat between them like a lit fuse.
Nineteen
The radio crackled before Tilly’s pulse had even settled.
“Truck One, Filmore here,” Henry’s voice cut through static, brisk and harried. “What’s your status? We’re tossing in two.”
Tilly cleared their throat and reached for the mic with a hand that did not shake. “Two minutes out.”
Savannah didn’t look at them.
She didn’t look anywhere.
Tilly didn’t let themselves look at her either.
If they did, they wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t breathe. Wouldn’t trust themselves not to touch her again.
They shoved their door open and stepped into the storm.
Snow hit hard, stinging their cheeks, soaking through the ends of their sleeves. The wind shoved at them like it had a grudge.
Good. Let it.
It gave them something to fight besides the pounding in their chest.
Tilly rounded the truck, set up the tripod, and locked the camera into place with fast, practiced movements. Fingers steady. Breath controlled. Every limb was doing exactly what it was supposed to do. They’d worked in hurricane remnants, near-fires, protests — they knew how to hold a line.
But they’d never done it five minutes after being kissed likethat.
Savannah stepped out a moment later. Her hood was up. Snow clung to her eyelashes. Her face was calm in the way a person could only get when they forced every thought into a tiny locked box.
She didn’t meet their eyes.
Tilly didn’t blame her.
They focused the lens, framing her in the falling snow — harsh wind at her back, headlights carving an amber streak through the white. She looked unreal.
She’d looked unreal in the truck, too.
Tilly swallowed hard and signaled her. “You’re hot in five.”
She nodded once. No wasted movement.
The IFB in Tilly’s ear clicked, and Jamie’s voice came through — steady, poised, in full anchor mode.
