Page 12 of Putting Down Roots

“Not really. I don’t think I had an aptitude for it, but I used to spend all my school holidays here, and then lived here for a few years.” It sounds a little pained, like the truth is too much to give. I don’t push. He can tell me or not, it’s up to him. It’s none of my business. He sinks into a reverie again, thankfully not looking at my hands this time.

He’s looking at his own hands, which are worrying a thread on the cuff of his hoodie. I can hear him breathing, like he’s struggling a little bit. It’s speeding up and his hands become more agitated, like he wants to pull his cuff apart—this isn’t good. I don’t know what to do, but I feel I need to reach out somehow.

“Luca?” He ignores me, or maybe he doesn’t hear me. I try again.

“Luca?” His breathing becomes more laboured.Shit! It sounds like he’s going to hyperventilate.I put my hand over both of his, trying to still them, and grab his shoulder with my other hand, squeezing to get his attention.

“Luca?” I say, softer this time. His hands stop, and he raises his face. His breathing slows, but his expression’s completely blank except for his eyes—they’re dark and bottomless.

“Are you alright?”

I see him swallow, and he takes a minute to answer.

“Yes. Um, yes, I’m fine.” Then his face becomes guarded, like he’s snapped on a mask, his eyes now warily shining out through it. I step back, dropping my hands to my sides. He looks at them, frowning.

I’m pretty sure he isn’t alright. I want to ask again, but it’ll sound pushy, and I don’t know this guy—we only met yesterday. I seriously don’t know what to do next. Perhaps he just needs some space—perhaps he needs a hug. As well as not being good at small talk, I’m no good at big talk either, and this feels big. Really big. Oh well, there’s only one thing to do.

“Um, I could use a coffee?”

His mask drops, and a flicker of relief follows the ghost of a smile that appears on his face.

“Then I’ll make you one. Will you come up to the house?”

“I just have a couple more jobs to finish. Can you give me five and I’ll be there?”

He nods, jumps off the bench and gathers up the mugs, before heading up the path.

When he’s out of sight, I blow out a breath. Well that was intense, whatever it was. I have no idea—except it was awkward. Well, it’s still not my business. I finish up and follow the path he took. I really hope, though, that he won’t now decide to ask me to leave.

When I enter the kitchen,he’s at the coffee machine and has his back to me. As he turns around, I can see the mask is back in place. I wonder if it’s a self preservation mechanism? It saddens me that he feels wary around me, but I figure he doesn’t know me any more than I know him.

“Um, thank you for back there,” he says, putting a mug down on the central island that separates us. I have no idea what I did. I decide to tell him that.

“I’m not sure what I did.”

“I was about to have a panic attack—I get them sometimes.” He turns his face away like he can’t look at me to admit it, but he does turn back, which I think is brave. “You stopped me, thank you.”

“They don’t sound like fun.”

“Definitely not fun,” he sighs.

“I honestly didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know whether to walk away or hug you.”

“A hug would have been nice,” he says with a half-smile, and a glint in his dark-ocean eyes.

“Well, next time I’ll know what to do.” I find myself drawn to his smile, but distract myself with a swig of coffee—it’s really wonderful coffee.

Neither of us speaks for a while. It’s awkward again. No small talk—too intense for big talk. I finish my coffee and place the mug down.

“Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be off now.” I turn to go.

“There was something else,” he calls out.

Shit, this is where he asks me to leave.I turn back around and see he’s biting his bottom lip slightly. It looks like a nervous trait and it distracts me—a lot.

“Would you like a job?”

“A job?” I’m aware I sound stupid—I feel stupid—I have no idea what he means. My brain is geared up to go looking for somewhere to rent.

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