Holding Her Hand (Reed Brothers Book 15)(23)
“You’re welcome.” She fluffs her short little skirt. “I know it’s totally breaking the girl code, but I’m going to go ahead and tell you that she really likes you. A lot.”
“Thanks.”
“She talked about you last night.”
“Okay.” See, the thing is, with Friday Reed, you don’t have to prompt her. She’s going to tell you what she thinks no matter what. I’m aware of that. Her husband Paul gives me a thumbs-up from behind her back. She follows my eyes, turning to look at him, and then he turns his thumbs-up into a head scratch.
“Keep up the good work,” she says to me. Then she flounces off to do whatever it is that Friday does. Like drink warm blood. Or torture small penis-shaped pin cushions with sharp needles.
***
On Saturday, I keep looking toward the door, hoping to see the sheen of Lark’s ponytail or the brown of her eyes, but so far it’s just one soldier after another.
The Reeds do tattoos for soldiers at a discount, and once word got around, we got flooded with people dropping by the shop. Since I’m the new guy, I don’t have a lot of regular clients, and I get a lot of walk-ins. At least my days have stayed busy. And I love to do tattoos for soldiers. I usually get to hear the stories behind the tattoos, with one of the Reeds translating for me, and I have nothing but respect for the men and women who protect our freedom. I finish up with a client and he tries to give me a big tip, but the honor was mine, so I shove it back to him.
I pull my phone out and search the screen for a text from Lark. She’s two minutes late for her appointment. The lights flash as the front door of the shop opens, and finally she walks through it. Her eyes meet mine and I can’t stand still. I walk toward her. But right behind her is a tall man with long salt-and-pepper hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He intercepts me, getting between me and her.
“Excuse me,” I sign, moving my mouth with the words so he’ll understand (1) that I’m deaf, and (2) that I want to get to Lark. I walk around him and go straight to her. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone. Not since Christmas of ’99 when I caught Santa leaving presents under our Christmas tree. He looked a lot like my dad.
“Hi,” Lark signs. Her cheeks pinken and my heart does that thudding thing again.
“I missed you,” I say, as I put my arm around her and pull her against me. But she’s stiff in my arms. Something is wrong. And I have no idea what it is. I push her back from me so I can look at her face. “What’s wrong?”
She points to the gentleman who came in behind her. He’s standing with his arms crossed tightly, and he glares at me. “Ryan, this is my dad, Emilio Vasquez. Melio, this is Ryan.”
“So this is the one you like,” the man says. He signs too, but it’s jerky and I can tell he’s not fluent. “He’s kind of skinny.” His eyes assess me, and I find myself fidgeting, although I’d rather not show any weakness.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say. I stick out my hand. Instead of shaking hands, he extends his fist and holds his still so I’ll bump my knuckles with his. I do, and he grins at me.
“I’m going to run to the ladies’ room before we get started,” Lark says. She points a finger at Emilio. “Behave yourself.”
Friday smirks in the corner, and Paul swipes a smile off his face. “You’re f*cked,” Paul says in warning.
I look at Emilio and wait for him to sign something. He just stares at me. He looks at me until I grow all kinds of uncomfortable. Suddenly, he claps a hand to my shoulder and squeezes until I wince. “Let’s have a quick talk, shall we?” he says, as he walks us toward the back of the shop.
I lean my hip against the counter and ask, “What can I do for you?”
“How did you get her to take her gloves off?” he asks.
I stand up straight. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. I have no idea why she took them off.
“You know, she started wearing gloves before we ever adopted her, and she never stopped. We tried to talk her out of them, but it never worked. And then suddenly I show up at her house and she’s wearing shirt sleeves with her arms exposed. It’s honestly the first time I’ve seen the scars from her suicide attempt. Well, not since they unwrapped them at the hospital.” He stops and thinks for a moment. Then he looks into my face. “Whatever you did, I’m grateful, and I just wanted to tell you that.”
I swallow past the lump that’s suddenly in my throat. “I really didn’t do anything.”
“It’s almost a shame you’re going to cover them up,” he says.
I know. I feel the same way. “It’s what she wants.”
“I know, I know,” he says, waving his hand in the air like he’s dismissing my comment. “All this time, all she needed was to meet a deaf guy who can’t possibly fall in love with her to get her through it. I wish I’d known it sooner.”
Huh? “What?” I ask.
“You,” he says, pointing at my chest. “You make her comfortable because you’re not a threat. She’s not worried that you’re going to dismiss her, because you can’t fall in love with her anyway. She’s not your type of girl, right?”
He waits. “Well…” I hesitate. She totally is my type of girl. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s funny and kind and smart. Who cares if she can hear? She doesn’t seem to care that I can’t.