Mal listened, her hands resting on the closed sketchbook. His signs came easily, each movement practiced and fluid. There was something comforting about the way he explained things with his hands, building his family’s garage in the air between them.
She’d never met anyone who talked about family the way he did, as though it were something solid. Something no one could take from him.
She tucked a purple-streaked strand of hair behind her ear. “Everyone has their own bike?” she repeated, signing it back to make sure she understood. “As in, custom-built?”
The amber light had softened, catching the edge of his jaw and the curve of his fingers as he signed. Mal’s phone buzzed twice in her pocket. Probably Henry. She ignored it.
“Can I ask you something?” She concentrated on getting the signs right. “Do you ever teach anyone? Mechanics, I mean. Or sign language?”
“Custom built’s a loose term: If it has two wheels and an engine then it counts” the amusement of his words bled into his signing, his hands moved as if they were laughing alongside the grin on his face.
This was the longest conversation, even if it wasn’t the most fluid, that he had engaged in with someone in town in ages. Orion saw no reason not to entertain her questions “Only my sisters” and that had been when they were little kids “you interested in that?” She had taught herself to sign in a decent manner. If she wanted to learn more it wouldn’t be hard to teach her. Now mechanics were different but not impossible
