Standing there, wide eyes, and panic filling her at seeing me like this.
Nodding, I do my best to reassure her I’m okay. “It’ll… pass. It… always… does.”
I’m off the ground and in Tucker’s arms before I can fight him off, and he brings me to the back. Setting me on the prep table, he rests his hands on either side of my legs, bending down enough to look into my eyes.
“Name five things you can see, Yellow Crayon.”
Blinking, I stare into his impossibly blue eyes. “You. The sink. Your shirt. Black spots in my vision. The lights.”
“Four things you can touch.”
“You. The table. The floor. Water.”
My breathing improves, and I’m astounded by this method he has. He’s like an anxiety whisperer.
“Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice. The oven. A truck out back.”
“Two things you can smell.”
Sniffing, I jump off the table, push his arm out of the way, and pull cupcakes out of the oven. “Burned cupcakes. Shit!”
“Phoebe, I’m sorry!” Sarah cries and runs back. “I was supposed to take them out. I got distracted—”
I toss them into the sink with a loud bang, and I hold up my shaking hands. “It’ll be fine.”
“Phoebe—”
“I just need a minute,” I say and hurry outside through the back door.
The struggle becomes harder to handle. Choosing happiness over the darkness that has started to creep in becomes more difficult than ever before. Maybe staying with Tucker wasn’tsuch a good idea. I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to recenter myself.
“Yellow Crayon, what’s going on?” Tucker says, forcing me to open my eyes.
“I’m having a bad day,” I admit.
“I can see that. What do you need?”
Oh, that is such a loaded question. “I think I need to move back to my place.”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. Not until we know who’s checking up on you.”
“The SUV hasn’t been back in days. You said they haven’t been by my place. They probably realized they were stalking the most annoying person on the planet and decided it wasn’t worth it,” I say, forcing a chuckle.
“Phoebe—”
“I’ll be fine, Tucker.” Rolling my shoulders, I plaster on the fake smile that hurts my cheeks. “Thank you for helping calm me down. I feel much better.”
He studies me, and for someone who says he doesn’t like to be looked at, he does a lot of it himself. Or maybe he just doesn’t like it during sex.
“Talk to me.”
“I need to get another batch of cupcakes into the oven. We’re going to run out.”
“And what’s the worst that happens if you do?”
As a business owner, I’d expect him to be a little more understanding. “Someone might come in for something they want and not get it. Then I lose the business, and they go somewhere else.”
