“Hi.”

She swipes at her cheeks. The only person I’ve ever been able to cry in front of, until recently, was my brother. Because he was the only one my tear ducts would perform for, he got all of my tears. Right now, just seeing her crying makes me want to break down.

She looks small, scared. My hands and arms feel empty, useless. There’s nothing to do. Nothing I can do, or at least, nothing I know how to do to make this better.

“Do you want me to start...the prep?” I ask. That’s something I can do.

“I can do it.”

“They’re looking for you, is all.”

“I figured.”

“Are you...” She’s probably nervous. That’s all this is. Nerves. It’s terrible of me but god I’m curious if she’s sad, too. I don’t actually want her to be sad. But it would be nice to know if this is as hard on her as it has been on me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her chest expands, her breasts pushing against the structured fabric of her apron. “Yesterday I felt...ready.”

“And today you...don’t?”

She looks up at me, her eyes searching. “What if it’s not good enough? What if... I’m not good enough?”

I reach for her, only realizing how cold I am when I touch her cheeks. Objectively they’re freezing but they don’t feel that way to me. “I have questioned a lot the last few months. Whether we’re going to make it. The restaurant,” I clarify. “Whether I’m doing enough for the staff or if they’re happy. If the menu is good.”

She laughs.

I tip her chin up. “The one thing I will not question is if you are good enough. You are...” I could list all of her fine professional attributes. That she is hardworking, that she has good taste, a smart eye for pairings. But when I say she’s good enough, that is not what I mean.

“You make me want to be a better person, Sophie. You make me want to be kinder, more patient. And yes, work harder. You push me to succeed.”

Her chin trembles and our breath mists between us. I realize belatedly that I have not shivered once in fear of a velociraptor with humanlike dexterity.

“Not good enough? Sophie, you’re the best of us.”

She slips her arms around me, pressing her chest to mine. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can feel her heart beating with mine. She fits just under my chin. Her weight in my arms, the smell of her shampoo, the steadiness of her breathing, all of it is a relief. Proof that it was real, once, not that long ago at all. Even if I was the one to ruin it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I...” I swallow.

This is a bad time. The wrong time to rehash everything. But now that I’ve got her here I might not be able to let go if I don’t say this.