Page 195 of The Right Sign

“It’s okay.” I give her a soft smile. “Thank you for defending me when no one else did. It gave me a lot of strength seeing your positive comments online.”

Her smile slowly regains its shine as if it was an inflatable balloon that got a fresh pump of air.

“But,” I add, “following me in person is not okay. The next time you want to hang out,” I wave my phone, “let’s set it up. The non-creepy way.”

Her eyes fill with hope. “Really?”

“Really. Next time, okay?”

She reads between the lines and backs away, waving and signing goodbye.

“You shouldn’t entertain sick-os like her,” Henry warns.

I take a sip of my latte. “She’s harmless.”

“You’re too trusting. That’s exactly how you got caught by a wolf like Sullivan. He saw a crack in your armor, and he went in for the kill.”

“What exactly did he kill?”

“Your standards. Obviously. There’s a reason you said you’d never date a hearing person. He didn’t listen. He practically forced himself on you.”

“That’s not how it happened.”

“Even worse, he has you thinking this was all your idea.” Henry shakes his head. “You have no clue how much I’ve been beating myself up. If I could go back in time, I’d stop myself from losing my temper the night of the wedding. I’d stop all this from happening.”

“Sadly, time machines haven’t been invented yet,” I sign. Deep inside, my stomach is in knots, and I can’t quite look at Henry.

Not because he’s right.

It’s because I’m annoyed about the way he’s badmouthing Dare.

“If we can’t get a time machine, then how about we make our own?” He leans forward. Eyes eager. Smile affectionate. “Can’t we forget everything that’s happened and start over?”

“That’s impossible.”

“The past is the past. But what matters is the future. I can take you there, Yaya. To the future you always dreamed of. The one where you’re married to someone who truly understands you in every way.”

I wince, my heart tightening.

“You and I are best friends. I know everything about you and you know everything about me. I’m sure I can make you happy in a way that he can’t.”

My nails dig into the grout of the table.

Henry slides something over.

My eyes bug when I recognize the logo on the tickets. Snatching them up so fast the wind almost knocks Henry out of his seat, I gasp.

Beethoven’s Nightmare.

Gaze zooming to Henry, I sign with one hand. “How did you get these?”

“I pulled every favor I could,” he signs, his grin mirroring my own. “And this.” He slides his phone over to show me a picture of his grandmother’s van. It’s a shot of speakers in the door. When I look up again, he signs, “These speakers are guaranteed to never blow no matter how hard you turn up the bass. If they do, the guys at the shop have a three year warranty. They cover everything.”

“They’ll wish they never gave you a warranty,” I sign, laughing.

Shyly, he strokes the side of his cup and then lifts both hands to sign, “I missed that smile.”

My grin immediately disappears. “This is all really great, Henry.” I shove the phone back in his direction. “But you shouldn’t have bought those tickets.”

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