When the servant entered with the soup, Alaina felt an urge to upset the whole thing.
She didn’t, of course. It wouldn’t be polite. But the soup, filling the bowl just to the edge, was so carefully balanced on a plate, in turn balanced on a tray. The whole thing was so precarious, so delightfully easy to throw off, that it took a great deal of self-restraint not to throw her arm up just as the waiter passed, and pass it off as a terrible mistake.
She waited until the man was passed, then released her left hand. It rose, still wanting to cause a ruckus, but stopped before it could be noticed by others. She didn’t know if she’d be able to stop it when he passed again, but that was a battle for another time.