He doesn’t release my hand, even after I’m steady on my feet, instead tucking it into his elbow as we walk along the landscaped winding path into the quaint restaurant. The sign above the door simply says, “Eden.” I’m shocked it is open at this odd hour.
“The food here will change your life,” he says as he holds open the door.
The interior is cast in a welcoming golden glow, with a few tables and mismatched chairs. Plants fill entire walls. A small, wizened old lady with a grandmotherly smile and a twinkle in her blue eyes comes over.
She passes us two menus, and I’m nervous to take a peek. I hate it when my dietary restrictions cause a fuss, but I needn’t have worried. The menu is filled with organic whole foods. Not a grain in sight.
Suddenly, I’m ravenous, and my mouth is watering as I see the offerings. While I glance over the menu, trying to narrow down my choices, she brings two mugs and a French press carafe. I think I just fell in love with her. When she sets down a small pitcher and says it’s oat milk, I know I’m in love.
I order the manna smoothie bowl and Gabe simply says, “Make that two.”
In the soft lighting, I take in his face. He has a beautiful jawline, full lush lips, and piercing ice-blue eyes. His harsh beauty is softened by his hair falling to his shoulders in platinum waves, artfully tousled by our ride. He even looks like the angel he acts like.
“I should thank you for rescuing me. You really are like an angel swooping in to save the day.”
His laugh matches his beauty. “My pleasure. I’m only glad we both got out of that mess safely. What happened?”
“Oh, um,” I stammer. “There was a fight…” I trail off.
“I wonder what started it?”
“Well,” I draw out. “Me?”
Gabe quirks an eyebrow, replying, “I can see why.”
I don’t get it. I’m just me, nothing and no one extraordinary. Shaking my head, I stir a generous amount of oat milk into my coffee. The first sip is heavenly, the rich taste of the French press coffee flooding my mouth. I love it but never bother with it at home. I should, it’s delicious.
I probably ought to feel uncomfortable sipping coffee across from a polite and charming but complete stranger while being commando, but the conversation flows easily, and we are both laughing as much as talking. Gabe is as easy to be with as he is on the eyes.
“So, when you’re not inciting riots, what do you do with yourself?”
Bragging about Grimm comes naturally, so I happily do so.
“Your family and your boyfriend, or should I say, boyfriends, must be so proud.”
I bite my lip to keep it from quavering. His eyes look so warm, and he is so genuine that I find myself spilling my guts. I don’t usually open up to strangers, but even though Gabe as my guardian angel is an impossibility, his presence is so familiar he feels like talking to an old friend.
Next thing I know, I’ve shared my difficult relationship with my father, the loss of my mother, my loneliness and searching for love in all the odd places, and my hurt and confusion about the two men who just had that ridiculous fight over me.
We finish our smoothie bowls as we talk, and I think we are both on our third French press by the time I’ve brought him up to speed on my entire thirty years.
Smiling, Gabe says, “Your story is as beautiful and unique as you are. You deserve love and you deserve to be happy. These two guys, though, I just gotta say, not everything is always as it seems. You are smart to guard your heart and remember, you only get one soul. This is your love story, and you are the key to it. Write it for you.”
I try to ponder his words, think through some of the odd turns of phrases he uses, but despite the copious amounts of coffee I just consumed, I let out a large yawn. I really want to keep talking with him and bask in his warm and friendly nature, but I just hit the wall.
“I guess I should get you home,” Gabe says as the sweet little old lady drops our bill on the table.
Seeing the bill, I realize the dilemma I am in. “Gabe! I left my purse back there. I’m so sorry, I don’t have my wallet. Oh no! My phone, my ID, and credit card. This is going to be a nightmare with my upcoming trip,” I lament as I drop my head into my hands.
“First things first. Let’s get you home. Then you can get it all sorted,” he assures me. He drops too much cash on the table and stands up, taking my hand and tucking it into his elbow as we walk back to the motorcycle.
“Why were you at the club tonight?” I ask him.
“I was there to rescue you, of course,” he replies. The morning sun is behind him, lighting his blond hair up like a halo. He looks like the angel I accuse him of being, ageless perfection.
I shake my head at my exhausted and fanciful thoughts and, with his help, attempt to mount the bike gracefully. While he gets on, I simultaneously try to hide my bare bottom from the world and pull my skirt down in the front.
Now that I know what to expect, I thoroughly enjoy the motorcycle ride. I give him directions as we drive, and all too soon, we are pulling up beside my vintage beetle behind my building.
