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CHAPTER ONE
Wren was pretty sure half of his brain was forty percent rotating memes. Currently, the one running through his head was the layered voices all saying, “Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it.” But meme or not, he rarely ever listened to the things his subconscious—or, in this case, conscious—was trying to tell him.
He drummed his fingers on the cup of coffee in his hand and stared at the figure just outside of the café door. The large man in the pressed suit stood with his back to Wren, kind of hunched over in shame…or maybe low-key rage? Wren felt a stab of pity for him because while he’d never made the particular mistake of yelling at a bunch of Deaf people about how they weren’t signing correctly, he’d had his share of faux pas.
His entire young adult life was made up of them.
Wren’s older brother had invited him to first set a toe, then a whole foot, then take big but tentative steps into the bubble surrounding the Deaf community. Wren, with his subpar Signed Exact English skills he’d been so sure were proper ASL. Wren, with all the manners, habits, and delicate feelings of a hearing person with absolutely no calluses against the Deaf blunt culture he so badly wanted to be a part of, had crashed and burned. He’d been laughed at and mocked and damn near run out by people who had no patience for his steep, steep learning curve.
He’d stuck it out, but it had come at a price.
It had been years since he’d felt like shit about himself, but he remembered it well enough to feel rapid pulses of sympathy for this poor bastard who was drowning in humiliation.
He glanced behind him, and through the kitchen window, he could see Luke still signing furiously and Ananda looking officially bored with his rant. Caleb had whisked Bodhi off to somewhere, which meant the counter was unattended, but the shop was—for the first time in a long time—empty.
So, he ignored the meme-voice, pressed his hand to the glass door—he’d clean the smudge later—and pushed. The loud buzzer sounded, rippling against the back of his skull, and he winced. It never failed to give him a brief, sudden headache from the noise, and it made him want to rip his processors off and throw them across the parking lot.
He didn’t, of course. The café might be successful, and being a not-quite-silent partner gave him some financial stability, but insurance didn’t cover CI repairs due to noise-induced rage, so… yeah. Until he had sixteen grand just lying around to replace them, he’d suck it up.
The thought almost made him smile, but then Wren looked up into the stranger’s face, which was tinged pink, and that bubbly feeling left.
The guy looked like he was seconds from raising his fists to knock Wren on his ass.
It had been a good long while since Wren had gotten into a fistfight, especially since Caleb had stopped him from going after his brother’s cheating ex to beat the absolute shit out of him, so he wouldn’t have exactly minded a couple of rounds in the parking lot.
But he was pretty sure this poor bastard didn’t need a punch to the face.
Not to mention, the guy looked like he hadn’t suffered as much as a broken nail in his life. It definitely wouldn’t be a fair fight.
Wren took a breath and held up his free hand in surrender. “Sorry to intrude. I just wanted to check on you.” Wren spent so much time in BrewBiz that even as the dedicated voice guy for hearing people who struggled with the sign menu, he was becoming unused to speaking aloud. He cleared his throat when the guy didn’t move. “And I brought you a coffee. Are you okay?”
It was almost like Wren’s words had pushed the Start button on him because the guy finally moved, his shoulders sagging, and he pushed fingers through his light brown hair.
Apart from the splotchy face, the guy was fairly attractive, which Wren probably had no business thinking, but he was rarely, if ever, appropriate.
Plus, the guy was totally Wren’s type. He was very tall and broad, and though his suit seemed perfectly tailored, he looked uncomfortable in it. Not that Wren could blame him. The only reason he’d lasted so long at BrewBiz—apart from being the silent partner—was that he could come to work in jeans every day.
“Uh,” Wren said at the prolonged silence. “So, do you want this coffee, or…”
“Sorry. Yes. Thank you,” the guy blurted in what Wren now knew was an English accent. “I mean…” He lifted his fingers to his chin and tipped them downward in thanks.
Wren had been wearing CIs since he could remember, and even with all his practice, he usually struggled with accents. His friends growing up would wax poetic about how hot they were, but Wren never got it. Without ever knowing what natural sound was like, accents were always a bit…odd.
He didn’t mind this guy’s voice though. He spoke softly and very politely for a man who was raging out just minutes before.
Wren smiled encouragingly as the guy took the coffee, and the guy tried to grin back, but he looked more constipated than anything.
“Er. I know there are laws here in the US about it, but anywhere close by I can go for a fag?”
Wren blinked in shock, and as it always did, his mind went for low-hanging fruit whenever he was uncomfortable. “I mean, I’m bisexual, but I’m pretty sure it counts. We’ve got a storage closet that would probably fit the both of us.” He dragged his gaze up and down the guy’s large body. “Maybe.”
The guy blinked, then blushed even harder and slapped his hand over his face. If the poor bastard wasn’t careful, he was going to stroke out or something from all the blood rushing toward his head. “That’s not what I—sorry. Fuck. I’m making a right fucking mess of this.”
Wren’s smile softened. “Sorry. I know I’m being kind of a dick because that’s what I do when I get uncomfortable. Though I’m guessing fag means something else wherever you’re from?”
“It…cigarette,” the guy said. Wren only caught part of the sentence, but it was enough.
“Got it. I think I saw that on TV once. My brother got really into some BBC show a few years back about a priest. Anyway…whatever. Sorry for being an asshole.”
