Page 33 of Sinful Abandon

The front door is open, light laughter sounding from inside and somewhere in the back. A woman in the front window is talking to a young girl with long brown hair. Both have striking blue eyes.

“You live with your parents?” I didn’t mean for my tone to sound so accusatory.

“Not everyone leaves home at sixteen. It’s normal for people to live with their parents. At least, around here, it is.”

There is a loud ruckus of cheering coming from the backyard. I tilt my body to see what is going on.

“That’s my family,” he answers my unasked question, walking up the stoop.

“Family?” I swallow with the question. My stomach drops, and my feet don’t leave the cement walkway.

“Uncles, cousins—you know, family,” he says. Then, he pauses. He turns around, his mouth parting as he inhales slightly with the realization.

Ryan walks back toward me, stopping just inches away. His hand rises and grazes my cheek. The feeling of warm skin on mine sends a lightning bolt of electricity down my spine.

“Hey,” he speaks softly, “I’m just running in to change. If you don’t feel comfortable, you can wait out here. Though I’d feel better if you came inside with me. You can wait in my room. Whatever you need.”

His thumb runs a light circle on my skin. I look up into his handsome face and fall deep into the cobalt. His tender look consumes me, making me want to crawl into him like a warm security blanket. If he knew how his touch made me feel, how a single caress of his hand comforts me, how a hold while dancing makes me feel secure…

It feels like home.

The sound of a storm door closing breaks our moment.

We look over and see a man and a woman standing on the stoop, looking surprised. The man is tall, like Ryan, with a full head of dark hair and dimples to match his son’s.

Ryan places a hand behind my back and escorts me to the couple who meet us on the sidewalk. The woman, who I presume is Ryan’s mother, signs to Ryan.

He replies, “This is Heather McCallister. She is the senior producer.” Then, he continues to sign something to her, which causes his mom to hit him in the arm with the wooden spoon she has in her hand.

I squeeze my lips together to keep from laughing.

“Hi,” I say. Immediately, I feel stupid. They can’t hear me. Idiot.

“Hello,” his mother says.

My eyes dart up in surprise.

Ryan lets out a small laugh. His mother starts rapidly signing to him and motioning toward me.

Not wanting to get hit by his mother’s hand or her spoon again, Ryan darts to the side, closer to me, and says, “Heather, these are my parents, Jenny and Fred Pierson.”

I wave again, not saying anything.

“You can talk to them. I’ll translate,” he says.

“How do I know you won’t change what I said and make something up?” I ask him.

“Because he knows his mother will kick his ass,” his mom speaks and signs at the same time. Her words are spoken from the back of her throat. It’s slightly difficult to understand but manageable.

I let out a laugh at her statement.

Ryan shakes his head with a smile. “Remember how I told you how hard it was growing up with deaf parents? They read lips. It’s awful!”

His mother hits him with her spoon again, and I cover my mouth to contain my laughter.

His dad starts to sign, and Ryan translates, “I don’t know how you put up with my son. Smart-ass, this one.”

“He’s a hard worker. The brightest intern I’ve ever had on staff. You must be very proud,” I say.