And that alarm had a very specific source.
As far as yesterday's misunderstanding went, Evy had actually apologized.
She had sent him a sweet, slightly frantic little message saying sorry for the stalker remark.
On the surface, it was perfectly nice. Perfectly normal. The kind of apology a flustered girl might type at two in the morning, stare at for seven full minutes, send in a burst of panic, then throw her phone face down as if the device had personally betrayed her.
He could recall it word for word.
He had read it more times than he wanted to admit, turning it over in his mind because something inside it had snagged at him:
