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The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee surrounds me as I sit at a table in the cozy café, taking in the bustling crowd around me. Gosh, I missed this. After a fast recovery, and despite Morgan’s complaints, the doctor discharged me to the hospital a few days ago. Once I took a proper shower in my own bathroom, I drove to Spencer’s home. The need to surprise her urged my steps.
Sipping my cup of joe, I marvel at the assortment of people that fill this small space. Artists, businessmen, and families alike. My gaze wanders from one face to the next, each person carrying their own story. But my thoughts are somewhere else as my mind refuses to let her go. Gosh, she’s stunning. That dark hair and those eyes, the color is so unique. And the curiosity shinning in them…
“Excuse me, Percival?” a soft voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up and find myself caught in the gaze of striking blue eyes. The woman before me is Fiona McDonald, her curvy figure outlined by a simple black dress. She has an air of warmth and kindness radiating off her, making me feel instantly drawn to her.
“Hey, Fiona.” I stand to greet her, trying to maintain my usual confident demeanor. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” she replies with a smile, her accent lilting through the air. As she sits down, I notice the faint scent of baked goods clinging to her, reminding me of the stories Spencer has shared about her doting aunt’s penchant for baking.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask, gesturing towards the menu on the table.
“Oh, no, thank you,” she answers, waving her hand dismissively. “I just had a lovely croissant from that bakery down the street.”
“Ah, I know the place. My sister-in-law owns it.” I nod, letting my eyes wander back to the crowd for a brief moment before returning my attention to Fiona.
“I love Ariel. The girl is amazing.” I nod in response. Yes, Ariel is pretty amazing, and has a way of putting my brother in his place that is admirable.
“So, how have you been?”
“Busy, as always,” she chuckles lightly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But enough about me. I hear you’re quite the character, Percival. A wicked womanizer and a party-lover.”
“Guilty as charged,” I admit with a grin, leaning back in my chair. “But I promise, I’m not all fun and games.”
“Good to know,” Fiona says, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Spencer could use someone with a heart of gold in her life.”
A spark of hope ignites inside me. Since the day Spencer saved my life, I’ve been determined to repay the favor—and maybe even win her over in the process. But first, I need to find a way to bridge the communication gap between us.
“Speaking of Spencer,” I begin cautiously, “I was wondering if you might have some advice on how to communicate better with her. You know, given her hearing loss.”
The sun casts a warm glow on Fiona’s face as she talks, and I’m captivated by her storytelling. The way she describes Spencer. Her strengths, struggles, and passions brings her to life in my mind, making me feel like I know her even better than before.
“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand to pause the conversation. “Did you just say she taught herself how to do all of that?”
“Absolutely,” Fiona replies, her eyes glittering with pride. “Spencer has always been resilient and resourceful. She never lets anything hold her back, especially not her hearing loss.”
I nod, jotting down notes on my phone that I’ve pulled from my pocket. “Resilient” and “resourceful” are now permanently etched into my understanding of who Spencer is. It’s truly admirable, she’s more than a gorgeous face.
“Speaking of her hearing loss,” I venture, looking up from my phone. “What’s the best way for me to communicate with her? I want to ensure I’m not doing anything that might make her uncomfortable or frustrated.”
Fiona smiles warmly at my question, clearly appreciating my concern for her niece. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Honestly, Spencer is quite adept at reading lips and understanding people, but it’s important to make sure you’re facing her when you speak so she can see your lips clearly. And try not to cover your mouth with your hands or anything like that.”
“Got it,” I reply, scribbling down those key points. “Face her, speak clearly, don’t cover my mouth. Anything else I should know?”
“Patience is key,” Fiona advises. “Sometimes, it may take her a moment to process what you’re saying, especially if it’s a complex thought or idea. Just give her time, and don’t rush her.”
“Patience,” I repeat, adding it to my list. It’s something I’m not always the best at, but for Spencer, I’ll make the effort.
“Lastly,” Fiona adds, “remember that just because she can’t hear everything doesn’t mean she isn’t perceptive. Spencer is incredibly intuitive and often picks up on nonverbal cues even better than most hearing people. So, be genuine with her—she’ll know if you’re not.”
“Thank you, Fiona,” I say earnestly, folding up my notepad and tucking it back into my pocket. “I appreciate your insights and promise to do my best to communicate effectively with Spencer.”
“Of course,” Fiona replies, a warm smile spreading across her face. “She deserves someone who will truly understand her world and make the effort to connect with her in a meaningful way.”
As our conversation winds down, I thank Fiona for her invaluable insights and promise to keep her updated on my progress. We part ways, leaving me energized and filled with anticipation for what the future holds. With newfound determination, I return home, call my assistant and instruct her to find me the best teacher in town—meanwhile, I’m starting on my own. The first step will be setting up a quiet corner dedicated to learning ASL as I’m eager to embark on this journey that will bring me closer to the stunning woman who gave me a second chance in life. “Alright, Hills, let’s do this,” I murmur to myself, diving into the first lesson. I sit bare-chested on my favorite chair while I familiarize myself with basic signs and fingerspelling, envisioning the look on Spencer’s face when I surprise her with my newfound skills.
There is a knock on the door that makes me furrow my brow. I’m not expecting any guests. Fuck people, I’m busy. But whoever is there is insistent.
“Hey, bro!” my brother calls out from the doorway, a paper bag in his hands, while he flashes me a teasing grin. “No shirt again? You know, you have plenty of them in this house.”
