I haven’t.
Not when it comes to her.
The tension swells again. Too much, too close, too familiar.
She crouches down to the lower cabinet, and I catch a glimpse of her hair sliding over her shoulder. A strand brushes the back of her arm, and the sight is so stupidly intimate my chest feels tight.
She asks, without looking back, “Are you going to keep staring at me, or do you want to finish inventory?”
My pulse jolts.
She’s still got claws.
Good.
Bit by bit, I feel the old rhythm kicking in. That push-pull. That spark. The thing we never named but both burned for.
I clear my throat. “I wasn’t staring.”
She glances over her shoulder, brows raised. “You absolutely were.”
Caught.
I don’t deny it. “Can’t help it.”
Her eyes widen slightly—like she wasn’t expecting that.
Neither was I, honestly.
She stands, closing the cabinet quietly. “We’re coworkers now.”
“Right.”
“Professionals.”
“Sure.”
“We should keep things… simple.”
I bite back a laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
She narrows her eyes. “Meaning?”
“Meaning nothing about this is simple.”
Her inhale is sharp. Controlled. “You don’t know that.”
“Savannah.” Her name slides out before I can stop it. Soft. Low. Dangerous. “I know exactly what this is.”
She freezes.
And for the first time since she stepped into the station, I see it. The crack in her armor. The flicker of the girl I knew buried beneath the woman she’s become.
She looks away, gaze dropping to the floor. “We should finish the check.”
Avoidance. Classic Savannah move.
I play along—for now.
