Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) Page 11

  Beau’s face softened at the mention of Emma’s name. “Oh. I’m glad she’s doing better. Are y’all still going to do the benefit?”

  Oh, good, he let the date business drop. “Yes. I talked to Maura and the medical bills are astronomical and she could still really use the help, so we’re going on as planned.”

  He snagged a fry from her plate. “Cool.”

  She glanced over again and this time found Eli watching her from the kitchen. His dark gaze caught hers, sparked. She turned away as that even keel she’d been seeking since she’d kissed him shook beneath her vinyl booth seat.

  Beau glanced toward the kitchen then back, his brows turned down. “You sure that dinner was nothing?”

  “Yes.” She picked up a fry and drowned it in ketchup. “Why?”

  “Well, because you two are passing looks that could singe me from across the room.”

  Her eyes shot up. “What? You’re crazy.”

  Silverware dropped and slid across the floor near her feet. “Sorry,” Michael said as he bent to retrieve it with an apologetic smile.

  “Crazy? I don’t think so,” Beau went on, paying Michael no mind. “But, honestly, I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while because I’ve noticed something different about you lately.”

  “What do you mean ‘different?’”

  He gave a noncommittal, one-shouldered guy shrug. “I dunno. You’re just not quite yourself. Do you like him?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from lying to her best friend. Instead, she diverted. “I don’t know. Do you like Delaney?”

  His mouth popped open, but before he could respond, Maura appeared with a strawberry shortcake and placed it between them with two forks. “Here you go.”

  “Well, this looks delicious . . .” Beau smiled up at her. “. . . but we didn’t order it.”

  Maura smiled. “I know. It’s on the house.” She sauntered away with a meaningful glance at the kitchen window, where Eli was watching with a guarded expression.

  Beau picked up his fork and speared a hearty bite. “Well, I don’t guess we have to ask if he likes you.”

  Naomi turned away, thoroughly confused. “Coulda fooled me,” she said as much to herself as to Beau.

  “Hmmm?” he murmured between bites.

  Behind them, an elderly couple stood and left, and Michael promptly moved to start clearing their table. Silverware rattled and glasses clanked behind her as she stared at the offending shortcake. She just couldn’t bring herself to take a bite.

  “What’s wrong?” Beau asked.

  She glanced up. How did she begin to explain the paradox that was Eli? Or the strange churning feelings he’d begun to create within her? Did she even dare to go there with Beau when she was just beginning to examine these feelings herself?

  Beau set down his fork and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. His earnest eyes bore into hers. “Tell me.”

  He’d been her best friend for years. Best. Friend.

  She swallowed. “I think I might like him. But I also think he might be a jerk.”

  “A jerk that sends you strawberry shortcake?” His lips curled up in a half-smile.

  “Okay, maybe not a jerk. But definitely confusing. One minute he’s in town temporarily, then he’s running around helping everyone in sight.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “Well, no. Unless it’s trying to put me out of business or put his nose in other people’s affairs.” Beau frowned, but didn’t say anything so she kept talking. “And then he basically gets forced into asking me out—how romantic. Stupid me, I go and he acts like he’s never been on a date before. He acted totally strange, didn’t open doors, he forgot his wallet. But the worst part was, he barely talked to me. It was like I was invisible.”

  Beau flicked a brief glance over her shoulder when Michael clanked a plate loudly, then focused his attention back to her. “Are you serious? How could he be so rude?”

  “Well, he claimed he really hadn’t ever been out with a girl before.”

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  She shrugged and scowled down at the damning shortcake.

  “There’s more?” he asked, sounding shocked.

  She nodded once, ashamed. She wasn’t sure she could tell him. They’d shared everything all these years, but maybe it was time to keep something secret.

  “What?” he demanded when she remained silent. “Did that asshole hurt you? I’ll kill him.”

  Her gaze shot up, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. “What? No! Nothing like that. I mortified myself, is all.”

  His face softened as he studied her.

  “I kissed him, okay?”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “That’s it?” His body visibly relaxed and he smiled. “Well no wonder he sent over the goodies.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said, feeling herself wanting to whine.

  “What’s to understand? Why you kissed him after he was such a dick?” He laughed and shook his head. “Women. Let me explain it to you from his perspective . . . you made out with the guy, now he’s soft on you. He’s probably hoping for more of the same.”

  “That’s just it! We didn’t make out. I kissed him. He didn’t kiss me back.”

  Michael’s heart pounded with excitement as he pressed the tattoo stencil onto his client at Serendipity’s. He adored Love Detail, truly he did, but there was something about utilizing his God-given talent with the tattoo needle that gave him a real thrill. He couldn’t help it. Besides, he needed the break from worrying about Elijah. It was bad enough that he’d consistently been watching his fallen brother’s essence fading. But after what he’d overheard between Naomi and Sheriff Shanahan, he may have very well blown it on their dinner date. Really. Even Michael knew a little bit about human interaction and mating rituals. You were courteous, you conversed, the man generally paid. And for goodness sake, if she kisses you, kiss her back!

  He glanced up at his client, a somber young man having a tribute to his deceased grandfather inked onto his torso, and refocused. “How’s the placement?”

  The young guy twisted toward the mirror and nodded after a cursory glance at the WWII gunship with his grandpa’s name inscribed on the side of his ribs. “Cool, bro.”

  “Awesome. Let’s get started.” Michael indicated the padded bench, then set about gathering his supplies. He shot a quick glance across the room when a few feminine giggles erupted. Will was chatting up a female customer who had her hand flirtatiously twirled in her long, fire-engine red hair. But Will appeared to be eating it up and taking it in stride—very reminiscent of his days at Gentry’s in Austin. Well, before the shop’s owner, Jed, married, anyway.

  In the opposite workstation, Landon was finishing up a pinup girl tattoo on another client.

  All in all, a nice, steady night.

  Michael pivoted back to his client, who had relaxed onto his back on the bench. He smiled as he slapped on his thick latex gloves and prepared the man’s skin for the tattoo.

  Soon, they had settled into a rhythm with the vibration of the needle, the inking and wiping, and the tattoo was coming along nicely.

  “So,” Michael finally asked when he noticed his customer was unusually quiet. “What do you do?”

  The guy glanced up. “I’m a welder.”

  “Cool.” Ink. Wipe. “Where do you work?”

  He hesitated. “I just got a new job, actually. Now I work just outside of town at PCI Systems.”

  “Ah.”

  During the long uncomfortable silence, Michael caught a brief glimpse of the man rubbing his left ring finger and a distinct white circle where a band obviously used to be. His angel’s heart broke for the guy as he began to feel his pain pulse through the air.

  G
ently, he dabbed his needle in the ink and sought the right words.

  God saved him before he could ask for help.

  Landon ambled by and stooped over to study the gunship forming on skin. “Sweet, dude. Very nice.” He smiled into his eyes. “So, how’s Clarissa and the girls?”

  Michael stopped the vibrating needle as the man dipped his eyes and shrugged. “All right, I guess. She left me, man.”

  Landon plopped onto a nearby stool. “No way. When?”

  “A couple weeks ago.”

  Michael’s eyes automatically tracked to the scripted words on the man’s bicep that bore his wife’s name, as well as what must be his daughters’. “I’m so sorry,” he added.

  His client nodded. “I probably had it coming. I haven’t been home a lot, and when I was, I didn’t pay her a lot of attention. I miss her and the girls like crazy. I went and got this new job so I could be home more and I promised her I’d change and do more at the house, but it’s too late. She won’t listen now.”

  The front door opened and a group of people bustled in. Landon glanced over, then back apologetically. “Dude, that’s too bad. I hope you can work it out.” He stood. “I gotta catch this. Call me if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

  The client nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

  Once they were alone, Michael pressed his foot pedal and let the vibration start again. What could he say? His soul yearned to soothe this hurting man.

  A sudden vision of Elijah filled his mind. His kind eyes, his angel’s heart, his ever-fading essence. His unnecessary search for redemption. Couldn’t he see that he was already loved and Father saw no sin in him? The only recrimination to be found in him was what he created?

  That he had been created for a specific and loving purpose.

  With that in mind, Michael took a breath and peered into his client’s hurting eyes. “Say, have you thought about speaking with Eli, the cook down at the diner?”

  The man’s brows turned down as confusion clouded his face. “No. Why?”

  Michael allowed the light to fill him before he spoke. “Go talk to him, friend. He’s a bit of a love doctor around here, and he has lots of great advice. I believe he’ll be able to help you with your troubles. Your marriage can be saved.”

  The man stared at him strangely for a moment before a half-smile tilted his lips upward. “You think so?”

  Michael grinned. He’d gotten through. “Oh, I know so.”

  Chapter 14

  Nowhere was safe. Elijah couldn’t leave his garage apartment without being bombarded by those seeking love advice. At the diner, of course. But everywhere in between as well. The walk to work, the grocery store, the laundromat, Delaney’s when he went in for a haircut . . . but at church? Was nothing sacred?

  He glanced up from the emptying pew into Mildred Walker’s gently weathered face. She had become a regular at the diner since he began serving his Chicken Dijon and honeyed carrots on Wednesday nights. “Good morning, Miss Walker. Great service, wasn’t it?”

  He stood, hoping to escape quickly once he saw the predatory gleam in her beady eyes.

  Her hand flew out and gripped his arm in a vise-like grip. “Wonderful. Now, Eli, I was hoping to speak with you a moment.”

  He swallowed. “Ma’am?”

  Her gaze darted over his shoulder, then honed back to his. She leaned in fractionally. “Is it true? What they say?”

  “About what, Miss Walker?”

  She frowned, obviously nonplussed with his obtuseness. His stomach sank. Not again. “About your gift when it comes to matchin’ up folks.”

  He opened his mouth to dispute the claim when Sam ambled by with Vi on his arm, both smiling broadly. Automatically his eyes sought out Naomi. He zeroed in on her by the altar speaking with the pastor, the Sheriff at her side, his hand gently at the small of her back.

  Elijah took in every detail—from the way the sun filtering through the stained glass lit her golden hair, to how she filled out that form-fitting gray dress. And, again, to how the officer had his hand on her. Were they more than friends?

  She laughed and leaned into him. His hand rubbed up and down her spine as if he’d done it a hundred times before. But then she stepped away and punched his arm.

  Miss Walker cleared her throat, but at that moment Naomi shifted and pinned him with her beautiful green eyes, trapping him as the smile froze on her face. She sobered, offered him a small nod as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

  The Sheriff turned and caught his gaze. In the span of two seconds, he seemed to be silently threatening him, but Eli couldn’t fathom why.

  “Excuse me,” Miss Walker interrupted, squeezing his arm again and forcing Elijah’s attention back to her.

  “I’m sorry. You were saying . . .?”

  “Matchmaking!” she demanded, drawing a few curious stares.

  Across the aisle, Michael stood, seeming to smile encouragingly. Where had he come from? Had he been at church the whole time? Elijah rubbed his brows in frustration. He came to church seeking peace and a place to be close to Father again, though he felt as alone here as anywhere.

  He sighed and met Miss Walker’s insistent gaze. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ve heard wrong. I don’t have any special matchmaking abilities.” He pulled his arm away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He spun away and rushed in the opposite direction, bumping into people in his hurry out of the worship hall.

  He made it as far as the church’s front steps before Michael’s booming voice stopped him.

  “Eli! Where’s the fire, buddy?”

  He jogged down a couple more steps, then his conscience made him stop and turn. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear him. He pasted on a smile. “Michael. How are you?”

  Michael tucked his hands in his black jeans—his only concession to church wear, apparently—and sucked in a deep breath of the clear morning air. “I’m wonderful, friend. You?”

  Elijah nodded as parishioners filed out around him, including a disgruntled Miss Walker who was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He glanced away sheepishly. “I’m well, thank you.”

  “Good. That’s good.” He seemed to want to say more, but he didn’t as they stood there uncomfortably. Elijah started to bid him goodbye just as the Sheriff opened the door and ushered Naomi, Sam, and Vi outside.

  Vi spotted him first. “Well, good morning, Eli.”

  “Miss Stevens.” He tipped his head.

  Sam nodded in his direction, and the Sheriff lasered him with another warning glare. They all began to walk away, but Naomi hesitated.

  “Eli.”

  “Naomi.”

  Then she tucked her hand in the Sheriff’s elbow and let him lead her away.

  “So,” Michael said, bringing him back before he could get away. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did your dinner with Naomi go? I hope you got a lot accomplished?”

  “Accomplished?”

  Michael’s brow dipped. “For the festival?”

  “Oh. Right. Yes. We were very productive.” He tried valiantly to ignore the buzzing in his veins as his lips recalled hers. Soft and moist. Perfect.

  “Will you be going out again?” Michael asked Elijah and leaned against the stair railing like he didn’t have a care in the world. Obviously his pants had never felt tight enough to explode before.

  “Well, uh, I don’t know if that’ll be necessary . . .”

  “What about a real date?”

  Elijah stopped mid-thought and stared. For the very briefest of moments, the sunlight played on Michael’s head, creating a glow unlike anything he’d seen since . . . before. He had to catch his breath.

  “You okay, Eli?” Michael leaned forward, and the weird trick of the sun was gone.

  He swallowed
. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “So? Will you ask Miz Naomi out again? For real this time?”

  He glanced away. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Not sure about what?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. She probably doesn’t want to go out with me. I’m no good at that kind of thing.”

  Michael laughed. “Nonsense. I can help you.”

  Elijah glanced up at the huge, bald man. He wasn’t sure how a guy like him could help. Did he date? Did he even want the help?

  His heart skittered in his chest. “How?”

  Michael stepped down to his level and slapped his back. “Easy. We’ll start with Michael’s Dating 101. You’ll have the ladies—or more precisely, one pretty lady—eating out of your hand in no time.” He laughed when Elijah shook his head in disbelief. “You just wait and see, my friend. Just wait and see.”

  Naomi flew over to the diner late Monday afternoon once Maura called to tell her that Emma had been discharged from the hospital and they were stopping by for a quick visit before heading home.

  Rich, divine scents permeated the air when she pressed open the door—something with rosemary and the smallest hints of orange and garlic. As usual, the dessert case was packed beautifully, a mix of Vi’s sweets and Eli’s lovely pastries. She’d bite her tongue off before admitting she’d secretly tasted one of his crème puffs and it was heavenly. Decadent. Wonderful enough to put them out of business.

  She forced that traitorous thought to come to a screeching halt.

  He was here temporarily. A tasty diversion for the fine folks of New Destiny. So he could tease them with his fancy crème brulée and cloud soft pastries, but he didn’t have her fooled. He wasn’t here for the long haul like she and Vi were.

  At the end of the long counter, she spotted Maura chatting with Sharla, Emma perched on her lap sleepily. As she approached, Emma’s head popped up.