Those kinds of details are keeping her from splintering in his arms. She has to focus on what's tangible, what she can cross off a list on a Post-It, because if she doesn't --

Bill's hand on her back and lips against her hair triple the burn behind her eyes and the tickling in the back of her throat; she pulls away just enough to look up at him, and her free hand finds his jaw, fingertips ghosting over the light stubble there.

"I'll pick up a new razor for you tomorrow. I've been using yours in the shower, it's all dull."