Punk and I struggled to balance the grocery bags we were carrying. The store was just down a few blocks so he had insisted we walk for the exercise alone. We'd had a good few days back in Chicago. He had fully recovered from his brief bout with the illness as I had gotten over the events of the day before with the jerk in the comic book store, well sort of. I was still hurt and I was embarrassed but Punk had made no mention of it since. That made it slightly less mortifying. And I was still flying high over the fact that he had so gallantly raced to my defense.

Spending all that time with him was becoming bittersweet. When I was first given the assignment, I had approached it with dread. He was sarcastic and blunt and more than irritated by my presence. It was also clear he was going through something, seemingly at a crossroads with his career. But despite the gruffness, there was a really sweet and amazing guy underneath. He was real, no frills and no crap. That had scared me at first but two weeks later, it endeared me to him more than anything.

When you thought about the hot guys of the WWE, most people automatically thought about John Cena or Randy Orton. Not to take anything away from them, but CM Punk was a different animal. He was a good looking guy with a great smile and infectious laugh. He wasn't some larger than life enigma but rather an average Joe, the kind of person you took a look at and thought he'd be an awesome big brother or guy you'd want to pull up a chair and have a conversation with. There was also an undeniable charm about him. I had liked him right away and in turn, wanted him to like me back. When he was nice to me or praised me or smiled at me, it gave me the best feeling in the world. I was always the mousy girl, the bookworm, the nerd, the shy and awkward workaholic. I'd only had one real boyfriend before. And Punk was surrounded at work by some of the most beautiful women in the world and the minute he walked outside of that magical WWE life, thousands more equally gorgeous girls were there to throw themselves at his feet with the hopes of somehow making it to his bed. It's not like I had a chance anyway and I had accepted that but those few days, especially after he got sick, it was fun to pretend.

It was a low key Thursday. We had a flight out at four a.m. the next morning. I spent most of the morning on my laptop logged into WWE Corporate and Global, working from home. He had been in and out, at the gym, visiting friends, and running errands and paying bills. Somehow it came up that we would eat dinner in. The fridge and cupboards were looking pretty bare so it called for a quick run to the market. We playfully disagreed about what to buy and the mood just felt so right. In that moment, it was easy being around him and my mind wondered for a few fleeting seconds about what it would be like to be that way with him all the time. I went back and forth but truth be told, I had really fallen for Punk.

It could never be. He would never feel the same way. Besides, I was being unprofessional and immature. I still had a job to do and an important one at that. I had some great shots but there were still more to get. We had the rest of the day, Friday and Saturday. Come Sunday, I would be on a plane headed back to Connecticut. I don't know how I felt about that but it did make me a little sad. Living that life on the road, being thrust in the middle of the excitement that was the RAW brand, and hanging out with Punk like old friends was the polar opposite from my usual meek and boring existence. For 14 days, I had lived a fairytale like an out of body experience and in just a few days it was scripted to come to an end. I didn't know how I felt about that and thinking of it constantly only brought about pangs of anxiety so instead I chose to focus on the time that we did have left.

"You got it?" Punk asked as he looked over his shoulder as I walked slightly behind him.

"I'm good."

"Yeah right with those little ass arms of yours. Hang in there, kiddo, you're looking kind of weak. Here's hoping the tilapia holds out longer than you."

I rolled my eyes and fought back a smirk as we made our way into the building of luxury apartments in the trendy Wicker Park section of the city he lived in. Just as we turned the corner, I saw the elevator doors starting to close.

"Oh no," I whined.

"Hey Miss, can you hold that for us?" Punk shouted out.

The stranger inside must have heard because the door stopped and opened. Inside the roomy space, was a woman I had never seen before. She smiled and balanced a little baby on her hip. Wearing a pink sleeper, a few strands of blonde hair barely covered her little head. She had big expressive blue eyes and a small puddle of drool on the corner of her lip.

"Thank you," I smiled.

"No problem. Those look heavy. I like shopping at the Fresh Market. They have the best fish selection this side of Chicago. I can't wait until it gets warmer. I have a to die for grilled lemon Mahi Mahi recipe."

"Sounds nice. We were just going to broil some tilapia tonight," I said before nervously glancing over at Punk, who simply shrugged.

"Mmmm. Sounds delicious."

"So is this your daughter?" I asked.

"Cara Marie," she stated proudly.

"She is so beautiful. How old is she?"

"Thank you. Seven months."

I smiled at the little girl but she looked right through me. Her eyes were focused right on Punk. She looked at him and cooed and then broke out into a fit of baby giggles. I saw him raise an eyebrow before reaching out and playing with her little hand. She latched on to his much bigger finger.

"Hey cutie," he said in a soft voice.

Watching him with the baby was heartwarming. He seemed so at ease, so natural and children just adored him.

"She likes you," the woman commented just as the car stopped. "Oh well. This is our floor. You two have a good night."

She stepped off and Punk waved as they left. The elevator then arrived shortly at the next floor and that was our stop. He fumbled with the keys for a few seconds until we were back in the loft.

"Home sweet home," Punk dumped the groceries on the counter and pulled the sleeves up on his hoodie. "You ready to get cracking?"

I nodded and smiled and began pulling out various ingredients and cooking utensils. We moved about the kitchen getting everything ready as we started making dinner together. It felt nice and so lost in the moment, I even began humming. He made a face and I caught myself.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"What the hell are you so giddy about?"

"I'm not giddy."

"You could have fooled me. This whole time you have been over there grinning like a Cheshire cat."

"Nothing," I shrugged. "I'm just in a good mood. And you are too even if you don't want to admit it. That baby, Cara, was so cute."

"Yeah. She was a little ham. She's gonna be a heartbreaker in a few years."

"You are so good with kids and they just love you. You're like the Pied Piper or something."

"I don't know about all that."

"I'm sure you're a pretty awesome big brother. You have two sisters and a brother, right?"

"Yeah."

"I see the pictures around of I guess your sisters but you don't have any of your brother. You don't talk about him at all."

"Yeah? Well, there is a reason for that," Punk answered as he began preparing the marinade.

"Oh," I said awkwardly.

After a few minutes, he sighed, his gaze never meeting mine.

"Mike and I were pretty close growing up. I mean, ever since I was five, I've known I wanted to be a professional wrestler. We actually wrestled together in this little backyard federation called Lunatic Wrestling. Me, him, some of our friends put it all together. Anyway, things were going pretty okay and I was dead serious about it and come to find out, Mike embezzled all the money I had saved and put into it."

His voice and demeanor did not change but this revelation was obviously a big deal and I could tell that it troubled him deeply.

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope. Haven't talked to the guy in like ten years and that sucks but truthfully, if it stays that way for another ten years, wouldn't bother me a bit. I don't give a hot fuck."

I shifted my weight uncomfortably.

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"But he's your brother."

"So what?"

"So…that's blood. He's family."

Punk adamantly shook his head.

"Blood and biology is not what constitutes a family, Cynthia. It's about the people you love and the people you trust and those that have your back no matter what. That's what makes a family a real family so I have a lot of family members if you look at it that way. Whenever it came to something I really wanted to do, I have always had to outsource for support. The people who were willing to accept me with open arms weren't blood related to me. To me, that's what family is. Family supports you. The only thing my brother ever did to me was steal a shit load of money from me."

"What about your parents? Do you talk to them?"

It was a sensitive situation and it was probably best that I quit while I was ahead but now he had my curiosity peaked.

"Yeah, I talk to them. I love my mom and dad. I've had my issues with them in the past and I doubt we'll ever see eye to eye on everything and that's okay. I used to have a lot of resentment towards them for a lot of stuff but I learned to let it go. And looking back, I don't regret anything or wish I could change stuff because of all that led me to where I am today and made me the man I am now."

"How so?"

"The whole time we were growing up, my father was a raging alcoholic. It was pretty bad."

"Did he…"

He was being so open and candid with me and I was intrigued. He seemed to know what I was going to ask before I did.

"No. He never put his hands on my mom or any of us kids. It was nothing like that but it was a ridiculous lifestyle. He was a drunk, my mother had her damned prescription pills…it just didn't make sense to me. We never had a lot of money and I grew up really poor. I already told you about them spending all of their money on cartons of cigarettes and stuff like that and I didn't understand how if we were broke and we couldn't afford Christmas presents, why could you smoke all of those cigarettes? It's not like they are making you better…they are killing you. It seemed real idiotic to me. Just a bunch of stuff strained our relationship over the years but I got over it. I just kind of lived my own life and did my own thing. My dad quit drinking eventually and now we get along okay. And I love my mom. We have a relationship now but it is what it is."

"So that's what made you want to be Straight Edge…"

"I just really identified with that sub-culture, you know? It's not a gimmick for me, it's a commitment. It's a way of life. It is who I am. There have been three constants in my life…wrestling, punk rock and straight edge. It isn't for everybody and the last thing I want to do is be preachy but it works for me."

"Wow…" I said softly.

Punk chuckled.

"Don't do it."

"Don't do what?" I asked, confused.

"Pity me. Damn, I see that look on your face. It's okay, Cynthia. I'm okay. It's not a sob story. I don't want you or anyone else to ever feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you," I said as I begin stirring the sauce as if it was the most important thing in the world. "I, I look up to you. I think you're amazing, Punk. You really stick to your beliefs and despite what you've been through, you're so strong and opinionated and you're living your dream when probably nobody thought you could. That's pretty cool."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome."

He was standing so close to me. You know how there's that moment in the movies when the shy, awkward girl hints at her feelings to the sexy, popular guy and he realizes how great she is and they share this special moment when it is no one in the world but just them and he inches closer and their eyes meet with pounding hearts and they have this toe tingling yet oh so romantic kiss?

"Cynthia?" he breathed.

I bit my lip, bracing myself for what was coming next.

"Yes, Punk?" I whispered, grabbing the counter for support.

"Can you pass me the salt?" he asked before turning his back.

Obviously, that was not one of those moments.

"Sure, Punk," I cleared my throat and handed him the shaker.

I was losing it, getting more and more delusional by the hour. But that was okay. As pathetic as it sounded, I was just happy to be around him. And I knew he felt something for me, too. It might not have been in the romantic sense but he trusted me and was obviously starting to become more comfortable with me. Maybe that was the kind of relationship he didn't have with those beautiful Divas and groupies. Maybe that was the one thing he had been missing all along.