Free Just a Kiss Away by Jill Barnett

very unladylike. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and that had been the mango and bread she’d had before her bath.
    She hadn’t really thought about food, out of habit, for one of Madame Devereaux’s rules was that a lady never let hunger get the best of her. Never. She’d learned at a young age that a true lady, like her mother, ate lightly, delicately, and never, ever let her hunger be known. Yet sometimes, on rare occasions, her stomach would protest, doing all that embarrassing gurgling like it was cheering the food’s arrival. She pressed her hands to her stomach as if that gesture could quiet the growling.
    The little man handed a bowl to her. Food of any kind would have smelled good. Her mouth began to water as she stared at the bowl. The rice was brown, covered in a clear sauce with chunks of meat, and although the whole thing looked a little pasty, the smell was tempting.
    Walking over to the corner, the server gave the other dish to Sam, who sat back against the hut wall again. She looked up, properly waiting for him to be served, and for their utensils to arrive.
    He didn’t wait. Stunned, she watched him wolf down his food. He actually used his fingers to scoop up the rice. Her mouth fell open.
    The door began to close and she realized the server was leaving. “Stop! Wait! Please.”
    She grabbed the door and almost spilled her food. He turned back toward her. She smiled politely. “I would like some silverware, please.”
    Sam choked, coughing as if he was about to die. She wasn’t that lucky, though. His manners were atrocious, so it didn’t surprise her one bit that he’d choked. It was probably from cramming a handful of food in his mouth before he’d had a chance to swallow. The man used his fingers like shovels. It was disgusting.
    The server still stood there, blankly staring at her. “Silverware.” She raised her voice, hoping to make him better understand her.
    He shrugged.
    Sam coughed.
    “A fork, knife—oh, I don’t suppose you’d give me that. Well, at least a spoon, please,” she repeated, louder, miming the action of eating with silverware. Odd noises came from Sam’s corner, but she ignored them and kept gesturing. The man frowned, still not understanding.
    She pretended to stick a fork into the bowl, then made exaggerated sawing gestures as if she were cutting meat.
    He watched her intently, then grinned. “Cuchillos!” And he pantomimed eating.
    “Yes!” She returned his smile. “Yes, I’d like some coocheehoes, please.”
    The man nodded, then went out and closed the door. The sound of a throat clearing echoed from Sam’s corner. She looked at him. “Are you gonna be all right?”
    His face looked a little red, and moisture glistened in his crinkled eye. The man should really be more careful. Good manners might save him from choking to death. She decided he needed an etiquette lesson.
    “Mr. Forester . . . Sam. Where I come from its considered rude to eat before everyone is ready, especially before a lady.”
    He shoveled some more food inside and then talked around it. “Is that so?” He chewed some more and finally had the grace to swallow. “Where I come from, you eat what you can, as fast as you can, or someone else will eat it for you.”
    His words instantly reminded her of his background—poor and hungry. Surely he didn’t think she would steal his food. Before she could suggest that he didn’t have to worry, the door opened again and the little man came in holding out a small spoon.
    “Thank you kindly.” She smiled and accepted the spoon, waiting until the man left before eating. The sounds of Sam’s noisy eating smacked from the corner. With those eating habits, Madame Devereaux would have made him miss three meals to learn proper abstinence. She started to dip her spoon into the rice, but her mind flashed with the image of children playing with broken bricks instead of blocks, hungry children who had to steal bread to eat.
    Sam had