An unknown amount of time passes before Christian steps back into the bathroom, in one hand, fuzzy socks, a pair of panties, and my favorite sleep shorts. Thrown over his shoulder, one of his sweaters. I know it’s his because it’s way bigger than I am, and it’s a deep, ruby red. I have no such color in my entire wardrobe. He places the clothes on the counter and lets me get dressed alone. When I pull the sweater over my head, the familiar scent of him warms not only the chill in my bones, but the emptiness in my soul.
