Savannah hated that question today.
“I’m fine.”
Harper didn’t believe her. It was obvious in the way her eyes narrowed, in the way she glanced toward the back hallway — toward where the photogs usually came in.
Savannah’s heart jumped before she could stop it.
Tilly wasn’t here yet.
Her shoulders dropped half an inch.
Harper saw it. Of course she did.
“Uh-huh,” Harper said. “Fine.”
“Goodbye, Harper,” Savannah muttered as she headed to her desk.
She logged in and forced herself to read the morning emails. Press releases. Updates. Notes from Henry. Reminders from Aimee. Routine stuff.
None of it stuck.
She kept catching herself half turned toward the hallway, listening for footsteps or the rattle of camera gear.
By the time the door finally opened, and Tilly walked in, she’d almost convinced herself she wasn’t waiting.
They were still in their heavy coat, hair damp at the ends, camera bag slung over one shoulder. They moved the same way they always did — straight for the gear room, nodding at a sports photog on the way.
They didn’t look at her.
Not once.
Not even a flicker.
Savannah’s throat tightened.
Her mind unhelpfully supplied the image of Tilly’s face inches from hers, eyes dark and steady in the truck.
She snapped her gaze back to her monitor.
Harper’s chair creaked behind her. Savannah didn’t turn, but she could feel Harper staring holes into the back of her head.
“Don’t,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t say anything,” Harper replied.
“You’re thinking very loud.”
“That’s not a thing,” Harper said. “But if it was, you’re the one screaming.”
“Please go away.”
Harper didn’t.
It was almost a relief when Henry’s voice floated over the newsroom a little later.
“Savannah — you free this afternoon?”
She walked over. “Yeah.”
