But David just smiled, like he was enjoying this. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake concern. "I was just having a friendly discussion with my colleagues about talent and training."
"You were making assumptions," Elena said. "About me specifically."
"Was I wrong?" David leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, when was the last time you played piano?"
The question hit Elena like a punch to the stomach. When was the last time? It had been almost two years since she'd touched any keys. The old upright piano in her apartment had broken, and she couldn't afford to fix it. She'd been too busy working, too tired to even think about music most days.
But David didn't know that. He didn't know about the years of lessons, the competitions she'd won, the music school acceptance letter she'd never been able to use. He saw a waitress in a stained uniform and assumed that was all she'd ever been.
"I think," Elena said slowly, "that you don't know as much as you think you do."
David's friends were looking back and forth between them like they were watching a tennis match. Other diners had stopped eating to listen. Even the kitchen staff had poked their heads out to see what was happening.
"Prove it," David said suddenly.
"What?"
"Prove it. You think I'm wrong about you? Show me." He gestured toward the piano. "Play something. Anything. If you can play even a simple song without making mistakes, I'll apologize and give you the biggest tip you've ever seen in your life."
Elena's mouth went dry. "And if I can't?"