The Guardian (13 page)

Gabriel uses the moment to his advantage and expertly slips from Naomi’s manicured clutches. “Well, we were just leaving, so, you guys have fun.” As he turns his back on them, Naomi grabs his shirt with her raspberry claws.

“Wait, Gabriel. Hang out with us.”

“I’m with friends. Sorry.”

At the word friends, Naomi gives me a thinly veiled, triumphant sneer. Ever since I told her Gabriel wasn’t my boyfriend, she’s been abominably aggressive in pursuing him. Mostly Gabriel ignores her, but it still bothers me. A lot.

“Yes, friends. Well, another time then. Come on girls.” Turning in a careful half circle, she walks away with her court haphazardly following.

Watching their retreat, Jonah breaks the tension, stating, “You should’ve let her fall on her royal ass.” We all chuckle as accompanying images dance through our heads.

Rolling his eyes at them, Gabriel agrees, “You’re right. I should have. Me and my stupid reflexes.”

With mock sincerity Becke retorts, “We forgive you, this time, just don’t let it happen again.”

As we escape from the confines of the mall into the open air and crowds of the pavilion, I can’t help but admit Gabriel’s right about the evening. I’m having fun. Becke must feel the same, because with a reluctant sigh she says, “Our ride’s probably waiting for us.”

As she turns quietly to Jonah, I whisper in Gabriel’s ear, “You were right. I had a great time.”

His smile reaches up into his eyes, crinkling them as he grins at me. “I’m glad.” We gaze at each other for a moment before he murmurs, “You shouldn’t make Kate wait. I’ll see you tomorrow at four.”

And just like that the buoyant, carefree sensation in my chest dissipates, replaced by jagged anxiety at the awkward thought of my ‘friend’, who’s really a guardian angel, meeting my foster parents. Too bad too, because up until this moment, I’m having one of the best nights of my life.

CHAPTER 7

Three-fifteen. Gabriel will be here in exactly forty-five minutes. He won’t be late because, well, he’s a guardian angel and has absolutely nothing else to do except watch over me. So in forty-five—make that forty-four—minutes now, he’ll be in the living room of my foster parents’ home making small talk and sipping soda.

Taking a deep breath, I focus on my inhalation and the controlled exhale. In and out. Centering and peaceful. When I feel calmer, I emerge from my room in search of busy work.

Wearing a pleated denim skirt Kate bought me for special occasions, I don’t feel like myself, which fits since I’m having an out of body experience. My favorite burnt orange top and mud colored front tie sweater help a little, but I actively resist the urge to change into my most comfortable pair of jeans.

Kate breezes past looking like she’s stepped from the pages of the latest fashion magazine. Her moss colored wraparound dress clings kindly to all the right curves. All day she’s been fluttering around the house arranging flowers, preparing the meal—lamb with mint sauce, of all things—and touching up surfaces that she’s already polished to perfection. She’s nervous. We all are.

When I ask to help, she tells me to just “relax”,
as if I could in a skirt that barely falls to my knees. It would make a whole lot more sense to receive important guests in sweatpants. Then you could be at your most relaxed, instead of all dressed up and having to sit carefully, as if you were made of glass.

It’s cold enough for Steven to make a fire, so I sit in a high-backed chair I rarely ever use because it feels too formal, and watch as he expertly coaxes blue-orange flames to life. Regarding his handiwork, he asks lightly over his shoulder, “Are you okay, Alex?” Even the slowest person could see I’m distracted, and since Steven’s perception is quite astute, I wonder what he really means.

Giving a lame shrug, because I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, all I can think to say is, “Kate won’t let me help.”

A counterbalance to his wife, Steven smiles—an easy, untroubled grin—and nods. “That’s just her way. She wants everything to be perfect for when we meet this boy of yours.”

Inwardly, I groan. “He’s not my boy—or
my
anything—we’re just friends.”

“Even so.”

The leaping flames reflect off the surface of Steven’s hazel eyes, giving them an enigmatic quality, and again I ponder his deeper meaning. He stands and brushes stray ash from the sleeves of his forest green dress shirt. His cuffs are rolled to the elbows in a casual attitude belying the formalness of the crisp, starched fabric and precisely creased dress pants. Rubbing his hands together, he barks with enthusiasm, “Football. That’s what we’re missing.” Absently I nod, grateful for any distraction, even the sports kind.

While Kate flutters and Steven argues with the television, I inhale the fragrant scent of burning hardwood and wonder about the freckled, red-headed boy whose picture adorns the mantle. Based on the one family portrait I’ve seen, I guess the boy would be about my age now. If he’d lived, would Kate be making lamb with mint for the first girl he invited to dinner instead of for me? I know I’m not a misplaced substitute for their dead child or anything, but the nagging question
why me?
percolates in the back of my mind.

The doorbell rings, a jarring clang that halts our activity for a split second before we switch into turbo-action mode. Steven and I jump to our feet simultaneously while Kate pops her head out of the kitchen lamenting, “He’s early.”

Waving me off, Steven sprints to the door, declaring, “I’ll get it.”

Before turning the knob, he stiffens. His demeanor is suddenly stern—nearly fatherly—and I briefly wonder if he’s going to produce a shotgun and proceed to clean it during dinner. Wiping her hands on her apron, Kate emerges from the kitchen and motions for me to join her. Her hand squeezes my shoulder in what I can only assume is meant to be support, but in her nervous enthusiasm the grip’s too tight. Oddly, I find the pain reassuring.

Standing off to the side of the front door next to my foster mom, I hear her gasp as Gabriel enters the room. Dressed in a beige wool turtleneck and cords the color of summer wheat, he’s stunning. The pale fabric emphasizes the light streaks in his hair. His eyes, the blue of a perfect summer sky, are alight with joy as he steps gracefully into the room. A light fragrance—something clean, fresh and outdoorsy, tantalizes my nose—Gabriel’s unique scent.

Certainly, I can understand Kate’s response to the epitome of teenaged beauty filling the small entryway. Given her initial reaction, it’s good she can’t see the nearly blinding halo that accompanies him. Now that I know who and what he really is, Gabriel no longer tries to dim his halo to an inconspicuous level. Although not the fully unrestrained glory he’s capable of, he’s still glorious enough that I have to resist the urge to shield my eyes.

As his brilliance radiates in the confined space, my heart speeds up expectantly. Despite the automatic biological reaction, my body infuses with the warmth and peace of his calming presence.

Knowing I should handle the introductions, I stand open-mouthed and useless; too dazzled and nervous to be a good hostess. Luckily, Steven steps forward. When he introduces his wife, Gabriel presents her with a large mixed bouquet bursting with purples and yellows. “For you, Ma’am.” As she takes it, murmuring her thanks, he deftly plucks a single pink rose from the center and hands it to me. “For you, Alex.”

Still dazed, Kate reaches for the rose. “Why don’t I take that for you? I’ll put it in water. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes, so just relax and enjoy yourselves. I hope you like lamb, Gabriel. It’s my specialty. My father worked in England for a number of years and lamb became a favorite of his, so I learned to cook it for special occasions. Not that this is a special occasion—I mean—not that it’s
not
special having you over—I mean—oh, gosh—I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

I’ve never seen Kate so flustered. With an amused smile, Steven places a gentle hand under her elbow, suggesting, “Why don’t I give you a hand in the kitchen, dear?” As he leads her off, she’s still babbling under her breath.

When they’re out of earshot, I turn to Gabriel with huge eyes. “What did you do to her?”

Shrugging he says, “Beats me.” But his smile’s so affecting that I’ve a hard time believing him.

Unable to think coherently, I stammer, “We made a fire.”

Turning toward the living room, I feel Gabriel’s heat wash over my back as he follows. Gingerly perching on the edge of the formal chair, I watch him sit on the closest end of the sofa with fluid grace. Some uncontrollable urge prompts me to hunch forward and whisper in a pained, confidential tone, “I’m really sorry. I’m sure this isn’t in the job description. If you want to leave, I’ll understand.”

“Don’t be silly, Alexia. There’s only one place I want to be and that’s wherever you are.” His eyes are liquid, rippling like the sea. As I watch, a rogue wave of anguish flows across them and then vanishes as quickly as it appears.

“Why do I get the feeling there’s even more you’re not telling me? Beyond the assignment and the guardian thing, there’s something else. But I don’t know what it is.”

His face turns somber as he leans closer, close enough I can feel the stir of his breath against my suddenly dry lips. “You’re so perceptive. With you, it’s like I’m an open book. You read me so easily and see the things I try to hide. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want—” He takes a ragged breath, his eyes flickering to my mouth. “I want—”

“So are you a football fan, Gabriel?” Steven’s ill-timed entrance causes us both to jerk upright in our seats. My chest hitches painfully because the moment has been ripped in two, and for a spell I can do nothing more than battle my runaway rollercoaster of emotions. When I manage to regain some control, I glance at Gabriel for a sign we’ll continue later where we’ve left off, but he just stares at the dancing fire, his face an indecipherable mask.

Stephen sits at the far end of the sofa, and for the next half hour, he and Gabriel discuss sports while I stew over the near confession ripped from my grasp. After revealing his divine nature, the fact he’s a greater Seraph, I’ve got no clue what secrets he could still be keeping… nor why they’d cause him such agony, but I’m desperate to find out.

As I sit across from Gabriel at dinner, making small talk and forcing tiny bits of lamb around the lump in my throat, I continue to search for a sign that our earlier conversation will resume in private. But Gabriel gives away nothing. Whatever secrets he was about to share have been pushed down deep enough that I worry I’ve missed my chance.

I’m so consumed by my thoughts I nearly miss the news Kate drops on me. It registers she’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for a reply, but what she’s just said is a total mystery.  “I’m sorry. What?”

A patient smile on her pixie-ish face, she repeats, “I said my mother is coming for the holidays.”

A small frown pulls at my features. Having little experience around elderly people, I never feel comfortable in their presence. The Fosters seem pleased and anxious at the same time which leads me to believe there’s more to the story than what Kate’s sharing. “Which holiday?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral as best I can. “Thanksgiving or Christmas?”

“Both, really.” Then in answer to my confusion, she explains, “Thanksgiving through Christmas.”

My response is cautious. “Okay.”

“She wanted to meet you sooner but I thought you could use some adjustment time.” What Kate’s really referring to by “adjustment time” is my acceptance of them. My recent decision to unpack my bags and stay. My stomach’s already knotting with anxiety, but I paste on a bright smile for Kate’s sake. “It’s fine.”

“Good. I’d really like you two to get to know each other.” Kate’s halo bubbles up around her in intoxicating swirls.

“Okay, sure.” I can’t help but glance over at Gabriel, who meets my eyes with stalwart reassurance. If Kate’s mom turns out to be a dragon in the flesh, it helps to know I’ve got my very own beast-slaying knight—metaphorically, at least. 

“You’ll like her, Alex.” This is Steven’s attempt to reassure. “I mean,
I
like her, and she’s my mother-in-law.” He rolls his eyes and I can’t help but smile. Make that two knights.

“So, Gabriel,” Steven drawls out his words, his eyes narrowing into shrewd slits, and for a moment I get a flash of the other Steven, the professional ruler of the corporate world. “What do your parents do?”

“My mom’s the marketing director of a billion dollar brand and my dad’s a freelance editor. And what do you do, Sir?”

“Finance manager.”

Gabriel nods approvingly, “And you, Ma’am?”

“She’s a translator,” I interject. Although I may not understand what Steven does, I get Kate’s job. “She works with international adoptions and also consults with law enforcement when needed.”

Gabriel’s eyes sparkle. “What languages do you speak?”

Kate glances modestly at her plate, her cheeks turning pink under Gabriel’s attention. “Spanish mostly. But also French, Italian, Russian and most other Eastern European languages.”

“Wow!” Gabriel flashes me an impressed glance, before returning his focus to Kate. “You must be truly gifted to speak so many languages.”

She shrugs. “Languages have always come easily to me. I’m just glad I can use my skills to help unite children with loving families.”