I write+1in the notebook for him opening up to me and show it to him. He’s still in the negatives, but hey. It’s something.
He rolls his eyes as we take off again. Whenever we’re going, it’s not in town. We hit a long stretch of mostly empty road, and it would be impossible to chat if he hadn’t turned the light on.
‘Can we talk about Paris?’
He sags back and runs a hand down his face. ‘Why?’
‘Because when you left the way you did, that was…’ I try to remember what a good sign for shitty would be, but I’m a little frazzled by my courage to actually ask that question at all. I settle for, ‘Mean.’
He winces. ‘Sorry.’
I wait, but…I think that’s all I’m going to get. I reach for the pen again, and he makes a loud, irritated noise and smacks my hand away from the paper.
‘It’s complicated.’ He slows the car as a strip mall comes into view. I’ve never been here before. I expected him to take me to one of the Deaf-owned spots in town, but maybe he’s ashamed to be seen with me in front of people he knows.
That makes my stomach churn. I want to mark him negative a billion for that, but I’m going to wait and see if that’s actually true. Maybe I’m catastrophizing. Maybe he’s taking me to a nice little hole-in-the-wall with amazing home-cooked food.
He pulls into a spot and doesn’t wait for me to get out as he opens his door and slams it behind him. I’m about to be really irritated, but then he wrenches my door open and stands off to the side.
He gets half a point for that. He glowers at me, and I send him a wink. Well. He’s broken even now.
When we make it to the small café, he holds the door open again, and I give him another half a point for his effort.
The eye roll he gives me makes me want to take it away, but I decide to be nice.
Inside, the place smells like Italian herbs, and red-checkered, vinyl tablecloths assault my eyes the moment we walk in.
The hostess looks like she died five years ago and is being puppetted around by a necromancer. She smiles cigarette-yellow teeth at us.
“Table for two?”
I look over at Rome, and he grimaces. ‘Speak for me, please?’
I can do that. “Yes. Somewhere with decent lighting if you have it.”
She looks like she has no idea what I’m saying, but she takes us to the brightest table in the dimly lit restaurant. It’s a little corner spot with two rickety chairs and a single unlit candle next to an old bottle of even older powdered parmesan cheese.
Whatisthis place?
Rome starts to sit, then freezes and huffs before walking around and pulling my chair out. He gets a full point for that.
He’s quite the grumpy gentleman when he wants to be. It’s so fucking endearing. I love it, but it’s also doing dangerous things to my heart.
I take a seat and set the notebook off to the side as Rome takes a seat opposite me. Our feet bump under the table, and my heart flutters in my chest. Funny how we’ve sucked each other off, but the simple act of footsie has me blushing.
‘So, how do you know about this place?’ I ask, and Rome peers around.
‘Saw it online. Got good reviews.’
‘Not Deaf-friendly,’ I say, and he sighs.
‘Yeah, but you’re hearing, so I thought you’d like it.’
I cock my head at him and open that notebook. His gaze flicks down to it, and I give him a+1 for that.
‘For-for?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘Admitting I’m hearing and you’re still on a date with me.’
