And I’m dead sure that I’m not hiding any of these thoughts. I’m losing my cool here.
As soon as I take my next bite, one of those thick noodles gets stuck right at the back of my throat.
I cover my mouth and try to cough it up.
“That’s so sweet of you to say, thank you—are you okay?” Riley leans toward me.
I nod, but keep gagging and trying to breathe, and I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. People are starting to stare.
“Are you choking?” Riley asks.
I shake my head and mouth I’m fine, waving her off.
At the same time, my eyes are bugging out of my face, and it’s starting to get difficult to breathe.
I’m a nice guy, but I’m stubborn, and I don’t know when to ask for help. To my chagrin, Riley sees the panic in my eyes.
“Here we go.” She says it calmly, then gets up and comes around to stand behind me. At first, I think she’s going to run for a doctor or something ridiculous like that, but then I feel her arms reaching around my front.
Her fists connect beneath my sternum, and she gives a hard, quick thrust upward.
One, two, three, and it’s done.
The noodle rockets out of my throat and splashes into my soup.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I’m vaguely aware of other patrons and servers clapping and cheering in relief.
Riley’s paint-smudged hand squeezes my shoulder, and she leans in like she’s examining my face.
“All clear now?”
I look up at her and nod. “You’d better let me buy you lunch.”
She looks thoughtful, then says, “I don’t think I could eat after watching you shoot noodles out of your mouth.”
Appreciating her sense of humor, I stand up and pull out my wallet, slapping down a $20 bill on the table, equal to about a 50% tip for Bianca. She earns it every day with my stupid commentary.
I call out, “Show’s over, folks!”
People laugh, but I ignore it. “Come on,” I say to Riley, grabbing her hand and cruising outside to the street.
Everyone is staring at us holding hands, but I don’t care. The restaurant is packed, and there are loads of out-of-towners on the sidewalk. We had snow last weekend up on the mountain, and some ski enthusiasts are still hanging around.
Holding Riley’s hand feels like I just learned how to breathe for the first time.
I feel energized.
Outside, she lets go of my hand, and I feel lost all of a sudden. There’s something about her calm presence that makes me want to home in. Be present.
But I resist that urge to grab her hand again. I almost feel itchy about it.
“I want to thank you properly. Let me buy you a doughnut or something,” I say.
I gesture with my chin to the Four and Twenty Bake Shop.
Riley agrees, and we go inside the popular bakery with the weird-ass name.
At the counter, Evelyn greets me with a wide smile. “Hey, Rowdy. The usual?”
