No one said anything. No one had to. He could see it in the slight narrowing of eyes, the polite curiosity, the way people shifted just slightly to listen better. He had become the man making a fuss. The scene. The problem.
Never mind that he had spoken in measured tones. Never mind that he’d waited. Explained. Asked. He wasn’t wrong—but in that moment, he felt foolish for trying to be right. He turned forward slowly, deliberately. His shoulders locked tight. His mouth dry.