“Mmm, so good,” I mumble with a mouthful. “Glad I ordered two each. I'm starving.”
His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You okay, bub?”
I rest a hand on his knee.
“Uh huh,” Marco replies.
But he’s lost all interest in his fries.
I hope to God I haven’t made him nervous with that confession about falling for him.
Always wait for them to say it first, I remind myself.Damn it.
I scrunch my wrapper into a ball.
Marco is making origami with his.
Hands fidgeting, his eyes remain glued to the window.
He tracks the weather intently.
With every thunder clap he tenses up.
Standing behind him, I ease the knots in his shoulders.
A deafening crack peals above us, followed by an almighty boom.
Windows rattle, lights flickering slightly.
He turns to hide his face in my robe.
“Shit, that was close,” I say. “Must have struck the Q1 Tower.”
A scattering of hail pelts across the tiles outside.
Good thing we came inside when we did.
His face is as pale as a sheet.
I’ve never seen him this scared.
I can feel him shaking.
We cuddle on the couch.
“It's okay,” I soothe. “You're okay.”
I know a panic attack when I see one.
Maybe I should find him something soft to hold.
Something cold or textured to fidget with.
That’s what mum does with Talia.
A cup of water? A blanket perhaps?
