Chapter 7: Careful, I'm Fragile

Every lid in our kitchen had been loose for a week, and I had decided the house was settling.

On Saturday morning I stood at the counter with a jar of pickles and made a face at it.

"Cal."

He came in from the hall with his hand wrapped in a clean bandage and took the jar from me.

He turned the lid and the lid came off with no effort whatsoever.

"Thank you," I said.

"Mm."

I held out the olives. He opened them.

I held out the jar of peanut butter, which has never been closed by anyone, and he opened that too, and gave me a flat look.

"I'm making a list," I said. "Of things I'm grateful for."

"Is the list long?"

"It's mostly lids."

The crackers were on the top shelf.

Dad keeps them there because Finn eats them when he's upset, and Finn is upset a lot.

I stood on my toes, reached up with my right hand and let my heel slip.

I wasn't expecting him to be that fast.

Cal's hands closed around my waist from behind before my foot touched the floor, and pulled me back against him.

The whole length of him was at my back.

I'd been carried before. I had never been held.

He lifted me an inch, set me down, and kept both hands where they were.

His breath moved the hair at my temple.