Forty Two
Two days later, Savannah realized she hadn’t braced herself before walking into the newsroom.
The thought came halfway to her desk when she noticed she wasn’t scanning for exits or rehearsing neutral expressions. She was just… walking. Coffee in hand. Bag slung over her shoulder. Breathing normally.
Tilly was already there, leaning against the counter by the equipment lockers, camera bag at their feet. They glanced up when Savannah passed and smiled. Not big. Not careful. Just easy.
Savannah smiled back without thinking.
That was how Jamie noticed.
Jamie raised an eyebrow from across the room, the look quick but unmistakable. Savannah pretended not to see it and focused on her desk, but she could feel the heat creeping up her neck anyway.
Harper noticed too, but didn’t say anything at first. She just watched Savannah over the top of her monitor, lips pressed together like she was holding back a comment.
Savannah felt it immediately. “What?”
Harper’s mouth twitched. “Nothing.”
“That’s never true.”
Harper leaned back in her chair. “You just seem… well-rested.”
Savannah scoffed. “I slept like six hours.”
“Mmhmm,” Harper said. “And you’ve known me long enough to know that’s not what I mean.”
Savannah’s face went hot. “Harper.”
“I’m just saying,” Harper continued, far too pleased with herself, “you’ve got that glow people get when they’re not sleeping alone anymore.”
Savannah glanced around on instinct, then lowered her voice. “You cannot say things like that at work.”
Harper smiled sweetly. “I absolutely can if I don’t say anything specific.”
Savannah dragged a hand down her face. “We are coworkers.”
“And yet,” Harper said, unfazed, “you’re blushing like I just walked in on something.”
“That’s not—” Savannah stopped, sighed, then laughed quietly. “Okay. Fine. We’re… together.”
Harper’s eyebrows lifted. “Together together?”
Savannah hesitated for half a second too long. “We’re… trying it out.”
Harper nodded, satisfied. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Savannah shot her a look. “What does that mean?”
“It means you didn’t deny it,” Harper said. “And you didn’t say ‘we’re just hanging out.’ Which tells me you’re not just hanging out.”
Savannah’s mouth twitched despite herself. “We’re being careful.”
“I love that for you,” Harper said. “But also, congratulations on having sex with someone you actually like.”
Savannah nearly dropped her pen. “Oh, my god.”
Harper laughed, low and delighted. “Relax. I’m happy for you.”
Savannah shook her head, cheeks still burning. “I hate that you can read me this easily.”
Harper stood, tapping Savannah’s desk once. “You don’t hate it. You just hate that you’re not hiding it.”
Savannah watched her walk away, heart still thudding, then glanced toward the equipment lockers.
Tilly was there, laughing quietly at something someone said.
Savannah smiled.
Harper wasn’t wrong. They were sleeping together.
And for once, Savannah wasn’t trying to pretend it didn’t matter.
* * *
Out in the field, everything clicked.
They were set up outside a Dorchester triple-decker, red and blue lights still pulsing against the clapboard siding as firefighters rolled the hose back toward the trucks.
The street smelled faintly of smoke and wet wood.
Yellow tape cut the sidewalk in half, forcing neighbors to cluster across the street in coats and slippers.
A family stood near the curb, wrapped in Red Cross blankets. One of the kids clutched a stuffed unicorn, its horn bent slightly to one side like it had been grabbed in a hurry.
Savannah had one earbud in, listening to the producer.
“Two treated for smoke inhalation,” she repeated quietly. “No serious injuries. Fire started on the second floor. Cause under investigation.”
She turned back, and Tilly was already there.
The tripod was set. The frame was clean. Ladder truck, flashing lights, the darkened second-floor windows, all balanced without crowding the family across the street. Tilly lifted two fingers in a quick, silent question.
Savannah nodded once.
Tilly adjusted without a word.
Savannah zipped her jacket, tucked her notes into her pocket, and stepped into position. Tilly handed her the mic without looking, their timing so smooth that Savannah didn’t even break stride.
“You good?” Tilly asked.
“Yeah,” Savannah said. “Same plan.”
Tilly’s eyebrow flicked up. “Got it.”
Savannah took a breath and launched into the standup, voice steady.
“An early-morning fire forced residents out of this Dorchester triple-decker just before sunrise—”
She gestured back toward the building, and Tilly widened the shot exactly when she needed it, catching the ladder truck and the blackened windows. Savannah didn’t think about pacing or framing. She didn’t have to.
When she wrapped, Tilly lowered the camera and grinned.
“That was clean,” they said.
Savannah laughed, breathless. “Right?”
They reset in sync. Savannah checked her phone while Tilly swapped lenses. Another crew glanced over, then looked away again, clearly clocking that they were watching something work.
Savannah’s IFB crackled.
“Stand by,” the producer said. “Fire department briefing in five.”
“Copy,” Savannah replied. She glanced at Tilly. “Five minutes.”
Tilly was already moving. “We’re ready.”
Savannah adjusted her jacket, squared her shoulders, and stepped back toward the camera position.
This wasn’t careful anymore.
It was instinct.
“Let’s grab one more for safety,” Savannah said.
Tilly was already rolling. “Already on it.”
Savannah smiled as she stepped into frame.
They weren’t just covering the story.
They were owning it.
By the time they packed up, the street had settled.
The fire trucks pulled away one by one, the lights disappearing down the block. The family with the unicorn had been ushered somewhere warm. The sidewalk tape came down. What had felt urgent an hour ago already had the hollow quiet of something finished.
Savannah slung her bag over her shoulder and exhaled. “Okay,” she said. “I think we actually nailed that.”
Tilly locked the tripod and glanced up at her, a grin already there. “We absolutely nailed that.”
Savannah laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “That second live shot? I didn’t even feel my heart rate spike.”
“Same,” Tilly said. “Which is wild, because normally that’s when everything goes sideways.”
They loaded the gear into the car, movements still in sync, like the rhythm hadn’t shut off just because the camera had. Savannah slid into the passenger seat and buckled, her phone buzzing with a quick text from the producer.
Clean hits. Nice work.
She held it up. “Producer approved.”
Tilly pulled out from the curb, triumphant. “I love to hear it.”
They drove in companionable silence for a minute, the adrenaline slowly bleeding off, replaced by something lighter. Savannah glanced over at Tilly, who was drumming their fingers against the steering wheel, still smiling to themself.
“You know,” Savannah said, “we’re going to jinx it if we keep talking about how good that was.”
Tilly shot her a look. “Let me have five minutes. Just five.”
Savannah laughed. “Okay, fine. Five.”
They hit a red light, and Tilly gestured toward the corner. “You hungry?”
Savannah blinked. “Always.”
“There’s that place by the station,” Tilly said. “The one with the breakfast sandwiches that are way too good for how sketchy it looks.”
Savannah grinned. “The one everyone swears made half the station sick last winter?”
“That’s never been proven,” Tilly said. “And yet people keep going back.”
Savannah laughed. “That’s journalism for you.”
“I survived,” Tilly added. “Probably.”
Savannah snorted. “High praise.”
They pulled over a few minutes later, the place already busy with other crews in jackets and station logos. Savannah leaned against the car while Tilly ordered, both of them talking over each other now, replaying moments from the shoot.
“Did you see that angle when the ladder truck pulled away?”
“Yes,” Savannah said. “I was trying not to smile on camera.”
“You failed,” Tilly said. “Just a little.”
“Good,” Savannah said. “They should know we’re excellent.”
Their food arrived, greasy and perfect, and they sat on the curb for a minute, unbothered by appearances.
Savannah took a bite and sighed. “Okay. Worth the risk.”
Tilly laughed. “Told you.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a beat, then Savannah said, quieter now, “It feels good. Working like that.”
Tilly nodded. “Yeah. It does.”
They exchanged a look, warm and charged in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with trust.
Savannah wiped her hands on a napkin and stood. “Come on. Let’s get back before the desk starts wondering where we disappeared to.”
Tilly tossed their trash and followed her to the car. “Let them wonder. We earned it.”
Savannah smiled as she climbed back in.
They had earned it.
And they both knew it.