The Hang Up (First Impressions) by Tawna Fenske Page B

hard to set a classy example, too. She started to excuse herself, then realized Jason hadn’t heard her. He was too busy studying the utensils laid out beside his plate, picking up one fork at a time and frowning at it.
    She took a few deep breaths, hoping to get the hiccups under control.
    There, that was better. She took a careful sip of wine, grateful the hiccup seemed to be a onetime thing.
    Jason had already picked a fork and was grasping a knife in the other hand, preparing to cut into his meat. Miriam touched his hand. “Here’s another tip,” she said. “You don’t want to start eating until you’ve been given the signal.”
    “There’s a signal?”
    She nodded. “It’s another reason you need to keep a close eye on your host.”
    “This is sounding more and more like a weird game of charades.” He frowned. “Okay, what’s the signal?”
    “It’s—”
    Hiccup!
    “Pardon me,” she said and clamped a hand over her mouth again as the heat rose to her cheeks. “I apologize.”
    “No worries. What’s the signal to start eating?”
    “The napkin,” Miriam said as she spread hers across her thighs in illustration. “Don’t take a bite until your host puts the napkin in his lap.”
    “Oh.” He set down his utensils and picked up his own napkin. “Right, I guess I knew that. I got distracted.”
    “No problem. That’s why we’re practicing.”
    “So I’ve always wondered where I’m supposed to put the napkin if I have to get up and take a leak. On the back of my chair or on the table or what?”
    “First of all, you probably don’t want to announce at the dinner table that you have to take a leak.” She smiled a little to soften her words. “Say ‘pardon me for just a moment.’ Then put the napkin on the seat of the chair.”
    Jason snorted. “I feel like I should be taking notes here.”
    “There’ll be a test later.”
    “Why do I think you might be serious?”
    Miriam smiled. “Okay, so don’t take a bite until your host has spread the napkin in his lap, but it’s even better to wait until he’s started to—”
    Hiccup!
    Miriam covered her mouth, then picked up her water glass. “Excuse me,” she said, then took three big gulps of water. Her cheeks felt warm, and she realized she was royally blowing this polished image she was working so hard to teach him.
    To his credit, Jason seemed unfazed. He was busy adjusting his napkin on his lap and bumped Miriam’s leg under the table. “Whoops, sorry,” he said as his fingers grazed her bare thigh. “I didn’t mean to grope you.”
    “Not a problem,” she said, still focused on trying to control her hiccups. She took two more gulps of water, then set her glass down and tried a sip of wine instead. There. That seemed better.
    Her thigh was still tingling where his hand had brushed her skin, and her face burned with the embarrassment of losing control of her diaphragm at the dinner table. For crying out loud, could there be a worse time to have hiccups?
    “All right,” she said at last, then swallowed hard. “So speaking of the napkin, when your meal is finished, you’ll want to place it on the left hand side of your plate.”
    “What if the waiter already took my plate?”
    “The napkin still goes to the left of where your plate used to be.”
    “Do I have to fold it back up the way it was? Because I don’t think I can do that fancy napkin origami where it looks like a swan or a fan or the Titanic or whatever.”
    “Just place it neatly,” she said. “Try to tuck any really big food stains inside.”
    “And I already know I’m not supposed to spit gum in a cloth napkin,” he said, grinning a little sheepishly. “Learned that one the hard way once.”
    “Right.” Miriam took another small sip of wine. Okay, good. The hiccups seemed to be gone. She picked up her own knife and fork and cut a small bite of pork. She speared it into her mouth and began to chew, savoring the freshness of the rosemary and the zing