Eleven
Tilly woke up already aware of their own face.
Not pain. Not soreness. Just the strange, lingering memory of warmth that had no reason to still be there.
They stared at the ceiling, trying to file it under something manageable. Stress. Lack of sleep. Too much caffeine.
It didn’t file.
The parking lot came back in flashes. The sound of keys. The hum of the lights. The way Savannah had stepped forward was like she’d decided something in real time.
The kiss itself was almost nothing.
The aftermath was everything.
They reached for their phone anyway.
No missed calls. No texts. A few emails. A short note from Aimee saying the parking-ban piece had looked good. A group chat was lighting up with arguments about last night’s hockey scores.
Nothing from Savannah.
Not that there should have been. They didn’t text.
Tilly locked the screen and swung their legs out of bed.
They dressed quickly and automatically. Jeans. Hoodie. Binder adjusted until the lines looked right in the mirror. Shoes by the door. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking on.
In the kitchen, they poured coffee into a chipped mug.
The coffee was hotter than they liked, but they drank it anyway. It gave their mind something simple to focus on.
It didn’t fix the restless feeling sitting low in their chest.
They tried not to think about yesterday.
They tried not to think about the wind on the sidewalk or the moment Savannah had laughed softly under her breath.
Thinking about it didn’t help.
They grabbed their bag and left.
The newsroom was still waking up when Tilly walked in. A few monitors glowed in the dimness, casting long shapes across empty desks. Someone in the back was making coffee that smelled burnt. Usually, this quiet felt grounding. Today, it felt thin.
Tilly headed straight to the edit bay and started the backup; they never trusted the overnight servers to do it correctly. The hum of the old machine filled the space.
“Morning, early bird.”
Harper leaned into the doorway, holding two coffees she clearly did not need.
Tilly kept their eyes on the screen.
“Servers lag. I like to check before everything piles up.”
“You like control,” Harper said. “There’s a difference.”
“Control works.”
She gave them one of her looks, the kind she saved for moments when she wanted to say something but also wanted to get to her desk. “Aimee was talking about your package this morning. Said you and Savannah made good TV.”
Tilly stilled for half a second. “Savannah did fine.”
“You both did,” Harper said, then grinned and walked off.
The words stayed with Tilly longer than they should have.
They focused on the keyboard until the rest of the room blurred.
They heard Savannah before they saw her.
Her voice carried easily across the room as she spoke with Henry at the assignment desk. Controlled. Professional. A little too steady in the way she always was in the morning.
Then she stepped into view.
Her coat was still on, and her hair was pulled back neatly. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. She leaned over Henry’s monitor to look at the day’s board, tapping her pen against her notebook.
She looked… normal. Exactly like herself.
Then she glanced across the room, and her eyes landed on Tilly for just a moment.
One second.
Barely that.
But it hit like a flicker of light.
She looked back at the monitor before Tilly could decide if it had meant anything.
Tilly stepped into the gear room under the excuse of checking batteries that they already knew were charged.
When they came back out, Henry raised a hand.
“Franklin. You’re with Wells again today.”
Savannah turned slightly but kept her expression neutral. “City yard. Plow readiness before the storm,” she said, tearing a page from her notebook and holding it out.
Their fingers brushed when Tilly took it.
It was nothing, but Tilly felt it anyway.
“I’ll get the car,” they said.
“I’ll grab my things,” Savannah replied.
They walked in opposite directions, both a little too quickly.
The drive was quiet.
Savannah looked at her phone, scrolling with an intensity that did not match the emails she was reading. Tilly kept their hands fixed on the wheel even though they normally drove one-handed.
After a few minutes, Savannah let out a quiet breath. “You’re really not going to talk at all?”
“I thought you were working,” Tilly said.
“I can talk and read.”
“You’ve asked me not to talk before.”
“Yeah, when you’re giving me play-by-play of every light we hit.”
“I just like you to be informed.”
She shook her head slightly, like she wanted to smile but did not let herself. “Something like that.”
The silence that followed was still tense, but not sharp.
Not exactly comfortable either.
The city yard was loud and freezing. Trucks idled. Workers shouted over the engines. Salt piles rose like small mountains behind fences.
Tilly filmed the usual sequence of interviews while Savannah worked through her questions. She moved with the kind of focus she only showed when she was trying not to show anything else.
Her standup went fine until the wind caught her mid-sentence and the mic crackled hard in Tilly’s headphones.
“Cut,” they said immediately. “Hold on.”
Savannah stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking toward them. Around them, engines roared, and a plow clanged into reverse. The city yard was suddenly too loud, too exposed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Cable’s loose. Don’t move.”
Tilly stepped in, faster than they meant to. Their hands found the pack at her back by instinct. The cold had stiffened the wire; it took more force than usual to seat it properly.
Savannah went completely still.
Not passive. Intentional.
Like she was aware of exactly how close they were and had decided not to step away.
Tilly could feel the heat of her through the layers. Could smell the winter air caught in her scarf. Could remember, with brutal clarity, the brush of her mouth against their cheek the night before.
“Okay,” they said, voice rougher now. “Try again.”
She didn’t move right away. Just looked at them for half a second too long.
Then she reset.
“Rolling in three, two.”
* * *
Back at the station, Savannah followed Tilly straight into the edit bay.
The room felt smaller with the door closed. Darker too, lit mostly by the glow of the monitors. Tilly slid into the chair and started loading the footage, hyper-aware of her standing just behind their shoulder.
Her sleeve brushed the back of the chair once. Light. Accidental.
Tilly noticed.
Savannah leaned forward slightly, studying the timeline as clips stacked into place. “Cut that shot,” she said when a frame showed her slipping on the ice near the plows. “No one needs to see that.”
“It proves you’re human,” Tilly said.
“I’d rather prove I can walk.”
They cut it.
The rest of the edit moved quickly. Familiar rhythm. Quiet cooperation. Too smooth for people who were pretending nothing had shifted between them.
When the package was exported, Tilly sent it to control and reached for a random drive just to have something to do with their hands.
Savannah didn’t leave.
She stayed where she was, one shoulder resting lightly against the console, watching the progress bar disappear.
“The piece looked good,” she said.
“Your sound levels were hot in the second SOT.”
“No one at home noticed.”
“People at home watch with their fridge humming.”
A small laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it. It softened her face for a second, made her look younger than she ever let herself appear on camera.
“Thanks for fixing the mic earlier,” she said. “And for cutting the ice thing.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“I know.” A beat. “Still. Thank you.”
Silence settled again. Not awkward. Just charged.
Savannah tapped her fingers once against the edge of the console like she was timing her words.
“Henry has me on a Common live tomorrow morning,” she said. “If you end up on it too, sorry in advance.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
She didn’t move.
Tilly could feel her looking at them even without turning around.
“Good work today,” she added.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
“You too.”
For a moment, it felt like something else might follow. An explanation. A joke. A second impulsive decision.
Instead, Savannah straightened.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
She opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. The light from outside spilled into the room for half a second before the door swung shut again.
Tilly sat there staring at the space she’d left behind.
The bay felt too quiet.
The whole building did.
They shut down the monitor and grabbed their bag, but the echo of her voice followed them all the way to the parking lot and into the cold evening air.
It followed them home, too.