Abbie tasted the red on her lips. When she was nervous or excited she’d bite down, puncturing the skin and cause bleeding. She remembered hearing that the Egyptians used their own blood as make-up to lure potential lovers. But, when he entered the diner where she stood taking orders at the counter, holding a hand that was not hers, she wiped at her wounded lips, took their order, and skirted through the double doors to the kitchen. “It’ll be alright, darling,” Billy said to her from behind the line, “we’ll spit in their soup.” And as Abbie readied the bowls, she wondered how many drops of love would pass unnoticed into the Fasolada.