Page 29 of Silent Is The Heart

What?

Get back to work, slacker.

With that parting sarcasm, I hightail it out of my former prison faster than I’ve ever moved. This is the last place I want to be if I’ve apparently lost my fucking mind.

CHAPTER 15

Aaron

This isn’t going well at all. After a week of lighthearted texts back and forth with Easton, I was under the impression we’d reached some kind of budding camaraderie. I shouldn’t have ruined it with a lunch invitation, but I was still desperate to make up for acting like such a fool the last few times I’d seen him.

You should get one of these for your office.

That was the message it started with, accompanied by a picture of a milkshake machine, letting me know who the sender was. It’s been so long since I’ve had any kind of silly exchange with someone that the text made my smile nearly break my face. I think I was also astounded that he’d actually reached out. It felt like a victory, not the way it is when I break through with a patient, but because it’s Easton and he has no obligation to speak to me.

I had to take the morning off to get my oil changed. While I don’t have much leave accrued, meeting Easton for lunch was far more appealing than going to work for half a day. The hundred and twenty-seven dollars I have left to my name untilpayday would probably be wiser spent on one of the many bills I have to pay, but I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself or did something for someone else. I was a bit taken aback by Easton’s offer to pick me up since I was the one who wanted to treat him, but my bank account made me accept.

I can still feel the rumble of his motorcycle between my legs. Being pressed up behind him on the back of his bike as we whirred through downtown was not how I imagined our first reunion after his visit to my office. I certainly never pictured pulling up to Hampton Boarding House on a motorcycle, either.

It’s still the nicest restaurant in town. Jason and I even ate here on a few of our dates when he was a visiting surgeon at Hampton Hills. If I only get one chance to spoil Easton, I figured this would be the place to do it.

Watching him drum his fingers on the white linen tablecloth anxiously as his eyes canvas the dining area makes my heart sink. He looks so out of place in a button-down with his neck tats peeking out above the collar and his wavy hair slicked back.

Tapping at the menu, he indicated his selections to the waiter with nods or shakes of his head. He has yet to speak to me again since that night at Pulse. I don’t think I imagined it, which has my speech pathologist brain churning about why he’s reverted to signing. No matter what I say, I feel self-conscious, wary of sounding like this is an investigation rather than a cordial meeting of acquaintances.

“I figured you do most of your work at night, so I hope lunch was the best time to catch you.”

I work all day, but I can come and go as I please.

“How did you get into tattooing?”

I realize as soon as I’ve asked that the response could be a long one. I’ve spent enough time with my brother to know when someone isn’t happy to sign, which baffles me even more as I watch Easton answer me. He isn’t comfortable speaking to me in any format, unless it’s short texts about nothing. How did I get this so wrong?

My friend Wolf went to school for it and showed me the ropes. I got a job cleaning at the studio under the old owner. I showed him my artwork, and he finally let me start doing simple designs until he trusted me to not fuck up anything more elaborate. Skin is a permanent canvas, so I don’t blame him.

The way his gaze tracks the other diners watching the movement of his hands has me tensing. George was always self-conscious about being watched in public, too. I hate that I’m the cause of Easton feeling like he’s a spectacle, even though I don’t think it’s his signing that’s drawing us attention. It’s just…him. His ink is mostly covered, but it’s still apparent he possesses a lot of it. Yet, even without it, I can’t imagine people not gawking at him the way I can’t seem to stop doing. It’s those dark-rimmed, deep jade eyes of his, those long lashes. He gets more stunning the longer I look at him.

Clearing my throat, I try to bring his attention back to me to ease his wariness. “You’ve known Wolf a long time?”

He stares at me for a moment and then nods. Why does everything out of my mouth sound like an inquisition? I’d shut up if he asked me anything, except I’m afraid then I’d be the one with clipped answers. My life hasn’t exactly been interesting since I left Hampton.

He was friends with a guy who lived next door to my foster home.

The tightness in his jaw and the way he looks out the window as he answers tell me I’m getting too close to home. I promised not to dive into the past and that’s right where I took him. Wonderful. Can’t we just go back to silly texts? Why is this so hard? It feels like there’s a black mark on my record bigger than showing up at his door unannounced or bailing out of a noisy club, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is.

“The desserts are really good here,” I throw out, still unable to shut my pie hole. “Or they used to be when I came here with… Um, my parents used to bring me and my brother here on New Year’s Eve each year. They let us pig out. It was the best part of the Christmas season. They shoot fireworks off out back and we’d watch them from the patio.”

Luckily, our lunch arrives. Easton picks up his fork and looks at it strangely.

“Sir, do you need another dinner fork?” the waiter asks.

Frowning, he shakes his head, motioning with his three-pronged fork. The waiter’s veiled expression is obvious, at least to me, as he glances at the steak Easton ordered.

“It’s no trouble to bring you another. Steak is much better enjoyed without a salad fork,” the man informs him and bustles off.

Blinking at his utensil, Easton’s face goes crimson when he glances up at me. I never considered he might have never set foot in a place like this before. It was supposed to be my way of showing him how much his offer of friendship meant to me, not to humiliate him.

“I’m sure that one works just fine,” I assure him.

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