“You don’t use chopsticks?” Riley asked. She snapped hers expertly in the air.
“Show-off,” he said, gripping his spoon. The truth was, he’d been great at chopsticks . . . with his right hand. He hadn’t even tried with his left.
“Come on,” she said, handing him the pair that sat in a paper envelope at the top of his plate. “You’re never too old to learn.”
“I believe the saying is ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’” He scooped another spoonful of curry and rice into his mouth to make his point. “Mmm.” He chewed and swallowed. “Mark likes food to make it all the way to his mouth.”
“But Mark also said he wanted to try new things.” She waved the chopsticks at him again. “Mark could do it if he tried.”
He grabbed the packet out of her hands. “If Mark wanted to try, he would, and he’d be great at it.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Prove it.”
He growled but set down his spoon and grabbed the pair of chopsticks. She watched like a kid at a magic show.
Great.
He gripped the chopsticks in his right hand the way he used to hold them. The tremor grew worse, but he just needed to study it for a few seconds. Then he flipped the sticks mirror-like to his left hand.
“Oh, Mark, I’m—”
“Shh,” he said. He didn’t need to hear the pity in her voice. “You can feel sorry after I’ve made a fool of myself.”
He tightened his left-hand grip, the lower stick becoming immobile. He should have been able to move the top stick up and down with his forefinger and thumb. He focused on a slice of carrot in his bowl. It took a few tries, and he might’ve given up had Riley not been so irritatingly eager. But he finally gripped the carrot, lifted it to his mouth, and took the bite. He chewed and set the chopsticks down on the small plate where half of his spring roll remained.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Well, I feel horrible, but yes. Are you? You did it.”
He nodded, picking up his spoon. “I’m king of the world.”
“I was only trying to help.”
“I know.”
Several uncomfortable minutes passed, and for the most part, Mark gazed out the window, eating his food and drinking his water and wondering how a great start had led them to this awkward . . . nothing.
“Mark?”
He shifted his gaze to Riley.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wish you understood that.”
He gave her a nod and picked up his glass. “I understand it better than you think.”
“Okay. Good. And you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” He took a drink, gazing back out the window.
“Give me your left side all the time.”
He paused, his glass frozen to his lips. A mixture of anger and humiliation rose in his throat. He set his glass down and stared at it, his face hot. “Why would you say that?” His pulse thumped in his temples.
“I don’t mean to upset you.”
He made an effort to breathe, to stay in his seat. “Really? Because you could have said just about anything else and I would’ve been fine.”
“I think you underestimate me.”
He flicked a look at her, then rolled his eyes. That was probably true.
“Hey, would you look at me?” she asked quietly. “I’m not done. Please?”
“Why?” He was half angry with her and half frustrated with himself. He managed to keep his voice low. “What else do you want to say?”
“You’ll never know until you look at me.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Fine.”
A minute passed, and begrudgingly, he turned her way. He met her calm expression with defiance. “It’s a habit,” he said. “A ‘coping skill’ I use to ‘make others less uncomfortable.’” Great. He was quoting his shrink again.
She studied him like she often did, but this time he wanted to turn away. He wanted a hole to open beneath him and swallow him up.
She leaned across the table and put her hand on his arm. “I need you to get it,” she said, also keeping her voice low. “I don’t want you to be constantly worried about how to hold your head or which side of me to stand on. I just want you to know that all I see—no matter which side—is my friend, Mark Rivers. It’s the only way I’ve ever seen you.”
How could words be so encouraging and so infuriating at the same time? “Is that right?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
“Yeah, that’s right.” She sat back. “Take it or leave it. You’re stuck with me and my crazy ability to see you—as you are.”
He mentally chewed her words, trying to decide what to do with them. “Lucky me.”
She looked away, muttering.
“What was that?” he asked.
She looked back at him, her jaw set. “I said—I’m the one who’s lucky.”
He stared at her.
She shook her head. “I’m the one”—her voice became louder, as if he couldn’t hear her—“who is lucky to be here with you.” She waved both hands in the air. “All of you. You plunk head.”
He glanced around the restaurant, feeling eyes on both of them. The curious onlookers quickly got back to their meals.
He leaned forward. “Plunk head?”
She narrowed her own eyes, challenging him. “Are you going to eat the rest of that roll?”
He reached his hand around the dish and pulled it toward him. He squared himself to her. “Yes.”
She took a bite of her Thai basil chicken with her chopsticks, grinning triumphantly.
After lunch, Mark turned the car toward Miracle Creek.
“So, what’s next?” Riley asked.
“You want to keep going?” he asked, hoping that was the case. “Because I don’t know if I can take more of your torment.”
“I only torment people I like.”
He glanced at her. “That’s demented.” He wondered if
