“What are you doing?”
Evil Editor looked puzzled at the question. “I’m holding your hand.”
“Please don’t. It makes me uncomfortable.” She took it from him. EE fidgeted they walked; it was the first time he had dated anyone with a prosthesis.
“So,” he said, desperate to fill the awkward silence with small talk. “When did you quit being a juggler?”
Saffron glared at him. “Take a wild guess.”
“Sorry. I-- Listen, you’re going to love this place. It’s my one of my favorites.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Don’t know how you managed to get a reservation on such short notice on Valentine’s day.”
“No reservations needed. I’m a regular there, they all know me.”
“So, what kind of place is it?”
“It’s mostly ethnic dishes, with a few local specialties. They do things with ladyfinger you--”
His date sighed. “Listen. I’m over it, okay?”
“You’re very brave. Heck, I can’t juggle bean bags, let alone chainsaws. That must have been quite a show.”
“That last one was. A little lapse of concentration and my hand is flying off into the audience.”
“What a shock that must have been. All I’ve ever caught is a foul ball at a Redsox game.”
“I’m over it,” she repeated in a tone of voice that suggested, but not that over it.
“Incredible. I mean, I’ve got to hand it to--”
“There it is.” EE pointed to a lighted window nestled in a row of darkened shops. “It’s called Kali, named after the many-armed--”
“Okay.” Saffron’s voice had just the kind of edge you don’t want to hear from an (ex-) chainsaw juggler. “How about you stop talking and we go in and eat. I hope it’s a good table. If we’re not stuck by the kitchen, this date may be salvageable.”
“Don’t worry, everything’s in hand,” EE said as they entered the Kali Indian Takeaway.