I bent my head and kissed the crown of his hair. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” I murmured.
“I want to be,” he said.
When we turned off the water, the silence between us wasn’t empty. It was full. We dried off slowly. He stayed close, leaning into my side while I wrapped a towel around his shoulders first, rubbing warmth back into his skin like it mattered that much.
Elliot pulled on one of my hoodies, and let the sleeves swallow his hands. He stood in the doorway while I got dressed, twisting the cuff around his fingers over and over again. The unconscious little ritual he always fell into when he was overwhelmed and trying not to show it.
My chest ached at the sight of it. “You okay?” I asked gently.
He nodded. Too fast. “I will be,” he said.
I crossed the room and cupped his face in my hands, thumbs brushing the damp tracks still clinging to his cheeks. I kissed his forehead. His nose. Then finally sealed my mouth to his in a slow, anchoring kiss.
“You don’t have to be fine to go see her,” I said softly.
“I know,” he whispered.
He leaned into me like the words mattered. We didn’t rush after that. There was no ticking clock inside either of us, no unspoken urgency to get it over with.
I laced up my boots while Elliot perched on the edge of the bed in my hoodie, knees tucked up to his chest, sleeves still hiding his hands. He watched me the way he always did when he was quietly scanning my mood, trying to make sure I was steady enough to lean on.
“You don’t have to carry me today,” I told him gently.
His mouth twitched. “I know.”
He didn’t say he still wanted to anyway. It was written all over his face. The truth unmistakable in his glassy eyes.
When we stepped outside, the morning air was cool and salt-bright. Elliot slipped his hand into mine without a word. His palm was warm. Damp, still, like he hadn’t quite decided whether the day was allowed to exist yet.
I held my truck door open for him like usual and earned a peck on the cheek as he slid in. We didn’t talk much on the drive. The radio stayed off, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was careful.
By the time the ocean was visible from the road, glassy and pale under a high, cloudless sky. I knew exactly where to get her flowers from. I pulled off onto the dirt road near the beach instead of heading straight toward the cemetery. Elliot glanced over at me.
“We’ve got time,” I said quietly and squeezed his thigh. “Before we go.”
He nodded like he understood exactly why.
We walked along the scrub line near the dunes, his fingers laced with mine. The earth was dry and sandy under our boots, wind tugging softly at our hair.
Wildflowers dotted the edge of the path—yellow, white, purple, and the palest cornflower blue. Stubborn little burstsof color growing out of ground that didn’t look like it should sustain anything at all.
He crouched down first. Careful in that way grief teaches you to be. I followed his lead, like I hoped to be able to do for the rest of our lives.
“These are her favorites,” he murmured, touching one gently with his fingertip.
I watched him pick them one by one. Not correcting his frame of reference because I got it. It was like Natalie lived on here by the water. I think I finally understood why in his most broken moments Elliot was drawn to it.
Each stem snapped clean and soft under his fingers. He gathered them into a crooked, uneven bouquet that looked imperfect and alive and real. Just like him.
When he stood, he hesitated, staring down at what he’d collected, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to bring her something that beautiful.
I reached out and adjusted one of the flowers where it had drooped. “She’d love these,” I said.
His throat worked. “I always thought flowers in bouquets had to be… formal. From a shop.”
I shook my head. “These grew because they wanted to. That’s more her than anything else.”
“Yeah,” Elliot breathed, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He swallowed them down and took my hand again.
