Page 59 of Interpreter

He nods, intently watching my lips as if he doesn’t want to miss a word.

“My family has been so good to me. They funded my education and even bought my plane ticket to the US. I couldn’t let them down. Opportunity was opportunity, and eventually, I think I will find the perfect job.”

But I probably won’t because I’m leaving in a few months and going back home.

“Have you tried—”

The lights dim, and I don’t miss the window to shut down this conversation about me. “Come on, it’s about to start.”

I scramble out from behind the bar and snag his hand, pulling him to the far end of the bar and up the three steps and behind the black velvet curtains. I’m breathing heavy by the time I have Tim positioned where I want him with the perfect side view of the stage.

“No one can see us,” I tell him, pointing over his shoulder so he knows I mean the crowd. He swallows, the muscles in his neck making the motion look crazy sexy.

“Okay.” He sounds unsure.

“We don’t have to do this,” I tell him. The last thing I want to do is make him feel uncomfortable. “I just wanted you to have a good time tonight.” And I wanted to spend time with him outside of work where he might be a little more… open.

A corner of his mouth twitches. Is he about to smile? “I am having a good time,” he says, his voice steady and confident.

I should have brought a water or something with me. My mouth is uber dry, and I’m not sure if it’s his body heat drying me out or the fact that being this close to him—his broad shoulders take up way more room than I thought—has me overheated. Homegirl is truly sweating up in here.

“Thank you for inviting us to the show tonight,” he says, low and thoughtful. “Felipe and Marcus—what time I got to see of them before Theo made friends—seem like great guys.”

Yep, I think I might love this man.

No, not love, Milah. You can’t love him. You’re leaving him. Let’s go with really, really liking him. Maybe he’ll be a good long-distance friend?

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you guys could come.” Awkward is tonight’s theme.

Apparently, I wasn’t paying attention to the opening remarks—a fantastic interpreter I am—because the bar is suddenly plunged in darkness. They’re starting.

Dammit. I wasn’t ready. I hurry and grab the flashlight off the speaker where I stashed it earlier and push the on button. Tim’s face comes into focus. His eyes aren’t sad or wary like I thought they might be. Instead, he looks excited. I cringe. “I’m sorry,” I try signing, but it looks like shit and probably seizure-like since the flashlight is still in my hand. I hold up a finger and place the light between us and sign, “I forgot my phone behind the bar. Can I use yours?” We need more light. Not enough to be obvious backstage but enough that Tim can really see me.

Without a word, he slips his hand into his back pocket and hands over his phone, never breaking our gaze.

“Thank you,” I mouth, taking his phone and swiping up to access the flashlight feature. It doesn’t work the first time, and I go to swipe again and gasp. His home screen… it’s a picture of me and Oliver on the swings at recess. Oliver recently learned how to pump his feet, and he wanted to see how high he could go. Tim was exceptionally moody that day and refused to do it with us. Instead, he stood against the wall playing with his phone. Or I thought he was playing with his phone. I guess he was being a secret paparazzi and snapping pictures of us.

I don’t comment on his picture. One, I don’t want to make a big deal out of something and send him for the door. And two, I like knowing he has me on his home screen. Oliver and I are wearing him down. Finally, I manage to activate the flashlight and set his phone down between us, his home screen lit with my and Oliver’s smiling faces and wind-swept hair.

“I’ve never interpreted a song before,” I admit with a whisper, signing as I say each word. “But I did watch a few videos.” I shrug. “I’m sorry in advance if it sucks.”

The piano starts out slow, and I hurry to slip off my shoes. Tim, not nearly as eager to slip his off, does the same shortly after me. The videos I saw didn’t show anyone taking their shoes off, but Ms. Peak seemed to have good results with it, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. I moved three additional speakers behind the curtains so the bass and the vibrations would be really strong against the wooden stage.

Pe’s voice begins to filter through the sound system, and I take a deep breath.You can do this, Milah.

And then I grab the man who brings me dessert around the waist and pull him closer. My hands move in the small space between our bodies, but with the height difference, I feel like he can’t see my face and my hands easily. I try to just relax and channel the music that I’ve heard a thousand times while Pe practiced.

“You were my strength when I was weak.” Pe’s voice saturates the crowd as he sings the words to his favorite song from Céline. Feeling the weight of Tim’s attention on my hands and my mouth, I close my eyes. My body is humming with the feeling Pe is pumping through this audience with his love for Marcus. He confesses that even though they fight and argue, they have always been there for each other when they needed it.

Before long, as my hands ache and my body feels feverish, I feel a warm hand at the base of my throat. “Sing it for me.” His voice is strained and raspy, and I don’t dare open my eyes. Instead, I swallow, feeling his body closer, the palm of his hand spanning the entirety of my throat. And then I sing. Soft and quiet, I repeat the words of the iconic 90s song and sing along with my best friend.

“You were my voice when I couldn’t speak,” I sing, channeling every bit of Céline that I possibly can, while the man in front of me feels the vibrations of my throat. I don’t stop singing even when the song finishes and Pe and Marcus move onto another. Instead, I keep going, allowing him to feel the whole song this way until he places his free hand on mine that are still signing between us, which in all honesty has not been very effective given how close we are.

“Thank you,” he tells me, his voice different than usual. My eyes fly open, halting the next words. Did I upset him?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

His mouth swallows the rest of my words. His tongue doesn’t ask permission for entrance. With one swipe and his grip tilting my head up, my mouth opens willingly. I’m eager and panting as I try to take over and dominate this kiss, wanting to see just how great his smart-ass tongue and sexy lips feel, but I never get that far. Tim has no problem being confident with his body. He jerks me to his chest, leading me further offstage with a hand around my back. We never come up for air.

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