Page 35 of Interpreter

“She’s absolutely precious,” I sign to both of them, watching to see how much of it Aspen knows. If she knows what I said, she doesn’t let on. Instead, Tim clears his throat and grates out almost painfully, “Aspen wants you to paint owls on our faces.”

No, I didn’t grin. I full-out smiled at this man’s pained expression. He is tossing away his, I-have-a-shitty-attitude-but-I’m-hotpersona and letting this little girl talk him into getting a cartoon owl on his chiseled jaw.

And then I realize I’m going to have to do it.

I’m going to touch his face—feel the scruff of his cheek.

Have mercy.

I will be fired for moaning in front of these small souls.

“Oh,” I say softly. “Both of you.”

He sighs a long, drawn-out sigh and mutters, “The things I do for this little cracker thief.” Aspen turns and places a tiny palm on his cheek. He gives her a smile that I’ve never seen—not that he smiles much, but this smile is real. This is the smile he saves for important people. And yep, I’m a little bit jealous. And I shouldn’t be. It’s completely irrational. I am leaving at the end of the year. I haven’t had a steady boyfriend in years, and Tim is as standoffish as they come. Neither one of us needs to be jealous. Especially me because that would be crazy.

“Yep. Both of us,” he says softer than I’ve ever heard as he still smiles at Aspen.

Yep, there’s still a teensy bit of jealousy swirling around in the bottom of my stomach, but I push it down and nod as I turn around and grab my paint and stencils. “Two owls it is then.”

“Call dibs right now or I’m marching over there. I swear I will be impregnated by the end of the night and you will never have a chance. I’m serious. I will lock his ass down with dozens of kids. I don’t care how torn up my vagina becomes. The man will never leave me.”

Like Felipe, Gretchen can be dramatic, but in this case, I think she is being honest about her intentions with Tim. She’s making it known that the single women of Madison are salivating to get him, her and her future ruined vagina included.

“I love you, Milah, and as your friend, I am giving you thisoneopportunity. I know you like him.”

I make a scoffing noise that could be interpreted as she’s being ridiculous. She’s not wrong, but I don’t think now is the time to tell her that just touching his face, painting the cutest owl on his scruffy cheek, sent tingles throughout my body. No, telling her this would be bad. Not that I think she would be jealous or act crazy, but Gretchen has always said that eventually I would meet a man that I would be able to tolerate past the first date—not that Tim and I have had a date—oh, good gracious. I am spiraling. Touching this man and seeing him with a baby has me a mess.

“Don’t make that bullshit noise with me, Milah. I do not believe your ‘my love life is non-existent crap’ for one minute. You see more ass than my panties. Just because you can’t lay down some roots because of your visa situation doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the love of a man while you’re here. The end of the year is a long way off. You don’t know what will happen by then.”

Someone has been drinking the Felipe Kool-Aid. I eye my friend and track Tim as he chases the little girl around their blanket. Oh, God. Gretch is right. This shit kills your ovaries.

“Admit it, Milah. You like him.”

“I—”

I do like him. It’s not something tangible or even something I can explain. We’ve only had a couple of days together, but I’ve found myself smiling going into work. When has that ever happened? But why? Why do I feel a connection? I’ve given it a lot of thought. Sometimes when you’re the only one who knows how to communicate with the other person, you develop this bond. You rely on each other. So it would be unprofessional and misusing a situation.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit to Gretchen. “It’s complicated.”

Gretchen turns her head and finds Tim and Aspen snuggling on the blanket. Her little head is lying on his chest, his big arms engulfing her tiny body. Have mercy, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

Turning back to me, Gretchen shrugs. “Okay, see ya.” She takes a step in their direction, and God help me, I grab her arm. Guilt rushes over me, but I don’t let go until Gretchen’s smug smile reaches my eyes. “I knew it.”

I sigh, letting my friend go and smoothing down a corner of our blanket. “I like him,” I mumble, my voice small and quiet for the first time in, like, forever. Gretchen’s lips tip at the corner, looking a little less smug and more… happy. “I’ve been waiting for you to realize it. All you needed was a little push.” She’s acting like she did me a favor.

“I did not.” Gathering my hair, I pull it up into a bun. “Look, Gretch, I know you mean well, but it doesn’t matter if Imight—” I pause on the word might and lift my brows so she knows this is the word to focus on. “—have feelings or an attraction to Tim. It would be inappropriate for us to act on it.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a long slurp of her slushy. “Go ask if you can sit with him during the movie.”

“Absolutely not!” I mean, I just got our blanket all situated. And besides, it looks like he and Aspen are cozy over there together. “I promised Oliver he could sit with us.” And from the looks of his sweaty hair and tired eyes from playing kickball, he’s ready for a break.

Gretchen’s lips turn down. Her eyes settle on my chest and then to Oliver heading over. “Just remember I am doing this for your own good.”

What? What is she talking about? “I already told you, Gretch. It’s ina—Ahh! Gretchen! This is a good shirt!” I don’t get the rest of my words out before she empties her slushy out on my shirt where it finishes pooling on the quilted blanket, where Oliver and I planned to sit. “Gretchen! The blanket is soaked!”

“Exactly,” she huffs, looking proud of herself. “Now go ask him ifbothof you can sit with him.” Grr! Why do I want to scream at her? I know she thinks she’s pushing me out of my comfort zone, but for once, I wish she would just listen to me. Dating—or fucking—your coworker is a really bad idea. Maybe the worst idea for someone who is being let go at the end of the year. For all I know, Principal Moorehouse could cut the program early and shoo me out of here for making the school look bad.

“Milah, relax. Teachers B.A.N.G.” She literally spells the word.

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