The bell of the cafe’s door jingles as it opens and our first lunch rush customers come in. Behind the counter, Michelle and Elias take care of the customers and all the others that follow only a minute later.
I’m acclimated to the sound of the bells, kind of like Pavlov’s dog. Each jingle is a reward toward my business. The bell jingles thrice before the door completely shuts. But on the fourth ring, it’s Christian who enters—out of breath, hair disheveled, and with a streak of pale yellow paint on his tan forearm.
“Christian?” My brows furrow tight and my heart picks up. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“What?” he pants. “Oh. Nothing. I’m picking you up.”
I exhale. “Don’t scare me like that.”
He pecks my cheek with a kiss and takes my hand in his, interlocking our fingers. “Come, I need to show you something.”
“Christian, wait, I?—”
I look over my shoulder and see Michelle behind the counter smiling, giving me two thumbs up. “We got you covered, boss!”
“See?” Christian quips. “Covered.”
I toss the rag in my hand on a table along with the small apron around my waist, and Christian hauls me out the shop. “Christian, wait!”
We stop at his car and he opens the door for me to slip in. I’m giggling as I fall into the leather seat. Christian slips into his driver's seat, the door slamming shut as the engine roars to life, and he has the most adorable, boyish grin on his handsome face.
“Seatbelt,” he breathes, buckling his own.
It seems I am moving too slowly because he reaches over and grabs my seatbelt. “Christian,” I laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Buckling you in.” He tugs at the seatbelt to ensure it is secure before he puts the car in drive, checks his mirror, and drives out of the spot.
“Babe, are you okay?” I ask and put my hand on his bouncing knee.
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
I snort and squeeze his thigh. “Okay then.”
“No, leave your hand,” he says when I begin to take back my hand. “I need it.”
I press my hand into his thigh firmly. Christian remains jittery as we pass our road, then our house, and he is driving toward the Willow Springs lake.
The further we go, I ask, “Where are we going?”
Christian flicks on the signal before he goes right at the next stop sign, using the heel of his hand to slowly turn the steering wheel. He takes one more left turn, the road curving until I’m daydreaming out the window, admiring the beautiful lake houses and mansions. I sit up straighter as he presses on the break, the McLaren slowing as he turns into the expansive driveway of one of the few mansions. He puts the park in front of two garages—one bigger and the other smaller.
“What is this?” I gape at the house. I’ve driven through this part of town, fantasizing about owning one of these, but something about seeing it up close sets butterflies loose from their cages.
“Do you think it’s nice?”
I turn to gape at Christian. “It’sgorgeous.”
A silly little smirk takes ownership of his lips. “Want to see the rest of it?”
Before I can question thewhy, how,orwhat, Christian is out of the car and coming around to open mine. I only managed on foot out the door but before Christian hauls my body out of the passenger seat and carries me at his side.
“I can walk,” I laugh and he sets me down. I tug at the hem of my shirt and admire the lavish entrance of this home. The expansive door and windows. The spacious patio with outdoor furniture that hangs from the ceiling above—front abalcony.“Christian…”
Christian stands before me, smiling—the rays of the sunforming a celestial glow around his body. The love of my life holds out his hand, waiting for mine to fit against his. “Come home with me.”
My mouth finally closes and takes the shape of a smile—hard enough for me tofeelmy dimples. With the August sun burning my skin and the angel looking right through me, I slip my hand in his.
At the front door, he pulls a key from the front pocket of his jeans and fits it into the door. He pushes the smooth, brown door open and steps in before me, holding it open and waving me in. Cautiously, I step into the foyer of the bright home, light coming in from every direction—even from above—and I squeeze his hand.
