They had done the right thing today. That didn’t make it easier.
After a minute, they straightened, took a slow breath, and carried their mug to the couch. Work would come tomorrow. Explanations could wait. Whatever conversation needed to happen with Savannah would happen when it could, not when it was forced.
For now, this was enough.
Tilly sat there until the mug cooled in their hands and the light outside the windows faded fully to dark, letting the quiet stretch without trying to fill it.
Twenty Six
Harper was already at her desk when Savannah walked in.
Savannah stopped beside her chair.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
Harper blinked up at her. “You do?”
“Yes.” Savannah kept her voice even. “Yesterday was not about you. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
Harper studied her for a second. “You want to tell me what it was about?”
Savannah exhaled. “No.”
A beat.
“But I am sorry.”
Savannah heard her name before she even registered Henry walking over.
The newsroom was its usual mess of sound: ringing phones, pages turning, chairs rolling, someone laughing too loudly near the assignment desk. She’d been staring at the same line in her script for ages, trying to convince herself she cared about a zoning dispute. Her head hurt. Her chest felt tight.
Then Henry said it.
“Wells. Franklin.”
Her stomach dropped.
Tilly was already at the corner of the desk, camera strap in their hand, expression neutral in that way they’d perfected overthe years in news. Savannah moved beside them, trying not to let her pulse spike.
Henry didn’t bother looking up.
“Millbrook’s having a situation. Chemical smell complaints, sick kids, fire department’s involved. Too far for a day-turn. I booked two rooms. You’ll drive out now, get interviews, live for five and six, package for ten if it isn’t a disaster. SUV’s downstairs. Roads are icy, so don’t be stupid.”
Savannah nodded. “Got it.”
Tilly didn’t say anything, already turning.
Henry moved on before either of them breathed.
“Gear room,” Tilly said.
Savannah followed, her throat tight.
The gear room always felt colder than the newsroom. Today it felt like a walk-in freezer.
Savannah grabbed batteries off the charger while Tilly reached for tripods. She kept her hands busy so she wouldn’t stare at them the way she kept accidentally doing since the kiss. Just thinking the word made her chest spark uncomfortably hot.
“Telephoto?” Tilly asked, pulling the long zoom lens from the case, the kind they used when they couldn’t get close.
