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Speechless(65)

By:Hannah Harrington


                There’s a lengthy pause, and I hold my breath, trying not to                     make any noise that will give me away, desperately waiting to see what Sam will                     say to that.

                “All right,” he says softly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

                “I will,” she promises. “Will you do me a favor?”

                “Depends. What is it?”

                “I told her you’d make her a tuna melt. On the house.”

                Sam groans. “The things I do for you, Asha.”

                I decide I’ve heard enough. I bolt back to my stool, settling                     on it just as Sam reappears. He gives me a long, considering look, like he’s                     warring with himself on how to deal with me.

                “Asha says I owe you a tuna melt,” he says. He’s not smiling,                     but he doesn’t sound angry. “Sound good?”

                I nod, and he turns his back to me to grab ingredients. I                     shouldn’t have stayed. Now I know why Asha is being nice—I’m her charity                     project. It’s embarrassing, and idiotic because if she knew me at all, what I’m                     really like, she would hate me, not pity me. She’s too nice for her own                     good.

                The way Rosie’s is set up, the grill is right there so you can                     see your food being made in front of you. I watch as Sam quickly assembles the                     sandwich then slaps it on the grill. After a while he flips it with the spatula                     and cooks the other side. His movements are smooth, practiced, like he’s done                     this so often he could do it in his sleep.

                Asha reemerges just as an elderly couple walks through the                     door. She skirts around the counter, snatching two menus, and goes to greet                     them. Sam flips the tuna melt onto a dish and pushes it toward me.

                “You’re gonna love it,” he says. “I’m famous for my tuna                     melts.”

                So Asha said. When I take my first bite, I totally get the                     ringing endorsement. It’s so good I actually moan a little. Embarrassed, I clap                     a hand over my mouth.

                Sam looks over from wiping down the grill and grins. “Told                     you.”

                More people start filtering into the diner as the evening goes                     on. Asha’s kept busy, alternating between seating patrons, bringing out drinks                     and busing tables. Every time Sam finishes cooking, he yells “Order up!” and                     sets out the dishes where Asha can reach. It is way more interesting to watch                     him than it is to focus on my homework.