Two people.

This isn't much of a story... this isn't much of anything... just some people in some restaurant...

 

They look like those couples from the genital herpes commercial,
the ones with their arms around one another, framed by a happy mountain view
with happy smiles on their happy faces
with their happy herpes pills.
They're doing that fast whispering thing, their hands up to their mouths
as if they want to cup their lips to cut off any public viewing
but that would be too obvious;
that would bring too much attention to their angry quiet,
so they just tuck their fingers under their chins,
and touch their skinny noses, and rub their necks nervously.
The woman strains her throat, huffs a laugh, looks away.
The couple's hiking boots are kissing awkwardly under the table,
the kind of connection you accidentally stumble upon,
and would feel rude to break,
rude to pull away. So you go on, acting like you don't even notice.
The man coughs.
He shifts in his seat, pulls his foot away.

Author's Note

This is just my interpretation of a couple I saw up north last winter.