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"Now, there's a lot of subtleties that we can get into later, but what I really want to know is if you can do this or if we'd have to design some sort of tool to help you." Erin smiled, her head tilted.
"You want me to try?" Come on, Walsh, get your act together.
"If you think this is something you could stand to do." Her tone was tentatively hopeful and her eyes wide.
"I guess we'll see." Her demo was clear enough. Ryan reached up, unscrewed the filter from the machine, and she showed him how and where to knock the old coffee out. Then he tried to fill it with coffee. First, he got too much, then not enough, but eventually he got it. By pressing his prosthetic hand down on the filter handle, holding it in place, he could torque down and compact the coffee. But it wasn't easy, and the correct pressure would take a lot of practice. Maybe he could use a scale.
Getting the filter on the machine wasn't a problem. Ryan clicked and twisted, then let the steam flow. Coffee streamed out, and he smiled. Then he considered the milk pitcher. Balancing steaming hot milk on his fake hand seemed like a good way to get burned. Unless he watched closely, he couldn't be sure his prosthetic hand would stay flat and level, and he couldn't stare at his hand if he was checking the temperature and the amount of foam. "Uh, Erin?"
"Yes?"
Ryan swallowed hard. She'd been cool about everything so far. Just spit it out. "I don't think steaming milk with this prosthetic is a good idea. I can't grab it securely. One of my other ones would work okay though, especially if I hold the pitcher in my real hand and work the controls with the prosthetic."
Erin grimaced. "I definitely don't want you getting burned. I'm guessing you've already been burned, and once is enough." Her head tilted. "Do you have one of those fancy bionic arms?"
Ryan frowned, but it seemed like she was interested. Still... "Why?"
Her face shone with enthusiasm. "I think the technology is so cool, and I'd love to see what they look like underneath the covering. The level of engineering and programming is amazing." Erin paused, then frowned. "I hope I'm not offending you by geeking out about the technology. Obviously, it's not a real hand, and I don't want to lessen the severity of what you've gone through and are still going through." She looked at him, lips compressed.
She wasn't freaking out; she could geek out all she wanted. "Uh, that's okay. It's a fact of life. I don't have a forearm or a hand anymore, and a prosthetic doesn't do everything a real one can." He'd learned to adapt. "I have a couple of different ones for different tasks. Maybe I'll get one of the bionic ones someday, but the closest place for something that high-tech is Seattle. I can't have something super-fussy that needs constant adjustment."
Erin glowered. "That sucks too. Montana has a ton of vets. They should have all the services here."
"Montana's got more vets per capita than any other state, but we don't have much capita to start with so..." One of the many reasons Ryan came home—no people.
Erin laughed, the sound so happy he couldn't help but smile. "That's true. But getting back to the job, I don't think you'd want to risk a fancy hand here. Coffee stains pretty badly, and the grounds get everywhere, and I do mean everywhere." She looked at the ceiling for a second and chuckled. "Little tiny gears and motors would get jammed up." Erin shook her head slowly, her mouth turned down. "Which is too bad, 'cause I'd still love for you to have one. Doesn't seem right that you don't."
Ryan shrugged his right shoulder. "Maybe someday." He didn't really need anything high-tech—and more trouble than it was worth.
"Does this seem like something you could stand to do five mornings a week?" She lifted her eyebrows.
"Yeah, I could do this. With the right prosthetic. Is it going to freak out your customers if I've got a pinching-type thing instead of a hand?"
Erin scowled. "If they're freaked, bad on them. They can get their coffee someplace else. Is it going to bother you if people ask you how you lost it, and a whole bunch of other invasive questions?" Both her brows raised. "You know people will."
Ryan snorted. "Can I just tell them I don't want to talk about it?"
"You can." She nodded slowly, with a smirk. "Not sure it'll work, but you can definitely say that."
"It'll work. They might not come back, but it will work."
Erin laughed and held up a hand. "Okay, let me qualify that. You can tell them that—politely."
He shrugged. "I'll be polite. It's hard to keep asking when you keep getting the same answer."
"Hard for some people, not so hard for some ladies who frequent this shop. They're relentless." Erin seemed both amused and resigned. "And if they don't get an answer, they have a tendency to make things up. You have to decide which is worse." She looked at him with a challenging smirk.
"And what stories have they made up about you?"
Erin wrinkled her nose. "Oh, they think I must be a lesbian since I refuse to date the men my mother sets me up with."
Ryan almost spit out the latte he was sipping. "You? No. Not that there's anything wrong with women being attracted to women, but I don't think you are."
She laughed louder. "As you said, nothing wrong with it, but not my thing."
"So why haven't you dated anybody?" He was an idiot to ask.
Erin cackled. "None of your business."
