She leaned back, poked lazily at the strands of pasta on the plate. Twirled, untwirled, twirled them back again around her fork.

She watched the fork slide in and out the large lump of woven linguine, the small clams and bits of green herbs cleverly avoiding getting wound up in it. Her teeth gritted and she tried to relax her jawline by opening her mouth, just a bit, just enough to let a sigh sneak through.