Page 76 of Whispers in the Dark
Well, besides my mother or the occasional chef.
But this… This feels different.
And standing here, watching her move around my kitchen like she belongs, like she’s been here all her life, it feels like something I didn’t even realize my home was missing.Her.
She turns, wiping her hands on the towel draped over her shoulder. The smile she wears falters the moment she looks at me. “Oh, shit.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “This is too much. I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something nice for you, andwhen you don’t have money, it’s hard to figure out what to give someone who already has everything.” She lets out a soft, nervous laugh. “Maybe I overdid it.”
She steps to the island, and I can see the determination in her face as she inhales, ready to blow out the candles.
I move before she can. Stepping around the island, I catch her arm, stopping her short. She looks up at me, startled, and I pull her gently into my chest. Lowering my head, I brush my lips over her lobe. “Perfect,” I breathe out with a roughness I wish could match the gentleness I feel.
She smiles. “You’re sure? This isn’t too domesticated for you?”
I shake my head, one side of my lips curving up.
It smells good.
“Hopefully it tastes good too.”
Can I help?
She spins on her heel, and opens the oven door. “No, everything is just about all set. It just needs time to cook.” Slipping on oven mitts, she pulls out a rack of what look like homemade rolls. “Fingers crossed I didn’t overcook these. I’m not used to working with such a fancy oven.” She places the rack on the counter. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” She unties the apron and sets it aside, and my thoughts immediately veer somewhere they shouldn’t. Like envisioning coming home to find her cooking, wearing the apron…and only the apron. Internally, I shake my head. She arches a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “You seem to be better at ASL than you originally let on.”
I lift a shoulder and scratch at my beard.I’m a fast learner.
“We haven’t even had any lessons yet,” she points out, disbelief written all over her face.
I nod slowly, weighing my next move. How much am I actually ready to reveal to her?
She gathers a few books from the chair beside her and stacks them neatly on the table. “How about this?” she says, eyes lighting up. “While we wait for dinner, let’s start that first lesson? It’ll give me a chance to see how much you actually know.”
Okay.
“We can start with common words and then work our way up to small phrases. I have some worksheets for you to practice on and some homework to help with daily repetition.” She opens one of the folders and pulls out a sheet of paper. “I also created a list of great resources you can use whenever you’re away or maybe just bored and want to practice.” She pushes it toward me. “These are all teachers who work virtually with their students. And then these”—she points at the bottom—“are links for practice tests that really helped me.” She pulls another sheet from the folder, and I begin to feel guilty for lying to her about this. Her brow lifts. “I’m guessing you’re familiar with the alphabet?”
I nod. I’m so familiar with it, I could do it backwards after drinking a whole bottle of Macallan.
“Okay. Good.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Then let’s start with common words and see where we need to focus. I’ll say the word, and you’ll sign it. If you don’t know it, you spell it.” She pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “And for a little motivation, every word you know earns you a point.”
I arch a brow.
“Fifty points,” she adds, “and you get dessert.”
A grin tugs at my lips.
Game on, wife.
A timer goes off, just as I get my sixty-third word correct. Not that I hadn’t known the others. I’d missed a few on purpose, just to keep her guessing.
She shakes her head, scrunching her nose in disbelief. “You reallyarefamiliar with the basics.” With a soft sigh, she adds, “I’m going to have to reassess the entire plan I made for you.” She shifts as if to stand, but I stop her.
My fingers close gently around her chin, and I point back to the seat. A silent command for her to stay.
“Oh, I can—”
I shake my head once again, pointing to the seat, and she nods, remaining still.
I rise and move to the stove, lifting the lid from the pasta.Mmm.Everything smells amazing.
