Page 70 of Clinically Delicious
The Ferris wheel was Megan’s first choice.
“It goes so high!” she said, bouncing on her toes as we waited in line. “You can see everything!”
I looked up at the wheel, slowly rotating against the sky.
It’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s just a Ferris wheel. People go on Ferris wheels all the time without dying.
“Are you alright?” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, meant only for me.
“Yep! Great! Love Ferris wheels!”
“You look pale.”
“That’s just my face.”
“Cate.”
I sighed. “I’m not great with heights. But it’s fine. Megan wants to go, so we’re going.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m going.”
His expression shifted again, that same unreadable look from earlier. “Alright.”
We got into the carriage—me, Megan, and Gabriel. Megan immediately plastered herself against the window, pointing at everything below as we started to rise.
I gripped the safety bar with both hands.
It’s fine. Totally fine. Just don’t look down.
I looked down.
Why did I look down?
“Cate.” Gabriel’s hand covered mine on the safety bar. “Look at me.”
I looked at him.
Big mistake.
Because looking at him meant seeing the concern in his eyes, the way he was watching me like I was a patient he was monitoring, the way his hand was warm and solid over mine.
“Breathe,” he said quietly.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re holding your breath.”
Oh.
I exhaled shakily.
“There you go,” he said. “Just keep breathing. Focus on me, not the height.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Why not?”
