Kirk, ever the actor, groaned softly for effect but remained calm and collected. “Odessa, don’t fuss over me. I’m fine. Really,” he said, his tone noble. “Go check on your neighbor. He seems to be hurt worse than I am.”
Odessa froze, torn for the briefest moment, but her worry quickly turned to anger. “I don’t care about him! This is all his fault! If he hadn’t flung your hand away, the server wouldn’t have stumbled. Now, because of him, you’re hurt!”
Her voice rang through the restaurant, drawing the eyes of every patron. Judging whispers rippled through the crowd. Even the server, who had looked apologetic moments before, seemed emboldened by her words.
“Sir,” the server stammered, his voice tinged with both fear and indignation. “I warned you to be careful while I was serving the broth. But you deliberately moved his hand into my path! If I hadn’t reacted quickly, this poor man could’ve been seriously injured!”
Odessa glared at me, her frustration boiling over. “Leif, I can’t believe you! Apologize to Kirk!”
The heat on my face rivaled the burning pain in my hand. Her words were a slap harder than any physical blow. My voice shook as I forced myself to speak. “Is this really what you think of me?”
She said nothing. Her silence was deafening, a final confirmation of where her loyalties lay.
Kirk watched the unfolding chaos with poorly concealed glee. He smirked, relishing every moment, before finally stepping in as though to play the magnanimous hero. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone dripping with false kindness. “It’s not entirely his fault. Don’t be too hard on him.”
Odessa’s anger simmered, but she nodded reluctantly, her attention still fixed on Kirk’s supposed injury. Kirk winced dramatically, clutching his hand. “Odessa, this burn stings pretty badly. We should go get it looked at. Let’s not make things harder for your neighbor, okay?”
