Forty Nine
The grocery cart pulled to the left every time Tilly tried to turn it.
They noticed.
They didn’t fix it.
Savannah walked beside them, close enough that her sleeve brushed theirs now and then. She didn’t apologize for it. Didn’t correct her path. Just stayed where she was.
That part still surprised Tilly.
The store was crowded in the way it always was on a Friday night. People lingering in aisles. Music low and tinny overhead. The normal hum of an evening that expected nothing from them beyond showing up and buying food.
Savannah stopped at the produce wall and leaned in like she was studying evidence.
Tilly watched her without comment.
Her hair was pulled back messily, hoodie half-zipped, hands shoved into the sleeves. She looked softer like this. Less sharpened. Savannah reached for a bag of mini cucumbers, paused, then glanced back at Tilly.
“Mini or regular?”
“Mini,” Tilly said.
Savannah nodded and dropped them into the cart. No hesitation after that. No checking their face.
Tilly felt the release of it low in their chest. Small. Quiet.
They moved on.
“Do we need lemons?” Savannah asked.
Tilly checked the list on their phone. Savannah’s handwriting transferred into neat bullet points, stars next to things she cared about.
“Yeah. Two.”
“Two lemons,” Savannah said, satisfied. “Like a reasonable person.”
Tilly snorted. “You bought eight limes last time.”
“We used them.”
“For drinks.”
“That still counts.”
Savannah bumped her shoulder lightly into Tilly’s, deliberately.
“You’re lucky I’m charming.”
Tilly glanced at her. Savannah wasn’t watching for a reaction. She was already turning back toward the cart.
“Yeah,” Tilly said. “I am.”
Savannah smiled like she hadn’t expected the answer to land that easily, but she didn’t deflect it. She just kept walking.
They picked up pasta. Sauce. Vegetables. Savannah held up two boxes of penne.
“Too much?”
“Jamie eats like she’s planning for a famine,” Tilly said. “Erin pretends she doesn’t.”
Savannah laughed. “Good intel.”
At the dairy case, Savannah stalled.
“I hate this part,” she said.
“Milk?”
“There are too many kinds.”
Tilly reached past her and grabbed the carton they always bought.
“This one,” they said.
Savannah stared at it for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. That one.”
Checkout was uneventful. Savannah bagged. Tilly paid. Their hands brushed once at the handle. Neither of them jumped.
Outside, the cold hit sharply. Savannah inhaled and looped her arm through Tilly’s without looking.
Tilly thought, briefly, of the night everything had cracked. One word. One assumption. How fast fear could rewrite a story.
Savannah squeezed their arm. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t press.
They walked to the car together.
* * *
Savannah’s apartment warmed quickly. Garlic hit the pan. Onion followed. Tilly chopped while Savannah washed produce at the sink. They moved around each other without friction, instinctive spacing, and shared awareness.
Savannah’s phone sat face down on the table.
Tilly noticed.
They slid the onions into the pan and listened to the sizzle.
Savannah leaned back against the counter, watching them. Not distracted. Not scanning. Just there.
“What?” Tilly asked.
Savannah shook her head. “Nothing. I just…”
She stopped.
Tilly waited.
“I like this,” Savannah said. “I like who I am in this.”
Tilly felt it register before they named it.
“Me too,” they said.
Savannah nodded, gaze dropping. “I’ve been… steady. Lately.”
Tilly set the spoon down. “I can tell.”
Savannah looked up. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn’t unraveling.
“I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.”
Tilly stepped closer and rested their hands on the counter on either side of her. Not pinning. Just close enough to matter.
Savannah inhaled.
“I love you.”
The words landed wrong first. Not badly. Just suddenly.
Tilly felt their chest tighten, instinctive and sharp, like their body needed a second to decide what to do with something that fragile.
Savannah froze immediately. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, I just—”
Tilly moved before the rest of it could spill out. Hands at her hips. Solid.
“Hey,” they said.
Savannah stopped.
Tilly waited until she was looking at them. Really looking.
They didn’t say it back. The word sat heavily in their mouth, not wrong, just not ready to be spoken aloud yet. They refused to rush it into something smaller than it deserved.
“I heard you,” Tilly said.
Savannah searched their face, bracing.
“I’m here,” Tilly added. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That was the sentence that landed.
Savannah’s shoulders dropped. Her breath left her in a slow rush. She leaned forward and kissed them, careful and unsteady.
Tilly kissed her back, grounding, one hand steady at her waist.
They rested their foreheads together for a beat.
“Okay,” Savannah murmured.
Tilly nodded once. “Okay.”
The timer went off.
Savannah laughed quietly and wiped at her eyes. “We should finish this. They’ll be here soon.”
Tilly didn’t move right away. They stayed where they were, memorizing the fact that nothing had broken.
Then Savannah turned back to the stove and picked up the spoon like this was just part of the night.
“Can you set the table?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Tilly said, reaching for plates.
They lined them up. Forks. Glasses. Ordinary things. Necessary things.
The kitchen warmed. The door would ring soon.
Tilly watched Savannah move around the space as if she belonged there. Like she wasn’t waiting to be asked to stay.
Still here, Tilly thought.
Still choosing.