“You also look like you’re about to walk into traffic.”
“I am not.”
“You’re vibrating.”
Savannah set her pen down carefully so she didn’t snap it in half. “Can you please go away?”
Harper leaned a hip against the desk. “No.”
Savannah let her head fall back for one long, silent second. “Why?”
“Because whatever storm cloud is sitting on top of you is starting to spit lightning. And because you only get like this over one person.”
Savannah shot her a look sharp enough to kill a small plant. “Harper.”
“Oh, good,” Harper said. “We are officially at the threatening stage.”
Savannah stood fast, pushing her chair back. “I need coffee.”
“That’s a lie,” Harper said, following her anyway. “You hate coffee.”
Savannah almost tripped. “I do not hate coffee.”
“You hate the coffee here.”
“I hate you.”
“That feels inaccurate,” Harper said, breezing after her.
Savannah beelined to the break room because it was the only place she could go without getting assigned to a live shot she wasn’t emotionally capable of surviving. She pulled a K-cup from the bowl harder than necessary, shoved it into the machine, and jabbed the button.
The machine whirred loudly. Too loudly. It grated in her skull.
Harper crossed her arms and watched her. “So. Are you going to talk to them?”
“No.”
“That was very fast.”
Savannah kept her voice flat. “I am not talking to someone who refuses to even look at me.”
“Have you considered that maybe they’re avoiding looking at you because they’re trying not to die inside?” Harper asked.
“No.”
“But you should.”
“I am not doing this.”
“You are definitely doing this.”
Savannah spun toward her. “I am working. I am minding my business. I am perfectly fine.”
“Savannah.”
Her breath stuttered. She hated that. She hated that Harper could see it. She hated that she wasn’t fine. She hated that she could still feel the shape of Tilly’s hand on her coat.
She grabbed her coffee even though it burned her fingers. “Drop it.”
