“Here’s my number, in case you need something. I know you don’t have a phone, but…” He swallows. The faintest blush returns. Winnie takes the paper, so crumpled it’s almost soft now. The ink is faded too, like he wrote this a few days ago and it’s been sitting in his pocket ever since. “Thanks,” she tells him. Then again—because she actually means it: “Thanks. For this and for the training.” “Yeah, Win.” He turns away. “Anytime.”
