Page 60 of Siren's Game

I throw her the little penguin plush, and she catches it effortlessly.

Damn, maybe she should trade jobs with Luca for the charity match. She's a pro. I doubt Luca is a good dancer though. Or singer. Yeah, now that I think about it, they would absolutely boo him off stage.

"Oh my God." She looks at the little toy with wide eyes, turning it in her hands. "That's so cute!" Suddenly, her eyes turn glassy. "Oh my God, it is wearing a bunny costume, are you kidding me?" Her voice breaks and I look at her, startled.

She looks at the plush with watery eyes and my heart starts bouncing in my chest. What did I do? Is something wrong? She looks . . . happy though? She's smiling, at least.

I'll take that as a win.

"You should name him," I tell her, trying for a lighthearted tone, because if there’s one thing I’m not good at, it’s emotions, and open her cupboards again.

Didn’t I just see . . .? Ah, there it is. An electric kettle.

When I look back at her, she eyes the plush deep in thought, tilting it right to left and left to right as she contemplates names. Then she looks up at me with a softened expression.

"I name her Poppy the Penguin," she declares, holding the toy up like the baby in Lion King.

"Poppy?"

"No, like, the full thing. Poppy the Penguin."

"Sounds like a certain super spy. The name’s Poppy. Poppy the Penguin. It's quite a mouthful." She chuckles before she continues to turn the plush in her hands.

"Thank you, Asher." She says it so quietly I almost don't hear it over the boiling water. And I figure that's the point, so I don't push it.

Instead, I grab the hot water bottle and fill it, almost burning my hand on a scalding hot splash. The sacrifices I’m bringing here should really be appreciated. I think I deserve my own statue.

"Here you go," I say and hand her the hot water bottle before I grab the blanket from the last bag in the kitchen and carry it over to the living room as well. "Come on, get comfy."

She shuffles around for a bit until she lies half on the couch and half on the armrest, Poppy the Penguin clutched to her chest and the hot water bottle on her stomach. Then I throw the blanket over her.

"What the—” She pulls at the fabric, making surprised sounds as she tries to fight it off. “This is so heavy." Finally, she manages to pull it off her head and looks at it confused.

"Yep, it's a weighted blanket. Didn't know what exactly you had, but it's supposed to help you sleep and I figured that would make sense either way."

"That's . . . surprisingly thoughtful," she says, her voice full of skepticism, which I decide to ignore. I am very thoughtful but I understand why she’s not very convinced of that.

"Now, what are we doing?" I let myself fall on the couch, somewhere she doesn’t have her legs spread out under the blanket and lay my head back, stifling a yawn. It's been a long day.

"I was watching a true crime series," she admits and looks at me with skeptical eyes, cuddling Poppy the Penguin close to her chest.

True crime? Honestly, that sounds easy enough to ignore. My brain is not in sponge mode anymore, so something simple sounds right up my alley.

"Sounds perfect."

She grins at me and reaches for the remote, even re-starting the episode for me.

For a while, we sit in silence, listening to very calming male voice explaining how forensics manage to reveal murderers and rapists. It's surprisingly engaging and even though I was convinced the documentary style would make me fall asleep quickly, I find myself curious of what happens next.

"Why are you really here, Asher?" Kayla asks me during a quick episode recap, and I shrug, watching her from the corner of my eyes.

She's like a cat. When she's curious, she will approach you hesitantly, but I'm scared that the slightest slip, the smallest movement, will spook her enough to run off and bring us back to square one.

"Because I was worried about you," I say and turn to look at her.

"Worried?" She tilts her head and looks at me with wide eyes. "Why?"

"Because," I start, then stop myself and take a deep breath.

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