“Are you sure this is even possible?” Spencer asked skeptically, eyeing the chopsticks like they were part of some unsolvable puzzle. He’d tried for the third time to grab the Singapore-style noodles, and for the third time, they slipped right out of his grasp, flinging sauce in every direction.

You laughed, effortlessly picking up a piece of chicken with your chopsticks. “Billions of people use these every day. I think you’ll be fine, genius.”

He frowned, narrowing his eyes as if he were analyzing them like crime scene evidence. “Technically, the act of picking up food using two slender sticks requires a high level of fine motor control. Given that I’m right-handed and have approximately 85% dominant use of my left hemisphere—”

“Spencer,” you interrupted gently, smiling, “just give me your hand.”

He obediently offered his hand, and you wrapped your fingers around his, guiding them into the correct position on the chopsticks. He froze slightly, a hint of blush coloring his cheeks — clearly more distracted by your touch than the actual lesson.

“Like this. Now try again,” you whispered.

He carefully maneuvered the sticks, almost managing to lift the noodles… only for them to slip and plop back into the bowl with a wet splat. He sighed.

“I give up. Can I just use a fork?”

You giggled and, without a word, picked up a single noodle with your chopsticks, bringing it to his lips.

“Then at least let me feed you.”

He blushed even deeper, but opened his mouth anyway, letting you offer him the noodle. After chewing, he swallowed and said softly:

“If every failure ends like that… I might start failing on purpose.”

You leaned a little closer, voice barely above a whisper. “And if you’re really good, I just might kiss you for dessert.”

Spencer gave you a shy smile — and for the first time that evening, he looked completely confident.