regret my offer. Backpedaling, I stammer, “Of course, if you have something else to do or you don’t want to come—it’s fine.”
Something close to alarm crosses his face. “Are you thinking I don’t want to come?”
My back is pressed so hard against the wall I can feel every contour of the freezing, rough surface. And Gabriel’s in front, crowding me so I can’t move. His expression is deep and searching, melting my insides despite the surrounding chill.
Absorbing his warmth as it crashes over me, I explain, “You were frowning.”
“Because you thought I was fighting with you.” One of his hands is over my shoulder, braced against the cold wall. The other, reaches to capture a stray tendril of hair. Twining it absently around his finger, he says, “I hope you understand now, I wasn’t fighting with you. I was fighting with myself, and I’m so sorry for the pain I caused you. Please forgive me?”
Tearing my gaze away from his anguished eyes, I become distracted by his partially open mouth and perfect, white teeth. His tongue darts between his lips wetting them enticingly as I force my gaze back upwards. “I understand and forgive you. Will you forgive me?”
His fingers release my hair to brush lightly against my cheek. He shakes his head at my request. “There’s nothing to forgive, you were confused and hurt. I never want to hurt you. Will you always remember that?”
His blazing eyes are fierce and surprisingly tender. Gulping, I try to remember how to form words. “I will. Uh—does that mean you want to come Sunday?”
My question breaks the tension and he shifts ever-so-slightly away. With a small smile he teases, “Hmmm, let me see… My options are to sit around an empty house on Sunday, thinking about you OR to actually spend the day being with you.” Sucking in his breath between his teeth, he says, “That’s a tough choice. I’ll need to think about it.”
Giving him a shove of mock annoyance, I try to pull away but he envelops me from behind in a giant bear hug. “I would love to come!”
Feeling giddy from our contact and intoxicated by his outdoorsy scent, I let myself relax against his hard angles, admitting, “I would love for you to come!”
Despite Gabriel’s proximity, the bitter wind blasting into my face causes me to shiver. With a frown he moves back to my side, declaring, “Let’s get you home before you freeze to death.” Suddenly he’s all business as he hastens me toward the shelter of the Fosters’ residence.
Once we’re securely on the blue and white porch with the red door, the tension between us comes flooding back. While I stand expectantly in the cold—doing my best not to shake—Gabriel leans in and tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips tingling my skin where he grazes my cheek. His eyes are luminous, recalling to me the overwhelming sensations of witnessing him in all his angelic glory.
Gazing at him, I can’t help but ask, “Why me?”
“You’re special.”
“No, I’m not—”
His finger presses against my lips, halting my denial. “Yes you are. You know it—you just refuse to see it. All you need to do is open your eyes.”
It’s my greatest hope and worst fear come true, that my ability isn’t just an aberration of genetics, like an extra digit, but something bestowed for a purpose. Still, I can’t help but whisper, “My curse.”
“No, Alexia, you have a gift. A very rare and precious gift or I wouldn’t be here.”
This surprises me. What little I know about guardian angels is they come to anyone who’s in terrible crisis in their time of need. Like in that old, black and white Christmas movie. “Doesn’t everyone have a guardian angel?”
“Yes, if they need one, but very few get me. I’m one of less than a handful of Greater Seraphs—Greater as in Higher Purpose—not as in better. We have particular talents as guardians no other angels possess. The assignments I’m given are unique
Something close to alarm crosses his face. “Are you thinking I don’t want to come?”
My back is pressed so hard against the wall I can feel every contour of the freezing, rough surface. And Gabriel’s in front, crowding me so I can’t move. His expression is deep and searching, melting my insides despite the surrounding chill.
Absorbing his warmth as it crashes over me, I explain, “You were frowning.”
“Because you thought I was fighting with you.” One of his hands is over my shoulder, braced against the cold wall. The other, reaches to capture a stray tendril of hair. Twining it absently around his finger, he says, “I hope you understand now, I wasn’t fighting with you. I was fighting with myself, and I’m so sorry for the pain I caused you. Please forgive me?”
Tearing my gaze away from his anguished eyes, I become distracted by his partially open mouth and perfect, white teeth. His tongue darts between his lips wetting them enticingly as I force my gaze back upwards. “I understand and forgive you. Will you forgive me?”
His fingers release my hair to brush lightly against my cheek. He shakes his head at my request. “There’s nothing to forgive, you were confused and hurt. I never want to hurt you. Will you always remember that?”
His blazing eyes are fierce and surprisingly tender. Gulping, I try to remember how to form words. “I will. Uh—does that mean you want to come Sunday?”
My question breaks the tension and he shifts ever-so-slightly away. With a small smile he teases, “Hmmm, let me see… My options are to sit around an empty house on Sunday, thinking about you OR to actually spend the day being with you.” Sucking in his breath between his teeth, he says, “That’s a tough choice. I’ll need to think about it.”
Giving him a shove of mock annoyance, I try to pull away but he envelops me from behind in a giant bear hug. “I would love to come!”
Feeling giddy from our contact and intoxicated by his outdoorsy scent, I let myself relax against his hard angles, admitting, “I would love for you to come!”
Despite Gabriel’s proximity, the bitter wind blasting into my face causes me to shiver. With a frown he moves back to my side, declaring, “Let’s get you home before you freeze to death.” Suddenly he’s all business as he hastens me toward the shelter of the Fosters’ residence.
Once we’re securely on the blue and white porch with the red door, the tension between us comes flooding back. While I stand expectantly in the cold—doing my best not to shake—Gabriel leans in and tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips tingling my skin where he grazes my cheek. His eyes are luminous, recalling to me the overwhelming sensations of witnessing him in all his angelic glory.
Gazing at him, I can’t help but ask, “Why me?”
“You’re special.”
“No, I’m not—”
His finger presses against my lips, halting my denial. “Yes you are. You know it—you just refuse to see it. All you need to do is open your eyes.”
It’s my greatest hope and worst fear come true, that my ability isn’t just an aberration of genetics, like an extra digit, but something bestowed for a purpose. Still, I can’t help but whisper, “My curse.”
“No, Alexia, you have a gift. A very rare and precious gift or I wouldn’t be here.”
This surprises me. What little I know about guardian angels is they come to anyone who’s in terrible crisis in their time of need. Like in that old, black and white Christmas movie. “Doesn’t everyone have a guardian angel?”
“Yes, if they need one, but very few get me. I’m one of less than a handful of Greater Seraphs—Greater as in Higher Purpose—not as in better. We have particular talents as guardians no other angels possess. The assignments I’m given are unique
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