“Smells … smells were the worst for me,” he murmurs, chin grazing my ponytail. “They hang on the longest, and you can’t see them coming, so there’s no way to avoid them. Like living with a ghost. I’d walk upstairs and swear you were there sometimes, it’d be so strong, out of nowhere. Worse after it rained, like some old sports injury or something.” His low laugh is devoid of any humor. “I replaced the bedding and pillows and our bed still smells like you.”
