All for a Song by Allison Pittman Page A

the entire bite, but then she brought a napkin to her face and twisted in her chair to offer an appreciative wave to her audience.
    “What do you think?”
    “I think it’s the best thing I ever ate,” she said, eagerly working her chopsticks for the next bite.
    “It’s good, but nothing like what you’d get in California. San Francisco, especially.”
    The image of her brother’s postcard flitted through her mind, threatening to steal the pure joy of this moment. “Don’t think I’ll be goin’ to California any time soon.”
    “Fiancé not an adventurer?”
    “Not sure I am, but I’d like to hear about it.”
    And so, as they ate, Roland talked. His travels with Sister Aimee had taken him all over the country, but he spoke most fondly of California. The excitement and uncharted opportunities. As she listened, she could imagine why Donny would want to stay there, if it was half as wonderful as it all sounded. Midway through the meal, she’d become quite proficient with her chopsticks, eventually able to snag a single thin slice of onion between the tips. Though he was in the middle of a rambunctious tale, he paused midsentence to acknowledge the accomplishment.
    “You’re a quick study.”
    She beamed under his praise and looked down into her empty bowl.
    “Still hungry?”
    “Oh no,” she protested, but he raised a finger and moments later the stealthy waiter reappeared with two plates, each bearing a slice of dense, sticky cake. She followed Roland’s example and picked it up, taking nibbling bites and licking her fingers. By the time it was gone she felt ready to burst.
    Their waiter made another discreet appearance, at which time Roland reached into his pocket and produced a folded bill, which he pressed into the Chinese man’s hand. Dorothy Lynn’s heart raced. A dollar! She’d no idea her meal would be anywhere near that expensive, and with some trepidation she opened her pocketbook. As she did, though, the waiter thanked Roland, saying it had been a great honor, and disappeared.
    “Thank you, but you didn’t need to pay for mine,” she said through a queer mixture of resentment and relief.
    He chuckled as he stood. “I suspect a lot of men would appreciate such an attitude.”
    She thanked him again as he held the door open to the sidewalk, where she had to stand for just a moment to orient herself.
    “You came from that direction.” Roland pointed up the street behind her. “I saw you through the window.”
    “Yes.” The revelation that he’d seen her before she walked into the restaurant left her a bit too unsettled to thank him yet again. Maybe that step across the threshold was like a step into a snare. She swallowed, still tasting the salt of foreign food. Somehow she’d allowed herself to be trapped into this spot—unfamiliar inside and out. A voice deep within her said, Go home, but home was miles away. She’d need a streetcar to get to Darlene’s house, a bus to get to Heron’s Nest. She had only her feet, and they werein danger of melting in this spot. But then she remembered—home was just half a block away, waiting for her in the music store.
    She thanked him a final time and had taken only a few steps when there he was again, right beside her.
    “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out alone in the city.”
    “I’ll be fine,” she said, but even as she did, she hoped he wouldn’t agree. Although the newness of him rumbled with the noodles in her stomach, his presence also brought an unexpected comfort. Her protest proved unconvincing as he simply dropped his hands into his pockets and fell into a slow step beside her.
    They didn’t speak at all as they walked, making an oddly comforting pocket of silence in the midst of the city’s noise. When they came upon the Strawn Brothers Music Store, Dorothy Lynn said, “I’m goin’ in here,” at which point Roland—after a quick, curious, twisting smile—opened the door for her and followed her