Forty Six
Savannah told everyone it was last-minute.
A small thing. Nothing fancy. Snacks in bowls, cheap champagne, the TV muted on the countdown. She sent the group text mostly as a distraction, a half-joke she didn’t expect people to take seriously.
Then people said yes.
Jamie showed up first, shoes kicked off at the door like she owned the place.
Erin followed with a six-pack; she claimed she didn’t know how to choose responsibly.
Harper brought the napkins Savannah hadn’t remembered to buy.
Someone from promotions arrived with a half-eaten cake and an apology that made everyone laugh.
Music filled the space. The apartment felt warm and loud and alive in a way Savannah’s never did.
It should have been enough.
It wasn’t.
She hovered in the kitchen, refilling bowls that didn’t need it, wiping a counter that was already clean. She’d cleaned more than usual. Picked a playlist she hoped everyone would like. Lit the stupid candle that made the apartment smell softer, like a place someone might want to stay.
She told herself she wasn’t waiting for anyone.
That was a lie.
She hadn’t seen Tilly since the argument. Not really. Not without the careful distance they’d both pretended was fine. The one that came after Tilly had found the note on her phone. After Savannah had tried to explain. After Tilly hadn’t believed her.
Tilly is a problem.
She could still hear the way Tilly’s voice had gone quiet when they said it back to her. Not accusing. Worse. Hurt.
Savannah had snapped before she could stop herself. ‘If you don’t want to keep doing this, then don’t.’ ‘If you’re looking for a reason to leave, then leave.’
Tilly hadn’t left.
They’d just said they needed a break. A little space.
Savannah had nodded, as if that didn’t feel like the same thing.
The elevator dinged in the hallway.
Her stomach dropped before she could stop it.
She looked up too fast. Then forced herself to look away when it wasn’t Tilly, just a couple from upstairs heading somewhere else, laughing like the night had never broken their heart.
Savannah stepped back into the kitchen, pressing her fingertips to the counter until the tightness in her chest eased enough to breathe.
She hadn’t thrown the party for Tilly.
She’d thrown it because silence felt dangerous.
The clock on the cable box blinked 11:42.
Eighteen minutes until midnight.
She nodded along as Harper launched into a story about a reporter who had tried to shoot a presser while eating a granola bar.
“Did not even stop chewing,” Harper said, incredulous. “Just crumbs everywhere. Like, sir. We are live.”
Jamie laughed from the couch. “That’s what happens when you don’t respect the craft.”
Erin groaned. “Please tell me this wasn’t one of ours.”
Harper shrugged. “Unclear. But the PIO looked like she was about to commit a crime.”
Savannah laughed when she was supposed to, glass warm in her hand, eyes flicking back toward the door anyway.
When the door finally opened again, Savannah didn’t turn.
She couldn’t.
Not when she was already braced for disappointment. Not when she didn’t trust herself to look hopeful and be wrong.
She only turned when she heard Tilly’s voice.
“Hey. Sorry, I’m late.”
Their hair was wind-messed. Their jacket was still half-zipped. Their hands were in their pockets like they didn’t know what to do with them.
Their eyes found hers immediately.
Savannah looked away just as fast.
Too fast.
Jamie noticed. Harper noticed. Tilly noticed most of all.
Tilly hovered at the edge of the room for a beat, clearly unsure, then grabbed a plastic cup and came to stand beside her like it didn’t mean anything. Like their mouth hadn’t been on her neck weeks ago. Like they hadn’t left things unresolved and raw between them.
The countdown music swelled.
Ten.
Nine.
Savannah stared at the TV, pulse loud in her ears.
Eight.
Seven.
Tilly leaned closer, not touching her, just close enough to feel. “I didn’t know if you wanted me here,” they murmured.
Her throat tightened. She nodded once, unable to speak.
Six.
Five.
Tilly hesitated, like they were still fighting with themselves. Like they were still afraid of being the problem.
Four.
Three.
Savannah turned then. Really turned.
She met Tilly’s eyes and saw it all there. The apology they hadn’t figured out how to say. The regret. The wanting.
Two.
Their hand brushed hers.
Not accidentally.
One.
The room erupted.
Happy New Year rang out around them, champagne popping, laughter spilling over itself.
Tilly leaned in, waiting. Giving her the choice.
Savannah closed the distance.
The kiss wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t messy or desperate. It was slow and careful, like they were trying to say something without breaking it. Like Tilly was asking her to listen. Like they were apologizing with their mouth.
Savannah didn’t pull away.
Her fingers curled into the front of their jacket, grounding herself as her breath shook. Tilly rested their forehead against hers when they broke apart, just barely.
Savannah closed her eyes. “Tilly.”
“Let me fix it,” they said softly. “Let me apologize the right way.”
She nodded once.
They slipped out of the room hand in hand, unnoticed in the noise, into the hallway where everything went quiet.
The door shut behind them, and the party dulled to a distant hum. The hallway was cold. Still.
Tilly barely got out, “I didn’t trust you, and I hate that I—” before Savannah grabbed their jacket and kissed them again.
Harder this time. All the things she’d been holding in all night crashed into her chest at once.
They pressed her gently back against the wall, kissing her like they’d been holding their breath since the argument. Slow at first. Then not slow at all.
“We were supposed to talk,” Savannah whispered against their mouth.
“I know,” Tilly said. “I just needed you to know I’m here.”
She swallowed. “You scared me.”
“I know,” they said again, softer. “I’m sorry.”
They kissed until the cold seeped through their clothes and their lungs burned, and neither of them could remember what they’d planned to say.
“I missed you,” Tilly whispered.
Savannah felt it like a hand closing around her heart. “Yeah,” she said. “I missed you, too.”
They would talk.
Just not yet.
Back inside, Jamie was sprawled across the couch like she owned the place, champagne in hand and eyes too sharp to be trusted.
“Erin,” she stage-whispered. “Harper. Come here.”
Harper groaned. Erin leaned in anyway.
“They’re gone,” Jamie said solemnly. “Together. From Savannah’s own house.”
Erin tried not to laugh. Failed.
Harper snorted. “Mind your business much?”
“Yes! It’s a capital B,” Jamie whispered. “Hallway Business.”
“You are drunk,” Erin said.
“I am a journalist,” Jamie replied. “I know hallway behavior.”
Erin covered her mouth. Harper shook her head.
Jamie took a long sip of champagne. “They are absolutely making out.”
Erin exchanged a look with Harper.
Harper shrugged.
Jamie wasn’t subtle.
But she was probably right.