Page 53 of Whispers of Fire

"Are you learning ASL?"

"Yeah," I reply casually, shrugging off the significance. "Figured I might as well.”

How can I tell her the truth behind it?

Cause I want us to be able to fuckin' talk, like a couple. Cause I want to know every corner of her mind. And it turns out my girl speaks sign language so that’s why I’m learning it too. But I can’t tell her. Fuckin’ tough to show my soft side when I’ve been livin’ in the shadows for so long.

"Why?" she signs, touching her forehead with her fingers then bringing her palm down. I kinda like that I get what she signed to me.

"It’s not a big deal, Angel, really," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Her mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise to my cold answer.

Is she disappointed? I can tell I caught her off guard. Taking hold of the notebook, she writes fervently, almost angrily. But I cut her off before she can protest, determined to make her understand.

"I'm learning ASL for us , Angel, and you're gonna be okay with it."

Did I fuckin' say us?

I assert firmly, crossing the distance between us and resting my hands on her hips, pulling her towards me while I read “but” on her trembling lips. She tries to interject, but I shake my head, caressing her jaw with the back on my fingers.

"But what, Angel?" I inquire softly, my voice softer as I gaze into her ocean eyes. With trembling fingers, she writes, "You don’t have to."

How can I tell her that she's been on my mind like a damn drug, that every time I close my eyes, all I see is her face and her blue eyes filled with that spark that ignites something deep inside me? How can I admit that she’s the first person I’ve allowed myself to feel this way about since losing my family? It scares the hell out of me.

I’m not good with words, so I just pull her closer, wrappin’ my arms around her, holding her tight like she's the only thing keepin’ me grounded in this fucked-up world. And hope she’ll get whatever answers she needs to understand why I’m learning sign language.

"Rose," I rasp out her name, the scent of vanilla swirlin’ around us as I pull her closer. Most addictive scent I ever tasted.

She fits against me, her petite figure a stark contrast to my rough edges, her long blonde hair like silk brushing against my black shirt. Her skin, soft and creamy against the calloused hands of a man who's seen too much, too soon.

I clench my jaw. "I ain't cut out for this stuff,” I confess. It's tough admitting it, but it's the truth. "But one thing’s for sure, I ain't lettin' you go."

She meets my gaze, her eyes searchin’ mine, and for a moment, it feels like she's peerin’ into the depths of my soul.

"Vox," she silently says as I now know the exact pattern of her lips when she says my name.

Damn, I want to see those lips every fuckin' day of my existence.

Her fingers trace the stubble along my jawline, makin’ my dark heart skip a bit.

“C’mon, wanna show you somethin’ before you go.” Takin’ her hand in mine, I move us to the living room, guidin’ her toward my collection of vinyl records neatly stacked in the corner. With a flick of my finger, I browse through the titles, searching for somethin’ she'd like.

Sinatra.

Just like in the old days.

I place it on the turntable and let “Fly Me to the Moon” fill the room as I watch her eyes spark from the melody. Then, cause I'm just a man in front of a goddess and keeping my hands away from her is becoming unbearable, I kiss her palm, lockin’ my eyes with hers. “Wanna dance, Angel?”

She nods, saying somethin’ I don't fully get, but I catch “don't know” and “dance.”

“I got ya,” I say, leadin’ her to the center of the room.

An image of my past flashes in my mind.

Laughter, love, family.

That’s what she’s remindin’ me of.

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