The question cracks me open.
Because I don’t know.
I need the internet to forget me. I need Marcus to vanish. I need Dottie to drop her phone into a well. I need Boone not to look at me like he did something wrong just by wanting me.
I need… so many impossible things.
“I don’t know,” I croak.
He nods like that’s a perfectly reasonable answer.
“Okay,” he says. “Then we start small. You need water?”
I almost laugh.
“Are you… trying to hydrate me out of my feelings?”
“Dehydration makes everything worse,” he says, entirely serious.
A tiny, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “Water would be good.”
He pushes to his feet with a small grunt and crosses to the sink. Glass clinks. The faucet runs. Then, he comes back and hands me the glass, fingers brushing mine. The contact sends a stupid little spark up my arm.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Anytime.”
I take a sip.
The cool water hits my tongue, slides down my throat, and suddenly I realize how dry my mouth is, how my whole body has been clenched for so long it forgot how to do anything else.
I drink half the glass in one go.
He watches me, eyes soft.
“You don’t have to keep cooking today,” he says. “We can figure something out.”
That panicked part of my brain, the one that’s been trained to equate usefulness with worth, flares.
“I can’t just not cook,” I protest. “That’s my job.”
“You’re also a person,” he says. “People get to fall apart sometimes.”
“And who feeds everyone while I’m busy collapsing in a corner?”
“I can make grilled cheese,” he offers.
A watery laugh escapes me. “You put the cheese on top of the bread the other day.”
“It still tasted good.”
“You are a menace to sandwiches.”
He shrugs. “Silas can order pizza. Boone can grill something.”
The mention of their names makes my chest squeeze.
