“You want that mild, medium or hot?” Medium. “Next.” Holly placed some chopsticks on her tray and moved along the line. Jax scraped the grill before tossing the veggies and tofu for her pad thai. He hadn’t seen her in a while and grinned through the steam. He could get used to her in those glasses.
Holly made her way to an empty table. She’d forgotten how crowded these places get around lunchtime. She draped her wet jacket on the back of the chair and unzipped her laptop case. Pain shot through her hand. She sat back and laid her hands on the table, stretching her fingers. Her shoulders tensed. She placed her hands together and gently pressed. She closed her eyes and focussed on her breathing.
Spencer dipped a drumstick into the paper gravy dish. His favorite lunch day was the fried chicken special. He was staring off into the distance, running through his sales pitch for the afternoon when her bright pink tote bag caught his eye. Chopsticks instead of a fork. Interesting. A motorcycle jacket and gold-rimmed granny style glasses. He didn’t notice that he was letting his chicken get cold. He’d never seen anyone praying before a meal at a food court. He thought of the tickets in his wallet, Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody. Did she like the symphony? Hard to guess.
She unfolded a napkin across her lap and sprinkled the crushed roasted peanuts over her plate. The noodles slid between the chopsticks and she tried not to wince. She must have had her hands wrapped around the .38 Colt all night. She looked up to see a man watching her.
[What happened next? You decide! Cast your vote, below. Comments also welcome, as always.]