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“You looked like death warmed over, sir. I was genuinely concerned you’d leave Uruguay in an urn.”
“Well, let’s be glad you won’t have to attend another Richard Sullivan funeral any time soon. I look terrible as ashes.”
“Oh dear.” As Mosely speaks, I can picture him scowling in disdain. “Are bad jokes a side effect of being in love, sir?”
“Would you like your pay deducted, Mosely?”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re a comedic genius.”
I smirk and hang up on him.
Next, I call the hotel and order room service, but change my mind and ask them to bring up only one item instead. I have a feeling Yaya will sleep in and I’d rather eat with her than alone.
By the time she wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky and the beach below is crowded with locals and tourists enjoying the water and sunbathing under giant umbrellas.
Yaya blinks at the bright sunshine and seems to be mentally calculating where she is and why. I love that befuddled, innocent look on her face.
“Hello, beautiful,” I sign.
“What time is it?”
“About time for lunch.”
She massages her throat and makes a pained face.
I spring into action. “What’s wrong?”
“My throat hurts.”
“I figured it might.” I stride over to the electric kettle the staff brought up and pour out the tea I kept warm for her.
Yaya gives me an adoring look when I hand her the cup. She takes a sip and her eyes flutter closed in bliss.
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching her.
This woman is like my own personal sunrise. I will never get enough.
Yaya pokes an eye open. Smiling, she sets the cup aside and signs, “How did you know my throat was going to hurt?”
“I called Athena and asked what the ramifications are when someone who mostly signs uses their voice as much as you did last night.”
Yaya glances away shyly. “Did you… mention the details of last night to her?”
“Only hypothetically, but I think she caught on anyway.” Athena is far too sharp-witted to not understand.
Yaya collects herself and looks back at me to sign, “And what did Athena say?”
“That when your primary language is ASL, your hands don’t get tired, but your throat does.” I pick up the tea again and offer it to her. “Drink more.”
Yaya obliges me. When she’s done, she shifts off the bed to use the bathroom. I notice her wincing and flinch, imagining how sore she must be this morning.
While she’s gone, I order room service for us both.
The bathroom door cracks open and Yaya shuffles over to her phone. She smiles when she sees the text from Deej and then her eyes dart slyly to me. I imagine she’s thinking of how best to relay our night together.
While she’s occupied with that, I fill the bath for her and return to find her sitting up on the bed.
“Are you working again today?” she signs. There’s a hopefulness in her eyes that conveys she’d like me to say no.
