it warms up.”
She blinked, startled, like she hadn’t expected the scene to shift. Like she’d asked a question and gotten an answer from a different universe.
“I couldn’t,” she said, and her voice carried real hesitation, not the kind people perform when they want you to insist.
“You can,” I replied. “I’ve got a scarf. I’ll survive.”
The sight of it on her made my throat tighten. Not because she suddenly looked transformed, not because it was some dramatic moment of redemption. Just because it looked right. Like warmth
