Emma turned to look at him. The porch light caught the side of his face, the stubble he hadn’t shaved in three days, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there on their wedding day.
“Put them on me. Like you did before.” Cold Feet
“I keep them in my nightstand,” he said, not looking at her. “I don’t know why. I just… I couldn’t throw them away.” Emma turned to look at him
She remembered. She’d meant it as a joke. But he’d taken off his own boots, pulled off his thick wool socks, and knelt in the snow to put them on her feet. His hands had been red and shaking. His smile had been the warmest thing she’d ever seen. Like you did before
They sat with that for a moment. The wind picked up, rattled the bare branches of the oak tree. Emma shivered.