Page 53 of The Run Back Home

The lady's eyes flick between him and the register like she's waiting for something to click.

She looks over toward the tables where a little girl sits hooked up to an IV stand beside her chair, a picture book in front of her. Her legs swing under the table as her eyes wander. When she spots the woman, she waves, and the girl's hospital band slides down her thin wrist. The woman waves back, signing something quickly, and the girl nods, smiling.

"Are you okay?" I mutter quietly.

Dylan pauses mid-sentence with her fork halfway to her mouth. "I'm fine?"

I look at her, laughing at the way her brow cocks to one side.

"He had a puppet, Len. Did you not hear me? A pup—"

"Not you," I interrupt, setting down my food. "Just—hold that thought."

I turn back toward the man and woman, smiling at the worker first, who may or may not smile back. Then, I step up next to the visitor and lift my hand, catching her attention.

"Can I help?" I gesture between them.

"I was just trying to tell her I'm not open anymore," the cashier says.

I glance at the woman, who holds her palms open and shrugs, her expression dripping with confusion. Her gaze darts to my lips, waiting.

"She can check you out over there," I say, signing as I speak. "He's closing up."

She follows my hands immediately as her shoulders sag in relief, her eyes shining brighter.

"Thank you," she says, touching her fingers to her chin before pulling them away again.

"Oh, goodness. I'm sorry," the cashier chimes in.

I interpret for him, and the woman smiles.

"She says it's okay. She just couldn't read your lips because of your mask."

He nods and pulls it down. "And I'm running on overtime, which means so is my patience." His gaze finds hers. "I'm really sorry, ma'am."

The woman waves him off, smiling, and points the cellophane-wrapped cookie in her hand toward the next register. "My little Lana just wants her dessert. Thanks again," she says to me.

"You're welcome."

I step aside to let her pass, then grin at the cashier before walking back toward Dylan.

"What was that about?" Dyl asks as I get closer, her words muffled by the mashed potatoes she shoved into her mouth at the same time.

"You know your shift's over, right? You don't have to shovel it in like you might get paged."

"Habit," she mumbles before washing her last bite down with her sweet tea. "Plus, they're just so damn good."

I laugh, and she tips her chin up toward the register. "So…?"

I follow her gaze. "Oh." I shake my head, unbothered. "She's deaf, and he's wearing a mask. Not an ideal combo."

Her eyes go wide as she chokes down her bite. "Wait, I forgot you can sign."

I shrug nonchalantly. "Just a little."

"Mhmm," she says, rolling her eyes playfully. "God, you really do always have the answers."

I plop down and lean back in my chair. "I wish," I admit.