The Handyman Can

Story Sent in by Betty:

Stefan and I met on the Internet, and he offered to take me out to dinner and a nice walk on a local pier for our first date.

When he first saw me, in front of the restaurant, he gave me a big smile and took my hand to lead me inside. It was… strange, but perhaps he was just being friendly. He dropped my hand only when the hostess led us to the table, and then once we were seated, he reached across the table for my hand once more.

Putting him off for a bit, I made conversation and he chatted with me well enough, but he kept his hand on the table and wiggled his fingers around, as if to remind me that I had forgotten to take his hand. I hadn't forgotten.

We chatted on as the waitress served us our drinks and eventually our meals. His hand never left the table – in fact, it had crept closer to me, wiggled, and shook more and more often. His eyes would dart to it as we spoke, as if trying to make me look at it.

Finally, after the plates were cleared, the dam burst. "Take my fuckin' hand!" he snapped.

My heart beat faster. Gone was the friendly-enough Stefan of the past hour. When I made no response, he shook his hand at my face. "Take it! Take it! Bind us together with fingers interlaced! Just take it now!"

"Hey," I said, "Want to split the check?"

"I want you to hold my hand."

"Wash your hands, first. You just ate."

"Fine!" he threw his napkin across the table, stood, and stomped away, toward the bathrooms.

I put my part of the check down, right in front of where he had been sitting, and I tore out of there, cheetah-speed.