At Lunch

At lunch she sat at the opposite end of the table with C, and he could have killed them for their easy chatter, their casual and companionable body language.  He admired her table manners – she sat beautifully and used her cutlery European style, fork in her left hand, eating and talking with ease.  By some unspoken agreement, when she and C had each eaten half their pasta, they switched plates.  He watched the transaction with jealousy so utterly petulant it was downright juvenile.  He could’ve easily conjured up a first-class whine, but I want to eat from her plate tooooo!

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