It tasted fine, and the warmth of it was soothing all in itself, but still, something in my stomach disagreed with me.
“Is it okay?” Jace asked, immediately alert.
“Yeah,” I said too quickly. I forced another spoonful, my throat closing around it. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t quite get a full breath.
I set the spoon down.
Jace frowned, his eyes full of concern. “Baby—”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, heat rushing to my face as my eyes grew wet. “I-I don’t know why I can’t just—”
“Shh, cherub, it’s okay,” Jace said, reaching across the table to hold my trembling hands. “I know it’s difficult. I do need you to eat, though. What about a strawberry smoothie? Would that be better?”
I sniffled, feeling useless. “No, you already made this, and—and you need to eat too.”
Jace shook his head. “It’ll take barely any time. And if I need to, I can just warm my soup up in the microwave,” he said, squeezing my hands once before letting go and standing.
I shook my head weakly. “I don’t want to be difficult.”
“You’re not,” he replied immediately. “So just let Daddy take care of you, okay?”
“Okay…”
I watched him cross the kitchen, the knot in my chest easing just a fraction. He moved with purpose, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of fresh strawberries, yogurt, andmilk.
“Maybe we should try sitting on the couch,” he added over his shoulder. “Watch some TV as we eat.”
“Um… Whatever you want,” I said, throwing a glance across the hall to where the living room was.
I watched his hands as he worked—strong, steady, completely unbothered by the change in plans. He didn’t seem frustrated as he rinsed and cut the berries, then added all the ingredients into this big glass container that looked sort of like a vase with a lid.
After he’d added everything, he put the lid back on and pressed a button.
The sudden sound was loud enough to make me jump.
Jace noticed instantly, turning it off and shooting me an apologetic look. “Shit. I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I forgot how loud blenders are. You okay?”
“It’s okay,” I murmured, embarrassed. My fingers curled into the hem of my shirt under the table.
“I need to turn it back on for a minute, so it’s going to be loud again,” he warned. I nodded, then braced my feet on the floor in anticipation.
My hands clenched as the buzzing roar filled the house. I decided not to ask for smoothies very often.
When theblenderfinally stopped, the kitchen fell quiet again. Jace poured the smoothie into a glass—pink and thick, dotted with tiny seeds—and carried it over to the table.
He set it in front of me, then slid a straw into the glass. “There,” he said softly. “Can you take a sip for me, El?”
I stared at it for a moment, then wrapped my fingers around the cool glass and fitted my lips around the straw. Cool sweetness flooded my mouth. I swallowed without any issueand took another sip, liking the flavor and how easily my body seemed to accept it.
“Good?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, closing my eyes as I took another sip. When I opened them, he was smiling at me, his relief obvious.
“Good,” he said, voice warm. “Now let’s get you comfy.” He took the glass from my hands, then held his palm out to me. I hesitated out of habit, that old reflex whispering that I shouldn’t need help, shouldn’t ask for it.
But he was my Daddy. He was supposed to help me. He’d said so.
I slipped my hand into his and followed him to the living room. The couch looked impossibly soft in the afternoon light.
