His gaze shot to her like a slingshot. “Really? You’d take me to the Ark?”
She laughed. “It’s not the real Ark. It’s just a movie.”
“Yes, of course. I’d love to go. If you have the time, that is.”
“Get in the car.” She slid in without waiting to see his reaction. Somehow, she knew he’d be as excited as a kid in an all-you-can-eat candy buffet. When he got in and she slid a glance his way, the grin on his face confirmed her suspicion.
They were in luck. The theater was only a couple miles from the restaurant and they were in time for the next showings. She shifted to face him from the ticket window. “Though I don’t guess I have to ask, Disney, chick flick, or shoot ‘em up?”
He stared at her blankly.
“Well? Which movie do you want to see?”
“Oh. Uh, you pick.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I’m sure any of them will be fine.”
She raised one eyebrow. Was he for real? She thought about choosing the Disney movie just to jerk his chain for being so damn agreeable, but she didn’t want to torture herself. So, in the end she chose the chick flick. Hey, he didn’t voice his preference for the bang, bang, shoot ‘em up, so she wasn’t going to voluntarily watch that if she didn’t have to.
She drove around and found a parking spot and got the radio station to the right channel for the movie. He shifted in his seat and seemed to be taking in the surroundings, including the huge Ark playscape. She’d swear she heard him say something about it looking nothing like the real thing, but he wouldn’t repeat himself when she asked him about it.
Ten minutes ‘til show time, the scent of buttery popcorn began to drift in from outside. Though she was still full from dinner, it seemed somehow sacrilegious to come here and not get the greasy snack. “You want popcorn? A drink?” she asked.
He peered at her in the now darkened car, only the whites of his eyes and the planes of his face clearly visible. “Only if you do.”
She swallowed past her suddenly dry throat. She needed a drink. And some space from him. “I’ll get us something.”
She jumped from the car and headed blindly for the concession stand wondering what in the heck was wrong with her. They were organizing the festival together. That was it. Period. So what if he was moderately attractive? And smelled divine? And had the most awesome, deep brown eyes and hair that was made to run your fingers through . . .
She rushed up to the pimply-faced boy at the stand and placed her order. How was she going to get through tonight, much less the next few weeks, planning this benefit? Eli was in the way of her big plans and, even worse, entirely too distracting.
Shoring up her resolve by reminding herself of her goals for the bakery—Exposure. Business. Success. Pay back debt to Vi—she armed herself with a deep breath or two, a couple of large Cokes, and a large tub of buttered popcorn, and made her way back to the car just as the previews were starting.
He reached over as she slid in and helped her with the drinks.
They sat in silence and watched the screen, their fingers bumping occasionally over the popcorn. Sadly, about thirty minutes into the movie, Naomi found herself bored to tears and wishing she’d picked the guy movie. At least the explosions would’ve kept her awake.
She leaned her head back on the headrest and stifled a yawn. She started when a finger caressed her face. Her eyes flew open. Had she dozed off? She glanced over. When had he gotten so close?
“Sleepy?” he asked, his voice low and sexier than he had any right to.
She sucked in a breath. The air was warm, suffused with the faint traces of popcorn, the flowering bushes that lined the lot, and him. Still in the quiet place between sleep and wakefulness where consequences don’t exist, she lifted her hand and cupped his cheek.
His eyes widened slightly, but that was all she could make out in the darkened car. That, and his hot breath as it brushed across the flesh of her wrist.
“Eli.” His name came out as a whisper. A plea. A question.
Who was he? Where had he come from? What was he doing to her?
“Naomi.” Her name was his answer. It didn’t matter.
She brushed his lower lip with her thumb. He didn’t move. Her heart thundered. Before another thought could cross her mind—or rationality could stop her—she leaned in until their breath mingled. Lowering her eyes, she studied his slightly parted lips.
Outside, the world around them created a black velvet cocoon dotted with starlight. A car horn sounded in the distance. The movie’s soundtrack played behind them, the perfect romantic partner to her dancing nerves.
His hand gripped her wrist where she still held his face. She peered up into his eyes. Masked in the darkness, all she could make out was a faint glisten and the dip in his brows.
“Naomi?” he said again, his voice a hoarse whisper and full of emotion.
It called to something deep within her. She didn’t know much about him. His past, his secrets, his pain. All she knew was that he was obviously hurting and she wanted to soothe him.
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.
She drew on his full bottom lip and feathered soft kisses along the inner seam of his mouth. Her fingers found themselves shoved through his hair, pulling him closer as she opened to him, urging him to take what she offered.
Slowly, she drew back as she realized he wasn’t kissing her back. She tried to make out his expression, but it was too dark. But his reaction, or lack thereof, said it all. He didn’t want her. Ice cold realization poured through her and she sat back as if he’d slapped her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft and curiously benign considering how mortified she was.
She managed to face him. “What’s wrong? Really?”
“Yes. Have I made you angry again?”
She wanted to laugh. Or cry. “Angry? No.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Then why did you stop?”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She really had no answer for that. Not one that wasn’t obvious, anyway.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before . . .”
Was he for real?
“. . . but I rather enjoyed it,” he continued.
Her mind had blanked somewhere back at ‘never been kissed.’ But it rushed forward full force at his next words. “I was hoping we could do it again.”
Chapter 12
Elijah bolted up in bed, his head whirling, his heart pounding, his soul aching. He searched the room as he sought balance, pure fear bitter on his tongue. Sweat poured unheeded down his temples as he began to slowly get some semblance of his bearings.
The window. A slice of gray dawn light seeping in.
His jacket hung over the chair in the corner.
He ran a hand across his face and laid back, gulping air. What had happened? He’d been getting used to the strange things humans called dreams—intermittent, random splices of daily life that often made little sense. Benign. Sometimes fun, whimsical, nonsensical.
But not tonight.
Tonight’s dream hadn’t seemed like a dream at all. It’d felt real, as if someone had crawled into his very heart and drilled a hole in it. How could this be? Do humans have such horrible, dark dreams?
Confusion tormented him.
Sarah, at the other side of a long bridge, calling to him. Calling him home.
He takes one step on the bridge—a lovely, golden, Heavenly thing. Then another. And another, and another, but she’s still no closer. And yet, she keeps calling to him.
“Elijah, hurry, I need you . . .”
Her pleading cries call to his very soul.
He tries harder, frustrated tears streaking down his face. He can’t get to
her.
“Elijah, please. You must come. God is dead.”
He scrambled from the bed and to his knees, the visions nipping at his heels.
“Father,” he choked out, his head hung. “I pray You hear me. I pray my dreams are nothing more than meaningless visions of a now human mind. I fear I am full of emotion and self-doubt and sin, with a great need for Your grace. Please guide me . . .”
Sudden, vivid flashes of the previous night filled his mind, as though placed there intentionally. Ludicrous. Yet still, he recalled how his body reacted to Naomi’s kiss. The strange tingle in his groin, the way his male parts got much larger and harder, how confused he felt about it all.
“Father,” he started again, “if You can hear me, please forgive my transgressions.” He thought of all he wanted and needed. All he could never be. “Please, Father, allow me to honor You. Give me direction and enlightenment to follow whatever path You have for me. Amen.”
But, as he stood with tears once again burning the back of his eyes, he’d never been so acutely aware of being trapped between two worlds.
Elijah tucked his ugly dream away and forced himself to act normal as he went into work. He sucked in a breath and pressed open the door, automatically feeling better when the scent of fresh coffee—the new Ethiopian blend he’d handpicked himself—washed over him.
“Mornin’, Eli.” Sharla smiled up at him from a stack of receipts.
“Good morning.” He headed for the kitchen. “How do blueberry crepes sound for the breakfast special today?”
Her smile bloomed to a full grin. “Wonderful. I’ll have the first order as a taste test.”
“Coming right up.”
No sooner had he tied on his apron and pulled out the first ingredient, then Sharla was behind him. “So,” she tried and failed to look innocent. “You and Naomi, huh?”
He glanced up from the measuring cup. “Me and Naomi, what?”
“You know. You and Naomi. You can’t skip to the next town and expect to keep anything a secret, young man. There are little birds everywhere.” She winked and picked up a hand towel to play with. “So . . .?”
He didn’t know what ‘secret’ she was referring to. Other than the tingle and growth in his pants. But he was not discussing that. “Um . . . well, I don’t . . .”
She whapped him playfully with the towel. “Oh, come on. Are you dating or not?”
Dating? “Oh, no. We just had a meal to discuss the festival.”
“Oh.” Her face fell.
He sidestepped Sharla to get the eggs. Why hadn’t he told her about the movies? Or their kiss? Somehow that had seemed an invasion of Naomi’s privacy. And his.
Man, this human stuff was confusing.
He was saved from further questioning when Scott came in the back door after a quick rapping knock. “Hello!” he called. “Special delivery.”
Sharla turned to him. “Hey, Scottie boy. It’s good to see you!”
They hugged around his dolly of boxes and Elijah took the opportunity to get back to his crepes. The vanilla wafted through the air as he whisked the batter then moved to wash the plump, ripe berries. The breakfast crowd should be pleased this morning.
Behind him, the kitchen door swooshed shut as Sharla left and Scott hefted the last of the boxes into the walk-in freezer with a thud.
“Well.” Scott finally spoke. “I guess that’s it, man.”
Elijah turned and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Thank you for your service, Scott.”
Scott smiled. “You always so formal, Eli?”
He tilted his head. “I suppose. It’s how I was raised.”
“Well, whatever. You’re cool in my book.” He glanced down, then up into Eli’s eyes. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have my Maura.”
Elijah cringed inwardly. He wanted no part in any love matches. Too bad fate seemed to have him doomed to keep doing the one thing he felt least qualified for. “I’m certain you would’ve found your way to one another with or without me.”
Scott shook his head emphatically. “I don’t think so.”
When Elijah tried to argue, Scott interrupted him. “In fact, I never thanked you and I want to now. And I also wanted you to be the first to know that I intend to ask her to be my wife just as soon as Emma’s out of the hospital, which should be soon according to the doctors.” A grin split his face.
Elijah smiled as hope kindled in his chest. “Really? She’s recovering?” Had Father heard their prayers?
“She’s doing better. Turns out it’s a virus called CMV and not a relapse of her leukemia. It’s bad, but not what we’d feared most.”
“That’s wonderful. Please give them both my love.”
Scott tipped back his dolly and readied to go out the back door. “I will.” He turned back. “Thank you again. I really mean it, Eli. Thank you.”
Elijah tipped his head but didn’t say a word. He was just glad for their happiness.
Going back to his work, he tried to ignore the churning emotion in his gut.
Three hours later, most of the breakfast crowd had died down, and the crepes had sold out. He’d only caught a cursory glimpse of Naomi through the kitchen window when she brought in her morning basket of baked goods and he’d swear she purposely avoided looking in his direction.
But, just beholding her was a joy . . . the way her golden hair caught and held the sunshine, her lovely, smiling green eyes that clearly shone with her beautiful soul. He hadn’t lost so much of his old self that he couldn’t see that. It was getting harder and harder, but he could, at least with her . . . he found his heart tripping over itself, his hands trembling. He had to turn away.
Now, as he cleaned, he was left still puzzling over his response to her when the kitchen door came swinging open with a thunk against the wall.
“Well, hey, handsome.”
He pivoted on his heel. “Good morning, Delaney. We’re fresh out of crepes. Sorry.”
She smiled and sauntered in to lean against the counter. “Darn. I do love a good crepe.”
He dropped his rag in the sink. “What can I do for you? A late breakfast?” He glanced out to the dining room to make sure a server was available. Perhaps she was searching for her order.
She leaned over and sniffed his cooling chocolate soufflé. “No. No breakfast.” She faced him. “Thank you, though.”
He waited, suddenly nervous.
“So, Eli . . .” She bit her lip. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?”
“A favor?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Were those nerves making her fidget with the strap of her purse and suddenly lose eye contact? “What kind of favor?”
She hugged her purse strap closer to her and sucked in a big breath. “I thought this was gonna be easier,” she admitted, maybe to herself.
He felt himself thawing. Maybe she truly needed help. And that was his forte. “What is it, Delaney? I’d love to help if I can.”
“You mean it?” She studied him with wide eyes.
“Sure.”
She reached out and gripped his arm, a forlorn expression on her face. “I’m desperately in love with the Sheriff and I need some of your love mojo.”
A boulder the size of New York City dumped in his gut.
Not again.
Chapter 13
Naomi stared at Beau over her plate of French fries. “Say that again.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement of her shock after sipping the soda Maura refilled. “I know. I was pretty darned surprised myself.” He shook his head with a half-grin. “Imagine that. Delaney Dixon asking me out on a date.”
Well, it really wasn’t much of a shocker. The only surprise was that it had taken so long. And, h
e looked pleased as punch about it, too.
Way to go, Delaney.
“Yeah, imagine that,” she deadpanned. She’d only been mooning after him for weeks. Maybe months.
“I could hardly believe it. She just marched into the office, mumbled something about Dr. Love’s mojo and me not getting with the program . . .” He paused as if trying to puzzle that one out. Slow man. “Then she said she would get gray hair waiting around for me, so she was just gonna go ahead and do the asking, being as she was a modern woman and all.” He grinned. “We’re going out for Mexican food tomorrow night.”
“Sounds perfect.” She tried to sound sincere. She wanted Beau to be happy. But she was stuck back at his comment about Dr. Love. Delaney had really gone to Eli? And now he was setting up her best friends? Wasn’t Vi enough?
And why, oh why, couldn’t she get that kiss out of her mind?
I was hoping we could do it again.
That was why.
She swallowed as the last fry became clogged in her throat.
“So,” he continued, oblivious to her thoughts. “I hear you had a date of your own. Keeping secrets from your best friend now?” He dipped a brow accusingly.
She flicked a glance to Michael as the big man ambled by, a plastic tub full of dishes in his arms. He whistled while he worked bussing the neighboring dirty table. But Beau kept his eyes pinned to her. Man, what happened to a nice, relaxing lunch with your best friend to get back on an emotional even keel? Jeez!
“Well?” he prompted. “What’s this I hear about you and the cook guy?”
Boy, news traveled fast in this town. “It wasn’t a date. We just had dinner.”
“And that’s not a date?” He didn’t appear convinced.
Dishes clanked as Michael worked, but he seemed to be absorbed in his task. “No. We were discussing the festival for Emma.” She couldn’t help how her eyes automatically sought out the kitchen window for even the briefest glimpse of him, but his back was to her at the stove.
Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) Page 10
