Because you’re you and I’m me and your hand is on mine, and we’re in an enclosed space and I can’t think straight when you look at me like that.
“Just... isn’t,” I managed.
Megan was oblivious, still pointing at things and chattering about how small everything looked.
Gabriel’s thumb moved slightly against my hand—a small, probably unconscious gesture that made my entire nervous system short-circuit.
“You’re doing fine,” he said.
“I’m having a panic attack on a Ferris wheel.”
“A mild anxiety response. Not a panic attack.”
“Oh, well, that’s so much better.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re talking. That’s a good sign.”
“I always talk when I’m nervous. It’s a problem.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“My mom says I could talk the ears off a cornstalk.”
“That’s not a saying.”
“It is in my family.”
We reached the top. The carriage swayed slightly.
I made a sound that was definitely not dignified.
Gabriel’s hand tightened over mine. “I’ve got you.”
Oh God, why did he have to say it like that?
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
We stayed like that, his hand over mine, my heart doing acrobatics that had nothing to do with the height, until the ride started its descent.
Megan turned around, finally noticing our hand situation.
Her eyes went wide. Then she smiled.
Oh no. She’s getting ideas.
“Are you guys holding hands?” she asked innocently.
“Cate doesn’t like heights,” Gabriel said smoothly, removing his hand. “I was providing reassurance.”
“Oh.” Megan looked disappointed. “That’s nice of you, Dad.”
“I try.”
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t process what had just happened. Couldn’t think about the fact that his hand had been on mine and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Professional boundaries, Cate. Remember those?
