The suggestion jolted Yvan. He hung up abruptly and sped back home.
As soon as he walked in, he saw the lights were on. Someone was definitely here.
Yvan rushed into Winifred's bedroom.
There she was, her back to him, folding clothes. She turned around at the sound of his arrival.
"You—"
Before Winifred could say another word, Yvan pulled her into a fierce hug.
"Where did you go? Why was your phone off?" he demanded, his arms tight around her. His voice was a mix of anger and reproach, but mostly overwhelming relief.
Winifred could barely breathe, confused by his intense reaction.
She pushed against him. "Yvan, what are you doing? Let me go!"
He wouldn't release her. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? I couldn't reach you. I thought something had happened."
From his frantic words, she pieced it together. He couldn't get through to her and had assumed the worst.
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"My phone died, that's all," Winifred explained. "I just went out for a bit. What could possibly happen?"
"Who knows? Your concussion isn't fully healed, and you just saw Zebulon. It's snowing out... I was just scared. Scared you'd have an accident, or collapse somewhere," Yvan murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
His warm breath on her skin sent a strange shiver through her.
This was too close. This wasn't how normal friends behaved.
She pushed him away with more force.
"Thank you for worrying about me," she said, biting her lip. "I... I just went back to my apartment. I saw that the paint was all cleaned up. Thank you."



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