Page 65 of Huge Pucking Play

I sit down next to her again, gently taking both her hands in mine. Her fingers are cold. "Listen to me. You're not going to lose your job. I won't let that happen."

A tear slips down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.

"I'm so tired," she whispers. "I've been worrying about this all day. I had lunch with Sophie and she made me feel better for a bit. But then all the anxiety came back and I couldn't focus on anything."

"Poor baby." I move beside her on the couch and pull her against me. She fits perfectly in the crook of my arm, her head resting on my chest. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "You're safe here. We're going to figure this out."

She nods against my chest, but I can feel the tension still locked in her muscles.

"Have you eaten?" I ask, feeling my protective instincts kick into overdrive.

"Not since lunch and I couldn’t eat much."

"I'll make us some dinner and then we’ll talk this through. You rest here." I start to move, but her hand grips my shirt.

"Don't go yet. Just...stay like this for a minute."

I settle back, holding her closer. My anger at Marjorie simmers, but I push it down. Right now, Cyn needs calm. She needs safety. Everything else can wait.

"I've got you," I murmur into her hair. "Both of you. And I'm not going anywhere."

Eventually I get up and head to the kitchen. I stand in front of my open refrigerator, surveying the contents with new purpose. I need something that will tempt Cyn’s appetite, something warm and comforting. My eyes land on a block of sharp cheddar, some gruyere and a loaf of sourdough bread. Perfect. Grilled cheese and tomato soup—the kind of food that feels like a hug from the inside.

"Do you think you can eat?" I call to her.

"Actually, yes." She appears in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the frame. The color has returned to her cheeks, and she's pulled her hair free of its ponytail. "What are you making?"

"Grilled cheese and a can of tomato soup." I pull out the ingredients, setting them on the counter. “I wish I had the time and ingredients to make you some soup, but this will have to do.”

She smiles, a real one this time. "Sounds perfect."

She sits at the kitchen island, watching me work. I feel her eyes follow my movements as I slice the cheddar into precise pieces.

“I love that you cook.”

I arrange the cheese on the bread. "Good with a stick, good with a knife."

Her laugh is soft but genuine. "I don't think those skills are related."

I laugh and begin melting butter in a pan. "I worry about you not eating enough."

"I'm eating." She rests her chin in her hand. "Just...selectively."

"Selectively meaning 'hardly at all'?" I raise an eyebrow as I stir the soup warming on the adjacent burner.

"I've found what works." She tucks her feet up onto the stool, looking more relaxed. "Lots of ginger tea. And crackers."

"Crackers aren't a meal." I flip the sandwiches, revealing perfectly golden-brown exteriors.

"I've also been doing acupuncture." She says it like she's confessing to something scandalous.

This catches my attention. I turn to look at her. "Really? And it helps?"

She nods. "Surprisingly, yes. I was skeptical, but after the first session, the morning sickness wasn't as bad."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for an alternative medicine person." I plate the sandwiches, cutting them diagonally—the only way to cut a grilled cheese.

"I wasn't until I experienced morning sickness." She accepts the plate I slide toward her. "Desperate times."

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