Just as Olivia was still biting back the lingering flush on her face, Kafka raised his hand with casual ease and flagged down a nearby waiter.
His fingers snapped lazily in the air, like he hadn't just emotionally whiplashed her into oblivion moments ago.
"Let's order, Mom." He said lightly, glancing at her with that same calm, unreadable expression that made her want to throw her napkin at his face. "Before you melt into a puddle of blush right here at the table."
"I am not melting!" She hissed back, fixing her hair with unnecessary urgency. "I'm perfectly composed."
He chuckled under his breath. "Of course you are. So, what does my perfectly composed mother want to eat?"
"I, uh..." She shook her head quickly, trying to clear the haze. "Blueberry pancakes. With a side of bacon." Her voice dropped a little as she added, "Crispy, not chewy."
