Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  Finally, he tilted his head and spoke. “I don’t believe I’ve committed a wrong.”

  Committed a wrong? He sounded like he needed to just plain be committed. She took a breath. “Look. I realize you’re new to town. Maybe you don’t understand how it’s always been done here. But, Vi and I have always provided the baked goods for the diner. The cook here does the cooking, we do the baking. That’s how it goes.” Comprende, bucko?

  He pivoted and started slicing his quiche, exposing melting cheese and tons of finely chopped mushrooms and spinach. It was enough to make her mouth water. Jerk. “Well . . . I think, for now at least, that’s not how things will be. The people like my desserts and Sharla has asked me to make them.” His words had a ring of finality to them that made her heart clench.

  Silence thundered through the room as she tried to fathom what he was saying.

  She got nothing.

  Then, without a thought, she picked up the closest thing she could find—which just so happened to be a plastic bowl full of chocolate batter—and hurled it with as much force as she could muster. Right at his head.

  The rational part of her brain kicked in to filter the thought, telling her that was probably a bad idea. Too late.

  The bowl grazed his temple then clattered into the industrial-sized steel fridge behind him and fell to the floor, sluicing him with thick, chocolate batter. The entire left side of his head and face was covered as it dripped down his neck in an oozing brown river like lava. And, she had to admit, it smelled fantastically rich. What she wouldn’t give for a taste. Damn.

  Neither one of them spoke as he blinked at her in stunned disbelief.

  A moment later, Sharla rushed in, obviously having heard the commotion. She stopped short when she spotted the chocolate-coated Eli. “Oh, my. What in the world . . .?”

  Naomi winced as Sharla turned wide eyes to her. She had no idea what to say. She’d been overcome. But, really . . .

  Eli reached for a towel and started wiping his cheek.

  Sharla poked her head out the door and called for someone then whirled back to them. “So, are you two going to tell me what all this is about?”

  Eli bent down and picked up the offending bowl, placing it on the counter with an accusatory glare, but he didn’t say a word.

  Naomi’s anger dissipated as she realized she may have just effectively killed all business with the diner for good in a childish tantrum. Her dreams withered a bit more in her chest. She faced Sharla with what she hoped were repentant eyes. “I’m sorry. Totally my fault.”

  Sharla’s eyes flicked over to Eli momentarily as he dropped the towel to the counter. “Oh, I’d love to hear this. Lemme guess. The bowl slipped from your hand?”

  “Uh . . .” Halfway across the room and onto his head? Right. “Not exactly.” Naomi cringed. Her voice actually squeaked.

  Sharla waited patiently, her hip cocked to one side, her face growing more impatient with each passing millisecond.

  Maura swung in, her usual hustle invading the uncomfortable silence. “Hey, Eli, the good doctor loved your new tarts, he said . . .” She stopped mid-thought and took in the three of them, her expression growing more and more curious, until she got to Eli. She stifled a gasp, which morphed into a giggle, then quickly grabbed the extra plate she’d obviously come for and spun around without muttering a word, the door swinging closed behind her like an accusation.

  Time to bite the bullet and get this over with. Naomi faced Sharla head-on and sucked in a breath, her chest feeling like it was full of lead. “I let my temper get the best of me. I’m sorry. I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “How could you lose your temper with Eli? He’s so quiet and helpful, and he’s just about the best chef and baker I’ve ever met.” Sharla smiled as she spoke and gazed at Eli like he hung the moon.

  Naomi sighed. “That’s just the problem, Miss Sharla.”

  “What problem?”

  The petit fours on the counter caught her eye again and she’d swear they mocked her. “Those.” she pointed. “All of it. We can’t compete with that,” she finally admitted at Sharla’s look of bewilderment. “I guess I got a little protective of all that Vi has worked for all these years and her relationship with the diner, and he didn’t seem to understand it.” She hung her head in shame. “My actions were unprofessional and uncalled for. I’m sorry.” She peeked up. “To both of you.” She hoped she looked like she meant it.

  “Oh, darlin’,” Sharla crooned as she moved to wrap her arms around her. “I had no idea. I never thought of that. I just got so excited when Eli started cranking out those little bits of Heaven that I didn’t give a thought to what that’d do to Vi’s business or our agreement to buy our sweets from y’all. Now I feel like a heel.” She peered over at Eli who still stood silent with batter now drying and caking in his hair. “But why didn’t you just come to me, honey? Why toss all that perfectly good dark chocolate on my chef?”

  Naomi shrugged. “I guess I’d hoped we could work out an arrangement if he understood how things have always been around here.” She sniffled. Darn it, she hadn’t meant to start crying. “But he’s obviously got a better product and I understand that business is business.” And, man, she hated to admit that someone was a better baker. Vi’s recipes had always been the crème de la crème, pun intended, around these parts.

  “Oh, sugar—”

  They were interrupted as one of the biggest men Naomi had ever seen came in lugging a large tub full of dirty dishes. Nearly as tall as the doorway and about as wide, he was as intimidating a man as she’d ever seen. If he hadn’t been smiling like he’d just won the lottery and he wanted to share it with her, she’d probably have mistaken him for some kind of hit man muscle or motorcycle gang member and run screaming in the other direction.

  The big man set the tub down and grinned at Eli. “What happened to you?”

  “She did,” he answered, staring directly at Naomi.

  The new guy just laughed like it was the greatest joke he’d ever heard. Finally, his mirth subsided and he extended a meaty hand to her. “Name’s Michael. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Naomi Evans.” She let him grip her hand and met his gaze, finding herself momentarily lost in the blue of his eyes. Not in an attraction kind of way. But in a kindred spirits kind of way. Almost as if he was communicating with her on an elemental level for that brief moment—like their souls shared a bond somehow.

  Nonsense.

  She broke the handshake and the eye contact.

  “Well,” Michael said as he turned back to the dishes. “Guess I’ll get back to work. It was very nice meeting you, Naomi. I hope I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

  She made a vague mumble of agreement and gave her attention back to Sharla. “Listen, I’ll just clean up here then get back to the bakery if that’s okay with you.”

  Sharla nodded, looking unsure. “But, Naomi, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ll talk to Vi about this whole situation. We’ve been friends for years. There’s got to be a way to work this out so you don’t lose your business, but Eli can still bake, too, because the customers love him.”

  Michael abruptly spun from the sink. “Miss Sharla? I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop . . . but couldn’t Eli and Miss Naomi just split the baking 50/50?”

  Sharla’s smile nearly split her face. “Well, duh. Why didn’t I think of that?” She turned to Naomi. “What do you think?”

  She offered Eli a hesitant smile. A peace offering. “You okay with that?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  He answered, but his expression didn’t change to give any indication as to what he was thinking. She bit her lip and faced Sharla again. “I think we can make it work.”

  50/50 meant a 50% loss of business, but wasn’t half
better than nothing? They could adapt. She obviously didn’t have much of a choice anyway. But she did have a plan.

  Thank goodness for this Michael guy, whoever he was. He seemed nice. Better than that ridiculously talented, ridiculously hot Eli.

  Chapter 5

  Elijah watched the lovely, if very emotional, Naomi stride straight-backed out of the kitchen, her pride obviously holding on by a thin thread. He’d never meant to upset her and their altercation had him feeling thunderstruck. And it had nothing to do with the double-chocolate batter currently coating his hair and face.

  It was nearly time to start working on the lunch special—King Ranch Chicken—so he turned off the lit burners and made his way to the bathroom to see what he could do to make himself presentable.

  He studied himself in the mirror and tried to puzzle out what he’d done to anger her. All he’d done was bake. The one and only talent he possessed. How was that wrong? As he pooled cold water in his hands and rinsed his face, her words came back to him.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “We can’t compete with that.”

  It wasn’t what he’d done wrong. It was what he’d done right. And it had hurt her.

  Unacceptable.

  He quickly rinsed the chocolate from his face, neck, and hair and dried the best he could with paper towels. A week had been too long in New Destiny while the small-town mechanic took his time fixing the car. He’d have to go check on it this evening and get outta here before he hurt anyone else, because that was definitely not part of the plan.

  Before he left the bathroom, he knelt in his usual position of contrition and bowed his head.

  “Father,” he prayed, knowing his prayers bounced off the sky, but saying them anyway in hopes that one day, somehow, Father would have mercy and hear his pleas again. “Great Creator of the Universe and of my soul, I implore You to hear my cries. I beg Your forgiveness for my transgressions, both in breaking my Angelic Commandments, and as I stumble through this humanly existence.” He heaved a great sigh as frustration and pain tightened in his chest. “I am so very alone, Father. Please, if You can, find a way to forgive me, to love me again, and to allow me to redeem myself, as I’m trying so hard.”

  His ‘Amen’ was lost on a whisper as he rose slowly. He’d been alone for his entire humanly journey, but never had he felt this lonely because every time he’d felt the utter solitude creeping up on him he moved on to his next destination. Always hoping he’d find his peace somewhere along the way. Still no luck.

  He got himself together and stepped out into the back storeroom, thankful it was empty. A soft scratching at the backdoor caught his attention and he smiled. His little friend must be back. He unlatched the bolt and cracked the door.

  A small, wet, black nose popped through and brushed his pant leg. He opened the door wider and knelt down to pet the furry, brown and white mutt. “Hey, Dog. How are you today?”

  The dog whined and wagged his tail furiously while staring up with deep, soulful brown eyes.

  Elijah smiled. “Hungry?”

  The tail wagged even harder.

  “Of course you are.” He stood. “Stay right there.”

  He went back inside and grabbed a few scraps for the little guy who’d been coming around for the past couple of days. He returned and offered them to the hungry dog along with a bowl of water.

  “So, what’s your story?” he asked while the animal devoured its meal.

  Big, brown eyes took him in while the last morsels were cleaned from the plate.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m pretty much wandering and unwanted, too.” He patted the dog again.

  They both glanced over as a truck lumbered up the back drive. Elijah smiled as Scott, the young delivery guy from the restaurant supply company, jumped out with a happy-go-lucky grin on his face.

  “Hey, Eli, how goes it? Any good sweet treats for me today?”

  Reflexively, Elijah cringed, recalling Naomi’s anger. “Hello, Scott. I’m fine. And, yes, there are plenty of baked goods today.” He stood. “How’s your day going?”

  Scott began loading boxes onto a dolly. “Dandy. Just dandy.”

  “Here, let me help you.” Elijah jumped up and helped him muscle a couple of heavy boxes from the truck.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem.”

  He and Scott lugged in two loads of supplies while his canine friend watched intently.

  Scott wiped a stream of sweat from his temple and pointed at the dog. “He yours?”

  “Nah. He’s a stray. Comes around once a day to be fed and to see Emma when she gets here after school.” It was the best he could do. He had no home to offer a pet.

  “Oh,” Scott replied, but he glanced away as a faint blush crept up his neck.

  Elijah didn’t have long to wonder about this strange response as Maura and Emma drove up, Emma jumping out nearly before the car was parked and making a beeline for the dog.

  The dog’s tail thumped madly, his ears pinned back to his neck, and his eyes seemed to gleam with happiness as the enthusiastic girl threw her arms around his neck. “Doggie!”

  Maura turned the car off and ambled up slowly, a serene smile on her face. “Hello, Eli. Scott.”

  Elijah smiled and nodded at her.

  “Hi, Maura,” Scott said, his face flushing even deeper.

  They all stood there in silence a few moments longer while Emma lavished the pooch with love until Maura finally pulled her off saying it was time to go inside, much to the girl’s obvious disappointment.

  Once the men were alone, Scott faced Elijah, wiping his hands on his thighs. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully. “So, Maura and I went to high school together. She’s never really given me the time of day other than being sweet as pie.” He swallowed. “In a let’s-just-be-friends kinda way.”

  Elijah blinked. Where was he going with this, and why was he telling him?

  Scott shifted toward the closed door as if he could see her beyond it. “Problem is, I’m crazy about her. Always have been.” He turned back to Elijah. “Emma, too. I hate that her ex treated them so bad and walked away like he did, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was kinda glad he left. Know what I mean?”

  “Hmmm,” he offered, not sure what else to say, what Scott expected him say, or what was proper human interaction in this situation, for that matter.

  Scott leaned on his dolly, seeming to hesitate to take his load of supplies inside. “You know, a couple of my buddies that know about her have told me I should just go up to her and be assertive. Ask her out, but make it so she can’t say no. They say women like that kinda thing.” He flicked Elijah a glance. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?”

  Scott shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve dated a few women, but I’ve never had to try too hard to get their attention. I’ve always been able to be myself. But, this is different.” He glanced at the ground and shuffled his feet. “You think women—Maura—like a man to be more aggressive?”

  Memories of being on Love Detail flashed through his mind. His last assignment in particular. And Sarah. He bowed his head. He could do any number of good deeds, nearly anything for the redemption of his soul. But he wasn’t sure he could do love again.

  He simply wasn’t qualified.

  “Well?” Scott interrupted his thoughts.

  He glanced up into Scott’s earnest gaze. “I dunno. I guess,” he mumbled half-heartedly, giving all he had at the moment.

  Scott nodded once, seeming unconvinced. “Yeah, thanks, man.” He shoved away from his dolly and started for the door. “I guess I’ll just bite the bullet and go up to her and say something like: ‘Maura, I’m tired of us dancing around each other and you pretending I don’t exist. Go out with me.�
�” His voice shook just a hair.

  Flashbacks of the haunted emotion in Maura’s eyes this past week flooded Elijah’s mind. She obviously carried a wounded heart from the man who fathered Emma and she only had eyes for her daughter. Assertive would not go over with her.

  Elijah sighed. “Scott, wait.”

  He pivoted at the door. “Yeah?”

  “On second thought, I don’t think Maura is the kind of girl who likes an aggressive man. Emma is the love of her life. I would suggest offering your friendship and involving her daughter in your relationship. That’s the key to her heart.”

  Scott grinned. “Thanks, Eli. I think I’ll try that instead. You know, I kinda knew that deep down. Maura’s always been an awesome mother, but ever since Emma’s diagnosis, she’s been phenomenal.”

  Elijah’s heart began to pound. “Diagnosis?”

  Scott paused with the dolly halfway through the door. “Yeah, man. Emma has leukemia.”

  As Scott disappeared and the door slammed shut behind him, Elijah felt the blood drain from his face as the world began to spin violently.

  No. No. No. No.

  He blindly started walking, then his feet began to pick up speed until he was in a desperate sprint. He had to get out of this town.

  He would not . . . absolutely could not . . . face another innocent’s death.

  Michael whistled as he ambled down the street toward work. Well, technically he was already working, he thought with only the tiniest tug of guilt as he refused to peek over his shoulder at the auto mechanic’s shop behind him. Old Troy MacIntyre had been easy enough to keep busy by dropping off his sweetie, Baby Blue, for a tune-up. While Troy had his head under the hood—or trunk, really—of the vintage VW bug, Michael had made quick work of Elijah’s car. Yeah, in order for this whole ‘fallen angel meets girl’ plan to work, he needed to stay put.

  He offered Elijah a silent apology, thankful that he’d picked up a few mechanical tricks from his last assignment, Noble, to go with his angel mojo, making this subtle sabotage possible. But, if he’d learned anything from his mentor, Gabriel, it was that in love, the end justified the means as long as you towed the line of over-involvement in human free will carefully.