Daniel didn’t hesitate. His body moved before his thoughts could argue. He walked toward the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. Not rushing. Not swaggering.
Just steady.
He stepped beside the woman, angled his body so he wasn’t towering over her, and signed directly to her.
Hi. What would you like?
The woman’s head snapped toward him.
Her eyes widened, and for a half-second she looked like someone who’d been underwater too long and had just found air.
Then her hands moved, quick and grateful.
Oat milk latte. No sugar. Please.
Daniel nodded, turned to Tyler, and spoke.
“Oat milk latte. No sugar.”
Tyler’s smirk fell off his face like a cheap mask. He glanced between Daniel’s hands and the woman’s calm expression, suddenly aware the room was watching him now, not her.
“Yeah. Okay,” Tyler muttered, tapping keys harder than necessary.
While the drink was being made, Sophie hopped off her stool and walked up like she owned the whole café, backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
She looked up at the woman, studied her face, then signed with the fearless honesty only kids have.
You’re beautiful.
Daniel’s stomach clenched because kids tell the truth like it’s oxygen. Sometimes adults aren’t ready for it.
The woman blinked rapidly. A real smile broke across her face, slow at first, then brighter, like sunrise finally finding the window.
She knelt to Sophie’s level and signed back carefully.
So are you.
A single tear rolled down the woman’s cheek. She wiped it away quickly, like she wasn’t used to crying in public, like tears were something that happened to other people.
Daniel saw it anyway.
Saw the loneliness inside that one tear.
The oat milk latte slid onto the counter. Tyler set it down without meeting anyone’s eyes.
The woman reached into her red coat pocket, pulled out a crisp business card, and placed it on the counter in front of Daniel.
Then she signed:
Thank you.
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