[ He can't. Let it sit at that. He can't sit still, shifting in the chair, feet shuffled one way and another, eyes seeking some diversion some exit and finding noting at all, can't even focus on that ghastly rug.
He doesn't like this, an uncertainty threatening to overwhelm the evening and cut through his wine-born haze.
He doesn't like the way this feels, the space in the wake of her message, the unease gnawing his chest. ]
2/3
He doesn't like this, an uncertainty threatening to overwhelm the evening and cut through his wine-born haze.
He doesn't like the way this feels, the space in the wake of her message, the unease gnawing his chest. ]
WellWellWell.
Thank you.