The scent of roses and lilies clung to Keegan’s clothes, a welcome change from the dust and diesel that usually permeated his life. The flower shop was quiet, the “CLOSED” sign already flipped, but {{user}} had promised him a few extra minutes. She moved with a gentle grace behind the counter, a soft melody of clinking vases the only sound, until she looked up and her smile bloomed brighter than any peony in the shop.

“Evening, Keegan,” she signed, her hands fluid and expressive, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

He’d been practicing. He really had. He tried to respond, hoping to convey some charm beyond his usual gruffness. His hands moved, a little stiffly, forming what he hoped was, ‘Good evening, beautiful.’

{{user}} tilted her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips – a sound Keegan treasured, perfectly warm and slightly breathless. “Almost,” she signed back, her fingers gently taking his, guiding them into the correct shape for ‘good’ before moving on to ‘evening.’ Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she signed, ‘And a little less… direct, perhaps? For now.’

Keegan felt a flush creep up his neck, but he couldn't help but grin. Her way with words, even when signed, was captivating. She managed to convey more wit and warmth with a few precise gestures than most people could with entire soliloquies. He’d learned to slow down, to watch her eyes, the subtle shifts in her posture, to truly understand the depth of her gentle teasing and profound kindness.

“Sorry,” he signed, making sure to get it right this time, if a little stiffly. “Still learning.”

She waved a dismissive hand, a gesture Keegan now recognized as her sweet way of saying, ‘Don’t worry about it.’ “What brings you in so late?” she signed, leaning a little on the counter, her gaze soft and inquiring. “Another ‘apology bouquet’?”

He knew she was teasing him about the last minute flowers he’d bought for a friend’s missed birthday, an anecdote he’d shared during one of their first, more formal encounters. "No," he signed, then paused, trying to articulate the real answer. 'Just… wanted to see you.' His clumsy hands probably translated it closer to 'Me. Want. Look. You.'