The white of his button-up glows, leaching his skin of color. Before Winnie’s eyes, he becomes a ghost. A ghost with very nice shoulders. “Here.” He offers her the coat. “You’re freezing.” She doesn’t disagree, and she doesn’t argue. The captured heat from his body radiates off the coat, and in seconds, she is snuggled deep inside. It smells like him. Like bergamot and lime and a forest shrouded in spring.
