The Trouble with Trying to Date a Murderer (Murder Sprees and Mute Decrees #1)

by Jennifer Cody

“What’s your name?” he asks, moving his hands in a recognizable pattern. Yeah, I probably should have learned sign language ages ago, but I’ve had a text-to-speech device since the government took over raising me, so I never did learn. Instead of trying to explain the futility of signing to me, I stand up, grab my wallet from the counter, and show him my government issued ID. “Romily Butcher. You’ll be twenty-two on Christmas Day.” He hands me back my ID and looks me over. “You’re not deaf?” I shake my head and lift my chin, showing him the surgical scar. It’s barely there, hardly noticeable since I was a baby at the time of the incision. Most people don’t realize what the small scar means, but my future husband’s face darkens when he sees it. “How old were you when you lost your voice?” I shrug, hold up two fingers and then mime rocking a baby. “Two years old?” I shake my head. “Two months old?” I nod and shrug. It’s not like I remember what life was like when I could vocalize, but the look of sheer indignation on his face makes me squirm happily. I’ve gotten that look before, of course—most decent people agree that taking a baby’s voice is inhumane—but coming from him, it just feels like it means something more than it ever has before.