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“That’s bullshit,” Peyton blurted, and Wren barked out a sharp laugh.
“Yeah, preaching to the choir, my friend. But it’s all good now. We got this place and my mom kind of gets it now.” Wren glanced over his shoulder, then suddenly darted past Peyton and clicked the lock on the door. When he turned around and saw the slightly wary look on Peyton’s face, he slapped a hand over his eyes and dragged it down. “Oh my god I’m sorry. I’m not like trying to trap you in here like some serial killer. We’re closed and I think I might lose my mind if someone tried to come in and order coffee right now.”
Peyton relaxed a fraction. ‘We’re good,’ he signed now that his hands were free. ‘And please use sign if you want. I took it in college and I’d like to get it back.’
Wren lit up and Peyton resolved not to use his voice as much as possible since it was clear Wren had been robbed of his language for way too long. ‘Great. If you want to push that through the doors, Jori is in the back.’
Peyton nodded, mostly following along with Wren’s signing speed, and he gripped the handle on the dolly and headed toward the swinging kitchen doors. When he pushed through, he was startled at just how dark it was back there. There were only a couple of lamps on the baking counter along the corner, dimly lit with soft reddish light.
It cast an eerie glow around the kitchen, but the man in the corner was moving effortlessly through his task of stacking baking sheets. He was very tall and very thin, his white t-shirt hanging off his shoulders like it was two sizes too big. He had very pale hair, and when he turned Peyton got a glimpse of a sharp nose and chiseled jawline.
The man froze and sucked in a breath when his gaze landed on Peyton, his eyes narrowing behind very thick, red-tinted lenses that were sitting low, making him look like an old timey librarian. Peyton started to lift his hands, but the guy—Jori, it had to be—beat him to it.
‘Cookie guy.’
He spelled the word so fast, Peyton only got O-O-I, U-Y, but his mind filled in the blanks, and he raised his fist. ‘Yes.’
Jori relaxed and crossed the room, offering a hand which Peyton took quickly. When they parted, Jori rubbed his palm on his apron, an almost absent gesture. ‘You understand ASL?’
Peyton’s gut sank a little, and his cheeks pinked with a flush. ‘I’m okay. I took ASL in school, but I forgot a lot.’
Jori took pity on him—at least, that’s what the expression on his face said—and he smiled. ‘Remind me to slow down if you need me to.’
Some of the tension left Peyton’s shoulders. ‘You’re fine. Wren said you wanted me to walk you through some of the instructions?’
Jori nodded, grabbing the top box from the stack and heaving it onto the big table in the center of the room. His thin body betrayed his now-obvious strength, and Peyton couldn’t help but think that if he hadn’t been enamored with his neighbor like a love-sick fool, and in some sort of weird carousel of uncertainty with Austin, he might want to get this guy’s number.
He snapped back to the present just as Jori was grabbing the instructions off the box, and Peyton saw his eyes widen, then his mouth settle into a relaxed smile when he looked up. He signed something, but Peyton didn’t know the words.
‘Sorry. I don’t understand.’
‘Large print,’ Jori spelled patiently. ‘Did Caleb tell you to do this?’
‘Yes,’ Peyton signed. ‘He said it was easier for you.’
Jori nodded and set the page down before adjusting his glasses. ‘Blind,’ he offered, then signed the word color. Then he spelled, ‘Legally.’
He was colorblind and legally blind, Peyton’s mind put together. ‘Did you want me to use braille?’
Jori laughed, the sound rich in his chest as he shook his head. ‘I suck at braille. I can read just fine as long as it’s big and heavy contrast. But this is just dough anyway, right? All ready to bake?’
Peyton walked over and tore the tape off the top box before showing him the little dough balls sitting neatly in their rows. ‘Caleb told me you needed some extra help right now.’
At that, Jori’s face fell, and he glanced off to the side before shrugging. ‘Life got…’
Peyton didn’t know the last sign Jori made, but he was pretty sure it was something like complicated. Or probably fucked beyond all reason. Which he understood better than anyone. He absently touched his hand over his bag, which was still empty, then he looked up at Jori.
‘I know how that goes.’
Jori studied him for a moment, and Peyton watched the way his eyes danced back and forth—just a subtle movement, and only obvious when someone was watching closely. ‘I appreciate this.’
Peyton quickly waved him off. ‘Don’t worry about it. If you want me to help with other stuff, I can. I have an online bakery and I can throw together batches of dough. The only thing I can’t do is bake it.’
‘This is enough,’ Jori told him, then reached out and grabbed Peyton by the shoulder and gave him a firm squeeze. ‘Thank you.’
Peyton smiled, and as he looked up into Jori’s gaze, then around at the kitchen, he had a feeling this was going to end up more than a business transaction. He felt warm there, and welcome, and he knew better than to throw something like that away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
