Fallen Angel (3 page)

“What the fuck are you talking about? Yes, Addy’s here. I already told you she was coming. Why are you making such a big deal about it?” I’m back in my pantry, this time looking for sugar. Or Nutella. Nutella would probably be better. The Jennison girls go nuts over that shit.

“I’m not making a big deal about Addy. I’m making a big deal about the trippy look you had on your face when you came in here. If she’s the one who put it there, we’ve got a big fucking problem.”

I take a sharp step back. “What the fuck are you talking? What problem? And what was so wrong with my face?”

He leans over the counter, all serious. “You remember that time we all wandered into that cupcake shop and Ava found a Nutella cupcake...with Nutella frosting? Then, when the lady handed it to her, she got all stupid happy, with a grin from ear to ear and wide eyes lit up at the thought of devouring that thing?”

“Um, okay.”

I’m starting to think his body has been eating away at his brain just to keep alive, because the man is making no fucking sense anymore.

“Dude, you don’t get it. YOU just had that same stupid happy expression. And if Addison Jennison put it there...if you’re thinking about devouring her....I think we can both agree, that’s going to be a problem. For you and Addy.”

“What’d I do? And why is it a problem?” Her voice cuts through the tension between Derek and I, and for a moment I’m pissed at him for saying all the stupid shit he just said. Then, I turn to face her, my eyes catch on hers, that constant stir of trouble in them, and I can feel my mouth moving by its damn self, completely out of my control.

“Derek was just commenting on your driving skills. Judging by the parking job you did in my driveway, people should avoid getting in their cars when you’re out on the road.”

Her eyes narrow and I don’t think she really believes me. But, she goes with it anyway. “It’s not my fault Blaise made me drive the fucking tank over here.”

“Uh, don’t blame Blaise, blame your driving. He’s probably just trying to keep you safe by making you cruise around in the Yukon.” I turn away to get her coffee for her. Mostly, I just need a break from those eyes. And that smile. And that face. Only now I’m looking at Derek’s. And his eyes are conveying a loud and clear ‘I fucking told you so’. I’m still not saying he’s right. He’s sick. Sick in the head from all this Sammy shit.

But then a small hand reaches over mine to take the cup I’m still holding, and I swear the sight of it on mine, makes my entire body stir to life in a way it’s never done before.

Fuck me
.

I
’ve had three cups of coffee and spent a total of five hours here, but I’ve still only managed to dig up two items even remotely suitable for the auction. One is an old set of drumsticks I had to spend thirty minutes convincing Angel he could live without, and the other is a handwritten note he scribbled down one night at a bar which later wound up becoming the chorus on their latest hit. Which is especially significant since Angel rarely contributes to the lyrics. Usually, Derek and Blaise partner up on the song writing, but I’ve read and re-read those four lines on a cocktail napkin a hundred times or so in the last hour, and I’m convinced he has the soul of a poet who simply refuses to speak out loud the beauty he thinks.

I may be romanticizing things. But then, I’ve been sitting here, digging through his belongings, listening to the sound of his smooth voice tell me every random thing that’s crossed his mind in the years we’ve been out of touch and looking up every so often to see a flash of his gorgeous smile. Who wouldn’t start thinking about souls and poetry and shit?

“Here we go!” I bolt to my feet, I’m so excited by my unexpected find.

“Found something good to sell?” Angel comes over from the stack of boxes he’s been sifting through.

“Fuck no, we’re not selling these. We’re hanging them on your walls!” Careful not to scratch or snag the edges, I lift the first of five canvases out of their cardboard prison.

I can feel Angel standing behind me, leaning into me slightly as he moves in over my shoulder to get a look. “Shit. I forgot I had these.” He chuckles and the butterflies in my stomach stir like bats tripping on acid.

I shake my head, truly disappointed, as I fall in love with the stunning strokes of artistic genius on this canvas. This piece is of a saxophone. The one below is a set of drums. Naturally. They were bound to be in there somewhere. I can’t wait to find out what the other three are. “How could you forget something so pretty?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.” His tone is softer than usual and automatically, curiosity forces me to turn and face him. Only he’s not looking at the painting. His eyes are locked directly on me.

Holy hell
.

The bats in my stomach are about to head straight for the belfry, because Angel can’t have just referred to me as pretty. That’s crazy, is what that is.

Only, I’ll never know, because I’m too shocked to ask and he’s busy taking the canvas from me and walking out of the room with it.

“Wait. Where are you going?” I call, already moving in the same direction.

“You said we needed to hang it on my wall. I’m going to find a wall.”

I stop in my tracks at the revelation, then turn back to get the box with the rest of the canvases.

When I find him again, he’s downstairs in the formal living room, holding the sax up over the fireplace.

“What do you think?”

I drop the box I just lugged down the stairs onto his sofa. “I think you should have let me carry that one single painting while you did the manly thing and hoisted the rest of the load down here.”

He smirks. “I was coming back for it. And for the record, in the future, I’d prefer you didn’t hog the manly tasks just because you get there first.” He leans over and tugs at my dress to pull me to his side. “Now, tell me what you think of it here?”

I tip my head from shoulder to shoulder. I don’t like it. “It doesn’t go with anything else in here. Where’s your dining room?”

He brings the painting to his chest and starts walking again. I’m about to grab the box when he turns back, his finger pointing at me accusingly. “What did I just say?”

“Fine. Jeeze.” Empty handed and feeling slightly useless, I wander after him until we wind up on the other side of the kitchen, in a huge room housing nothing but a chandelier.

“Well, we won’t have a problem matching the rest of the décor in here,” he remarks dryly.

“No shit.” I laugh. “Okay, that’s it. I can’t take it anymore. You have two perfect bedrooms upstairs you treat like storage units. You have boxes and boxes of stuff you need to unpack, and the bulk of your house is either partially or completely unfurnished.”

“I’m barely ever here. And there’s just one of me. What do I need a dining room for?” He’s about as amused by me as I am flustered by him.

“If you didn’t want to use it, why buy a house that has it? You could be living in a one bedroom studio.”

He shrugs. “Your sister thought this place was a good investment.”

“Yeah, well, starting tomorrow you’re going to invest in some more furniture. I don’t care if I have to take you shopping myself. This house is going to turn into a home even if I have to dig through every box upstairs myself. Your ass is moving in.”

Angel laughs. “You know, that feisty thing used to be cute. Now it’s just scary.”

And all of my internal fire rushes to may face again. Damn him and his unintentional charm. And damn me for taking something so stupid as a compliment.

“Whatever gets the job done,” I mumble, hurrying from the room before he can see my bright red complexion, although I’m pretty sure the glow of it is visible from here to Ava’s house.

After that, I don’t come venturing back out of the room of boxed doom again. I also don’t point out any more wall art. I just start stacking and organizing the keeper boxes on one side of the room, while dismissing the rest in a trash pile I haven’t yet identified as such out loud. I’m assuming Angel’s not attached to anything in here since he hasn’t bothered to look at any of it in five years, but you never know how people really feel about their crap until you tell them it
is
crap and belongs in a garbage dump.

I’d really hoped the awkwardness I’d brought upon myself downstairs had been completely one sided and entirely missed by Angel, but since he never came back up here to help me like he was doing all morning, I’m thinking maybe that’s not the case. And it’s only feeding my anxiety over this stupid announcement I made about becoming his personal decorator, whether he wanted one or not. I don’t even know what persuaded me to say those words out loud. It’s the blurred line of false familiar comfort and pre-pubescent nerves of Jell-O that are wreaking all this havoc, and I don’t know how to get a grasp on either.

The good news is, without the distraction of his gorgeous smile or his ridiculous eight pack visible even through his tight t-shirt every time he moves, not to mention the intoxication caused by his scent, as well as the deep hypnotic silk that is his voice, I’m actually getting shit done in here. One more auction worthy item and I can make a run for it. Until tomorrow. When I have to come back and take him furniture shopping.

I’m so wrapped up in my internal rambling, I don’t even hear him when he comes back.

“You plan on eating anything today, or just living on coffee like your sister?”

My head pops up out of my current box to find him standing in the doorway, a plate in his hands.

“Um, I was going with the coffee thing. But I’m not known to turn down food when offered.” I pat the dust off my hands and start walking toward him, caution lights exploding in my brain with each step I take because I’m gushing internally knowing he cared enough to make me lunch. Then I want to break out the happy dance when I see the plate is covered in brownies. Of course, my mood takes a definite turn in the opposite direction when the plate and the brownies move away the closer my hand gets.

“Nuh-uh.”

I think I might have to fight back tears. “Why would you bring them up here if you weren’t going to let me have them?” Aw, hell. That sentence could be applied to more than just pastries right now.

“These were just to lure you from the room. Lunch is downstairs. This is dessert.” He nods at the plate filled with chocolate goodness. Not that I needed clarifying on what would be dessert. Okay, yeah. I totally needed clarifying.

I make a face. “If you needed to bribe me with chocolate, lunch must not look very appetizing.”

He scoffs dramatically. “Lunch is delicious.” He pauses once we make it down the stairs and lets me pass. “But it’s also healthy, and I know how you Jennison girls frown upon foods without sugar.”

“You know, not everything that applies to Eda also transfers over to me.” This does. But generally speaking, outside of our love for sugar and coffee...and Nutella, our tastes vary quite a bit.

He laughs quietly, his hand mysteriously appearing on my lower back as we walk into the kitchen.

“I wasn’t thinking of Ava. I was thinking of your graduation party at
Ocean’s Pantry
and the look on your face when I asked you if you wanted to try some of my dinner.”

I shudder, and not in a good way. “Yeah, your dinner still had its head. I’m not anti-eating seafood, I’m just anti-eating food that can see me.”

“For the record, I didn’t know they were going to serve the fish that way.” He reaches for two plates on the counter, “and more importantly, lunch is completely face free.”

This only makes me feel slightly better considering the meal is still unrecognizable, not my favorite thing in food I’m meant to eat, but then the concept of sharing a meal with Angel may be the top favorite thing of all time.

He slides both plates onto the small table in the corner and we both take our seats. Since my brain is torn between freaking out about the mystery food, and the many ways in which I could convince myself that this is a date, I opt for the healthier route and pursue small talk. “So, what was Derek doing here this morning?”

I swear Angel hurries to move his fork to his mouth, just so he doesn’t have to answer.

Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out what I’m looking at. The green stuff on the side is definitely an avocado. I’m good with that. In fact, if the entire plate were covered in avocado, I’d be more than happy to lick it clean, but that’s not the case. The rest resembles some sort of fried rice. Only it’s not. Rice. And there’s more green stuff in it. Only it’s not avocado green, it’s like spinach green and this concerns me quite a lot.

“Angel?”

“Hm?” He’s still chewing what has to be the longest bite in history. Apparently, this Derek business is top secret. Which means I’m definitely going to ask again.

“What is this? Like, just...what is it?” I poke my fork around in it, searching for something specific to pick out, but it’s a by the scoopful sort of meal, so that’s not happening.

Finally, he swallows. “It’s quinoa and kale, fried up with egg and some seasonings to kick up the flavor a bit.”

“Huh.” That didn’t really help as much as I thought it would.

He grins. “Just try it. I promise, it’s good.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then you can skip it and go straight to dessert.” He gives a sideways glance toward the plate of chocolate pastries sitting on the counter and smiles the way only Angel can and I’m instantly prepared to eat whatever he wants me to. Even if brownies are an option.

“Fair enough.” I take my first bite. And it’s freaking delicious. “Oh my God.”

“We going to hold off on the sugar for now?”

I nod, already scooping up another forkful. “M-hm.”

I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until that first bite hit my stomach. I practically devour everything on the plate before I remember that our little lunch date will be over as soon as I’m done eating. But it’s too late. My lunch is gone.

At least there’s still dessert.

I sip from the water bottle Angel had on the table for me and try to clear the rubble of crap floating around in my head in search of something suitable to talk about. Then I remember.