Forty Eight
Two weeks later, Savannah realized she hadn’t checked the exits in a while.
The thought came to her halfway through the morning rundown, standing at her desk with her coffee cooling untouched beside her. She was listening, actually listening, not just waiting for her turn to speak or bracing for something to go wrong. It startled her enough that she almost missed her name.
“Sav?”
She looked up. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Harper smirked. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Savannah said, and this time it wasn’t a lie she had to convince herself of.
She scribbled a note in the margin of her planner, more out of habit than necessity, then closed it. The newsroom hummed the way it always did. Phones ringing. Producers calling out blocks. Someone was laughing too loudly near the assignment desk.
Normal.
She used to need that word like armor. Now it just felt descriptive.
Across the room, Tilly was checking their camera settings, head tilted slightly, focus complete. They glanced up when Savannah looked over and smiled. Not the careful kind. Not the kind that asked a question.
Just a smile.
Savannah felt it settle in her chest, warm and unremarkable in the best way.
They hadn’t labeled anything new in the last two weeks. They hadn’t made any big declarations or promises. They had just kept showing up. To work. To dinner. To each other.
Savannah still overthought sometimes. That hadn’t magically disappeared. But the difference was that she didn’t disappear with it anymore.
She had caught herself nearly doing it once, a few nights ago. A familiar tightening in her chest. The instinct to retreat, to cancel, to say she was tired instead of explaining why she felt off.
Instead, she had told Tilly the truth.
“I’m in my head,” she had said, standing in her kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand.
Tilly hadn’t tried to fix it. They had just nodded. “Okay. Want company or space?”
Savannah had surprised herself with the answer.
“Company.”
And that had been it.
No spiral. No fallout. No apology tour afterward.
Just dinner, quiet, and staying.
Now, two weeks later, the absence of chaos felt like its own kind of accomplishment.
Jamie passed by her desk, paused, then doubled back.
“You’re weirdly calm today,” she said.
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Is that an insult?”
Jamie smiled. “It’s an observation.”
Savannah glanced toward Tilly again, then back at Jamie. “I’m fine.”
Jamie studied her for a second longer, then nodded. “Good.”
It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t prying. Just acknowledgment.
Later, out in the field, everything flowed the way it had been lately. Easy handoffs. No words wasted. Tilly moved like they trusted Savannah to lead, and Savannah led like she trusted Tilly to catch every angle she missed.
They wrapped early. Clean hits. No stress.
On the drive back, Savannah watched the city pass by and thought, not for the first time, that this was what she had been missing before. Not the excitement. Not the adrenaline.
The steadiness.
When they pulled into the station lot, Tilly cut the engine and turned to her. “You good if I come by later?”
Savannah didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Tilly smiled. “Cool.”
They didn’t kiss. They didn’t need to. The ease of it mattered more.
That night, Savannah stood in her apartment, barefoot on the kitchen tile, putting groceries away. She paused with a carton of eggs in her hands and laughed softly at herself.
She used to measure happiness in spikes.
Now she knew better.
She set the eggs in the fridge and closed the door.
This wasn’t fragile.
It wasn’t precarious.
It was steady.
And for the first time, Savannah didn’t feel the urge to test it just to see if it would break.
She picked up her phone and texted Tilly.
You still want to come over?
The reply came almost immediately.
Yeah. On my way.
Savannah smiled, leaning back against the counter, and let herself feel the quiet certainty of it.
She checked the stove, adjusted the flame, and leaned her hip against the counter while the pan warmed.
She hadn’t cooked like this in a while. Not rushed.
Not distracted. Just cooking. She caught herself humming absently, some half-remembered song looping under her breath, and stopped when she noticed.
That was new, too.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Outside, Tilly texted.
Savannah smiled and set the phone down without answering. She crossed the apartment, unlocked the door, and stepped back just as Tilly pushed it open with their shoulder, grocery bag hanging from one arm.
“Hey,” they said.
“Hey,” Savannah replied, taking the bag automatically and setting it on the counter.
Tilly shrugged out of their jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. They washed their hands at the sink without being asked, then leaned back against the counter, watching Savannah work.
“You’re in a good mood,” they said.
Savannah glanced at them. “Is that allowed?”
“Highly encouraged,” Tilly said.
She smiled and went back to the stove. “Work was easy today.”
Tilly nodded. “It was.”
They ate shoulder to shoulder, quiet and easy. Savannah noticed she wasn’t counting beats anymore.
Later, when the dishes were done and the kitchen was clean, Savannah curled up on the couch with her feet tucked under her, the TV playing something low and forgettable. Tilly sat beside her, not quite touching, close enough that their knees brushed when they shifted.
Savannah leaned into it without thinking.
The contact felt natural. Unremarkable. Like this was where she was supposed to be.
Tilly shifted beside her again, their knee brushing hers once more.
Savannah became aware of how close they actually were. The warmth of Tilly’s thigh. The steady rise and fall of their chest. How nothing was rushing her.
This time, she didn’t just lean into it.
She turned.
Not rushed. Not nervous. Just deliberate.
Tilly looked down at her, something curious and warm in their expression. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Savannah said.
She reached out and rested her hand on Tilly’s thigh, fingers spreading there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Tilly stilled.
Not pulling away. Just paying attention.
Savannah watched their throat move when they swallowed. Watched the way their breathing changed, subtle but unmistakable.
“Is this okay?” she asked quietly.
Tilly nodded once. “Yeah.”
That was all Savannah needed.
She leaned in and kissed them.
Not urgent. Not careful. Just sure.
Tilly’s hand came up to her waist, warm and steady, thumb pressing lightly into her side like they were anchoring them both. Savannah shifted closer, her knee sliding between theirs, the contact sending a slow, familiar heat through her chest.
It spread instead of spiking. Warm, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
This wasn’t the kind of kiss that unraveled her.
It settled her.
She pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Tilly’s. Their noses brushed when they spoke.
“This still feels… good,” Savannah said, a little breathless.
“It does,” Tilly agreed.
Savannah smiled, small and honest, then kissed them again. Deeper this time. Her fingers curled into the fabric of their shirt, grounding herself in the fact that they were here. That they hadn’t disappeared. That she hadn’t scared them off by needing them.
Tilly’s hand slid from her waist to her back, firm but unhurried, pulling her fully against them. Savannah felt it everywhere. The heat. The want. The safety of it.
She broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, pressing her forehead to Tilly’s jaw. “We should probably move before I fall asleep on you.”
Tilly smiled into her hair. “Bedroom?”
Savannah didn’t answer right away.
She kissed them once more, slower this time, then nodded.
Savannah took Tilly’s hand and led them down the hall, fingers laced tight like she didn’t want to risk losing momentum.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the spill of city light through the window. Savannah didn’t stop when they reached the bed. She turned instead, backing Tilly toward it, her hands already sliding up their arms, relearning the shape of them with quiet confidence.
Tilly’s breath hitched when Savannah kissed them again, slower now, deeper, all heat and patience. Their hands settled at Savannah’s waist, thumbs pressing in like they were grounding them both, like they were here and staying.
Savannah smiled against their mouth, soft and sure, and pushed them down onto the mattress.
Later, with the city humming outside and the sheets warm around them, Savannah let herself relax fully into the quiet certainty she’d been building toward all night.
This wasn’t a question.
It was a choice.