All for a Song by Allison Pittman

father was a minister. We never felt neglected.”
    “Let me guess.” His speech changed to an exaggerated drawl. Not mocking, but bordering on affection. “A tiny white clapboard building with a steeple and a big ol’ bell somewheres out in the woods?”
    Dorothy Lynn giggled—something she rarely did. In the back of her mind, Darlene accused her of flirting, but before the guilt could fully take hold, the waiter had returned.
    “We’ll both have the beef chow mein,” Roland said. Then, to her, “If that sounds good to you.”
    She nodded. The interruption afforded a moment for her to come to her senses, and the minute the waiter said, “Very good,” and bowed away, she cleared her throat and sat up with a straighter resolve. “I’m going to be a preacher’s wife. The man who took over the pulpit when Pa died, he and I are engaged. We’re gettin’ married in October. That’s why I’m here, in St. Louis. My sister’s makin’ the dress.” It all poured out of her like a confession. “I’m not one of those girls.”
    His brow rose quizzically.
    “I mean, a girl who would just go out to lunch with a strange man. Or any man. Or even . . . lunch.”
    His amusement grew with her frustration, and for the first time it seemed he was actually laughing at her.
    “I’m sorry,” she faltered, finally. “I don’t mean to insult you.”
    “I’ve been called worse than a ‘strange man,’” he said, “and I didn’t intend for my invitation to imply anything about your character. I simply saw you, remembered you, and thought it might be nice not to eat another meal alone. But if I’m making you uncomfortable . . .”
    He began to scoot his chair away from the table, and a new guilt washed over her.
    “Don’t leave.” Her words stopped him midstand. “Youwere very kind to ask me to join you. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”
    The warm smile returned as he settled back into his chair, and the food arrived soon after. Dorothy Lynn looked down at the bowl brimming with strips of meat and vegetables—some she didn’t even recognize—in a lake of noodles. Steam rose from the dish, and she inhaled her first taste, leaving her mouth watering for more. She looked over to see that Roland had bowed his head to pray, and she followed suit, asking not only for a blessing on the food before her and the hands that prepared it, but also forgiveness for her unintentional sin.
    When she opened her eyes, Roland had taken up the pair of narrow sticks that had been laid beside his bowl and used them to bring up a heaping mouthful. Not finding a fork, she picked up her own sticks and attempted to do the same, only to find he’d made the procedure look deceptively easy. Less than a full bite of food made it into her mouth, but that taste was enough to whet her appetite.
    “Here,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling with humor. “Watch me. You need to balance them, see? First this stick on your third finger, and then the second . . .”
    Dorothy Lynn tried to match his grip, and she felt successful until it was time to actually grasp the food. She fell into laughter even as the pile of noodles and peppers fell back into the bowl. “I’m hopeless.”
    “Nothing’s ever hopeless. Try again.”
    This time, when he reached for her hand, he purposefully took her fingers, positioning them to hold the chopsticks properly. Like never before, she was aware of the roughened texture of her skin and nails, and she curled her fingers in an attempt to hide them away.
    “It’s all right,” he said, so softly that she barely heard him. “This is one skill worth learning. When it all comes together, you’ll be so happy.”
    Somehow it happened, and though it meant a messy trail of sauce on her chin, she managed to fill her mouth with beef, peppers, and noodles all at once.
    Roland applauded her achievement, and people from the surrounding tables joined in. Dorothy Lynn managed not to laugh until she’d swallowed