Never a Hero

penne?”
    “N-n-no. The b-b-b—” I stopped again. In that moment, I hated her. I hated the damn restaurant. I hated my nerves for making me stutter at the worst possible moments.
    “Why don’t you give us a minute?” Nick said.
    My relief at being granted a reprieve was overshadowed by my embarrassment. “I’m s-s-s-s—” I couldn’t even get the word sorry out. The frustration was like a weight in my chest. I had the sudden urge to cry. I tried to stand up, but there was no room to move my chair back, and as I stood, my menu fell forward, knocking over glasses. I reached for them, instinctively, with both arms, but I’d forgotten about my prosthetic. I wore it so seldom, and in my panic, I didn’t account for the extra eighteen inches of metal and rubber attached to my stump.
    My false hand crashed into the Tetris puzzle that was our table top. Wine spilled everywhere. So did Nick’s mineral water. Two of the glasses fell to the floor, shattering with a crash that silenced the chaos around us. Everybody turned our way, and I imagined their surprise and their quiet snickers when they saw who was responsible.
    “I have to go,” I said, without meeting Nick’s eye. “I’m s-s-sorry. I j-j-j—”
    “Owen?”
    He reached across the table for me and I jerked away. I looked up and saw the waitress headed our way with our appetizers. I could see the annoyance on her face. “I w-w-want to l-leave.”
    “Okay,” he said, his voice calm and reasonable. “Wait for me at the car, okay? Give me a minute to pay the bill.”
    I nodded, but the only thing that held me to that promise was the fact that I didn’t have keys to his SUV and it would have been a long walk home. I’d made a fool of myself, and in front of Nick, no less. I leaned against his vehicle and covered my eyes with my good hand. When I finally heard him approach, I couldn’t even look at him.
    He stopped directly in front of me, ducking down a bit to try to force me to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”
    No, I wasn’t okay. I was a mess. Embarrassed and ashamed. “I’m s-sorry,” I blurted out. “Jesus, I’m so sorry!”
    “For what? The whole reason we went there was so we could break things.”
    I thought I heard the smile in his voice, but I couldn’t return it. “Still—”
    “Owen, stop.” He put his fingers under my chin and lifted it, forcing me to face him. To see that he was indeed smiling at me with a kindness that went a long way toward soothing my embarrassment. “You don’t need to be sorry. If anything, I should apologize for bullying you into coming out tonight. And I picked the worst possible restaurant. We should have left the minute I saw how crowded it was.”
    “I feel like a fool.”
    “Don’t,” he said simply. “There’s no reason.”
    His easy acceptance of my neurosis only made me feel worse. “I’ll pay you back for the wine, and whatever else was on the bill.”
    He waved his hand at me. “Don’t worry about it.” He gestured down the street, toward the Light District. “There’s another place we can go. Nothing fancy, but it won’t be crowded like that Greek place. It’s called the Vibe. Do you know it?”
    “No.” I didn’t know any of the places in town that didn’t deliver.
    “It’s sort of an aging-hippy sandwich joint. Sometimes they have live music in the back. We can walk down there and check it out, and if you don’t like it, we’ll take the sandwiches to go, okay?”
    I could have hugged him for making it so easy on me. “Okay.”
    But instead of turning to lead me away from the car, he took a step closer to me. “First things first, though.” He reached up and pushed my coat off my shoulders.
    “What are you doing? I’ll freeze without my coat.”
    “I know.” He pulled it free and tossed it onto the hood of his car. “You’ll get it back.” Then, to my surprise, he began to unbutton my shirt.
    “What are you doing?”
    “What we should have done before we left the house.”
    He finished with the buttons and pushed the shirt off my shoulders. I wore a T-shirt underneath it, under the straps that held my arm in place, but it still felt strange to have him remove my shirt. “Undressing me?” I asked. My voice shook. I was painfully aware of how close he stood. Of how good he smelled. Of the gentleness of his hands as he helped me remove my prosthetic from the sleeve. He left my shirt on the hood of his car, just as he’d done with my jacket.
    He