She hugged the snow jacket over her black turtleneck, bracing against the wind. The place was packed; there were balloons, food stands and performers in the centre of the room.
Rachel made her way through the crowd, towards Paul. “Where is she?”
“Stop complaining. I know you don’t get out much. I was starting to worry about you.”
“There’s a reason I don’t get out. It’s bloody cold.”
“Please, I’m worried about you. She’s not like you. She can’t just shut herself indoors all day.”
“You can’t ransom her off whenever want to speak to me.”
“Then talk to me.”
Prompt from Friday Fictioneers