He chuckled. “Better than my current smell.”

I hadn’t heard him laugh before. It was such a welcomed sound. "Okay, well, anything you need can be found under the sink, too. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I said, and I meant it.

He began chewing on the inside of his cheek and nodded once before closing himself into the bathroom. A sigh left me as I disappeared to go put Emma to bed to keep myself busy until Tristan was done in the shower.

Walking down the hallway toward the bathroom, I paused when I reached the open door. Tristan was standing in front of the bathroom sink wearing only the sweatpants I’d given him.

Tristan ran his hands through his long, wet hair that he tossed into a man bun on his head. He brought a razorblade to his upper lip, making me twitch. “You’re shaving?”

He stopped his movement and glanced my way once before he made his mustache cease to exist. He then trimmed his beard to the point that it was almost invisible.

“You shaved.” I sighed, staring at a man who looked so different than mere minutes before. His lips looked fuller, his eyes brighter.

He broke his stare away from me and went back to studying his now nude face in the mirror. “I didn’t want to look like a serial killer, or worse—Hitler.”

My stomach dropped. “You overheard Tanner.”

He didn’t reply.

“You didn’t look like Hitler,” I said softly, making him turn and notice that I was gawking at his every move. Trying my best to gather my scattered thoughts, I kept speaking. “His comment didn’t even really make sense because you know Hitler had the”—I placed my finger under my nose—“little mustache and you had the”—I moved my hands all around my chin—“lumberjack type beard. Tanner, he was just being…I don’t know…protective of me in a weird way. He’s like my big brother. But he was wrong to say those things. And out of line.”

His face was stone as his gaze searched mine. He had such solid bone structure that made it almost impossible to look away from him. Tristan lifted the shirt from the countertop and slid it over his body before he walked past me, brushing against my shoulder. “Thanks again,” he said.

“Again, anytime.”

“Is it hard? Seeing me wearing his clothes?”

“Yes. But at the same time, it just makes me want to hug you, because it would kind of be like hugging him.”

“That’s weird.” He smiled, playfully.

“I’m weird.”

I didn’t expect it, but when his arms wrapped around me, I slowly melted into him. What was shocking was how far away from sadness I felt in that moment. There was something about the way he softly massaged my back and gently rested his chin on my head that brought me a level of peace I hadn’t seen in some time. I felt selfish, holding on to him tighter, because I wasn’t ready to release the feeling of not being alone. Within those few minutes of Tristan holding me, my mind stopped reminding me how lonely I was. Within those few quiet moments, I found the comfort I’d been missing.

I hadn’t even noticed I was crying until I felt his thumbs rubbing beneath my eyes, wiping the tears away. We were closer together, my hands twisted against the T-shirt, his hands pulling me closer to his body. When his lips separated, my own parted, and we breathed against one another. As his eyes closed, mine faded shut, and we stayed quiet together. I wasn’t certain whose lips touched whose first, but we kept them pressed together. We weren’t kissing, but merely holding our mouths together, sending breaths into one another’s lungs, holding each other up from falling into our own obscurity.

Tristan breathed in while I breathed out.

I thought about kissing him.

“My hot water isn’t out,” he said softly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

I thought about kissing him again.

I looked up into his stormy eyes and saw a bit of life. My heartbeats quickened as I held on to him, not wanting to let go any time soon.

“I should go,” he said.

“You should go,” I replied.

I thought about kissing him some more.

“Unless you stayed,” I said.

“Unless I stayed,” he replied.

“My best friend told me I should use sex to help me move on from losing Steven.” I sighed against his lips. “But I’m not ready to forget. I’m not ready to move on. But I do want this.” I sighed, studying his embrace of me. “I want you to be here with me, because it helps me. It helps me remember what it felt like to be wanted. I just.” I lowered my head, almost embarrassed by my words. “I miss having someone to take care of me.”

Tristan stepped closer, lowered his voice, and brushed his lips against my ear. “I’ll help. I’ll help you hold onto him. I’ll help you remember. I’ll take care of you.”

“We’ll use each other to remember them?”

“Only if you want to.”

“This sounds like a terrible idea, in the best kind of way.”

“There’s still this giant part of me that misses Jamie every day. And holding you”—his tongue gently danced across my bottom lip—“helps me remember holding her.”

“Feeling your heartbeats”—I placed my hand against his chest—“reminds me of his heartbeats.”

“Running my fingers through your hair”—he tangled his hands through my blonde locks, making me gasp lightly—“helps me remember her.”