Chapter Ten
Angel
Two minutes prior.
“Doss,” he answered, keeping his dark eyes on me for a moment or two longer. “What is it?”
My skin was burning from his touch, my heart pounding, drumming in my ears as logic screamed in my head. He gave me his back, and I put my hands in my hair.
Just as I was about to drop my head and convince my body to calm the hell down, he started speaking in German.
Rapidly.
I knew a bit of German. Enough to ask directions to a grocery store or train station.
Maybe even carry on with small talk for a few minutes, but nothing more.
I tried following him, but twenty seconds in, I gave up, tucked my hair behind my ear, and moved to the stove.
Though I couldn’t understand what he was saying, his tone was evidence enough that he wasn’t going to be able to stay for dinner.
I looked down at the meal I’d been rushing to prepare for him, an act of gratitude.
It was small, but right now, it was the only thing I had the mental strength to muster.
When things went wrong in my life, I came to the kitchen.
I’d trained myself to get lost in experimental recipes, old favorite food combos, and baking sweet treats I shouldn’t be eating but did anyway because life was short.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.
I swiped a final tear, wrapped my arms around myself, and turned to face him. “You have to go?” I guessed with a small smile as he pocketed his phone.
He didn’t return it. His eyes were intense, dark, and locked on me. His jaw was set under his beard, his chest rising and falling slowly. “Yes, Angel. I have to go,” he rumbled out. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I urged, shaking my head. “You did nothing wrong.”
The air between us was still thick, and I could barely breathe.
“Also, I’m sorry for touching you again. I didn’t mean to corner you like that. Forgive me,” he murmured.
My eyes dropped to his hands, wanting them on me again. I wanted his words soft and sweet, full of promise, close to me again while I drowned in the dark warmth of his eyes. “You don’t have to apologize for that either, Ash. You’re the only person in the world I want to touch me.”
He dropped his head, his shoulders rising and falling. “Christ,” he hissed.
Definitely wasn’t the reaction I was hoping to get from him. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” He righted his head, shaking it. “Not at all.”
“I made you dinner,” I said. “Please take some.”
He looked pained and pulled off his cap to run his hand through his dark waves. “As much as I want to, I can’t. There’s a job waiting for me. I need to have a clear head.”
There’s a job waiting for me.
I need to have a clear head.
“And eating my food wouldn’t give you a clear mind?” I asked without thinking.
His gaze, already dark as night, seemed to darken just a fraction more. An impossible omen I ignored in order to get the truth.
“No, it wouldn’t.”
The inside of my bottom lip was pinched between my teeth as I let his words settle. “You’re going away again, aren’t you?”
A second later, my face was in his rough hands, my head tipped back and his lips inches from mine. “Yes,” he whispered. “But I’ll be back soon.”
My heart cried out his name. “Promise?” I rasped.
Those mesmerizing eyes of his scanned my face as if he was trying to commit it to memory. “I promise, Angel.” Foolishly, I wanted him to call me anything other than my name. Baby. Starlight. Gorgeous. The words were trapped in my throat and the clock was ticking.
What the heck was wrong with me?
The annoying voice of insecurity chuckled in the back of my mind. How much time do you have?
He broke the silence, saying the four words I never thought I would dread hearing from him. “I have to go.”
All I could do was nod.
Then he pressed his lips against my forehead, just like he had the night he rescued me, unknowingly sending me back into the past as he left me for the future.
One week later.
“All right, kiddo,” Marg declared as she set a sack of potatoes on the prep table beside my cake pans. “It’s time.”
I didn’t bother looking up at her as I continued adding flour to the batter. “I’ve already checked my sugars this morning,” I said. “They’re fine.”
It had been nearly a week since Ash left, and I was barely able to keep my head above water. The only thing I’d managed to keep up with was my insulin appointment. Despite everything, my mind would never let me forget that.
“Angel, look at me, sweetheart.”
A feeling, damning and heavy, bloomed in the middle of my chest as she shined light on the discomfort and eggshells I’d been walking on since returning to work.
I’d thought I was done with this feeling, this annoying ache that had planted itself in my heart as I watched Ash’s taillights disappear into the night, because I’d journaled about it.
I’d dumped it all out, left everything on the pages, and didn’t give said feeling any more room to grow.
No water. No sunlight. It was just a weed that I’d been slowly killing by distancing myself from everyone and keeping my head down.
I hadn’t bothered eating the meal I’d prepared for Ash.
Instead, I’d boxed it up and left it on my nice neighbor’s porch along with a note.
She was an older woman with no family of her own nearby.
Her husband had passed away over a decade ago.
Her son was on the other side of the world, working in digital marketing.
Her daughter had gone and soul searched three years ago and only sent a letter every month or so.
She was alone in a big house, surrounded by memorabilia of a life well lived.
She was lonely, sweet, and far too old to make a decent home-cooked meal by herself.
So, I gave her the meal and went to bed curled up in a ball.
I didn’t sleep for two days, living in a state of torturous restlessness while my mind raced in a million directions, planning for the worst.
“Angel?”
Marg’s voice snapped me back to the present, and I discovered I’d spilled half the flour around the bowl.
“Dammit,” I hissed and reached for a towel. Her weathered but soft hand covered mine. I stiffened at her touch, knowing the warmth of it couldn’t compare to the disappointment that would no doubt be shining in her eyes.
“Let’s talk in my office,” she said, giving it a squeeze.
“I have to get this cleaned up,” I told her, gently pulling my hand away.
“It can wait,” she softly assured.
Great. Just swell.
The back door opened, and as I followed her to her tiny office, I heard the rest of the kitchen staff laughing over something that had happened during the hockey game.
Marg’s office smelled of vanilla extract.
Apparently there had been an accident during my forced time off.
At least, that’s how it was described to me.
I highly doubted it was an accident. There was a large brown stain on the wall still, despite all the scrubbing Marg had done.
Whispers among the waitstaff about her losing her cool and throwing a very expensive glass bottle of it against the wall chilled me to the bone because I’d had some part in it.
I’d caused her anxiety and grief when she didn’t need it.
She had been so good to me. I just added the guilt to the pile on my shoulders, knowing it would remain there until I had the strength to face it.
“Sit, child,” she fussed, waving her hands to the chair as she rounded the desk.
I said nothing, doing as she asked and folding my hands in my lap.
I kept my back straight and my thoughts locked down, staring at the chipped mug filled with pens and markers on the corner of her desk.
It was purple with yellow stripes. When I’d first seen it, it had reminded me of spring, the joy the earth felt when the snow melted and color started appearing once more.
My boss got settled, clicked the space bar on her keyboard three times even though she only used the computer for payroll every two weeks. Felix usually handled the supply orders, and when he left, should I choose this path, it would be my job.
Another responsibility I was unsure I could handle.
“Now,” she sighed, releasing the clip from her hair.
It fell in long, gray and silver waves around her shoulders.
It was a rare sight. She never took her hair down in the restaurant.
“I know the news of Felix leaving is a shock to everyone, and I am willing to admit that keeping it from me did piss me off…” Her words faded as she paused, waiting for a reaction from me.
I was too exhausted to give her one.
I’d been off my routine for days. My mind felt like it was on fire, and I was shocked that I was still able to function at work. For the most part.
“Angel, I’m not upset with you. I never was.”
“I know,” I said. “You told me.”
I didn’t believe her, but she had told me.
She tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed. “Is there something else wrong?”
Yes.
My fingers curled over my bottom hand, and I struggled to hide my wince as my nails pressed into the skin there. “No,” I lied. “I’ve just been tired.”
She blew out a breath. “That car accident probably scared the daylights out of you, huh?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes, it was scary.”
“Chef Kolby!” someone hollered on the other side of her door. “Weren’t the chickens supposed to be in the oven already?”
Marg’s face twisted before she looked up at the ceiling and prayed to her late husband. The door opened behind me, and I twisted in the chair to look, finding Felix’s eyes looking down at me.
“Chef, did you need something?” Marg asked, leaning back in her chair.
Felix answered her but kept his eyes on me. “I need to speak with Angel about the menu for next week.”
“Can it wait?” Marg asked, impatient.
His eyes flicked up to hers behind his glasses. “No. Dinner is in two hours. We have to prepare, and I’ll be unavailable tomorrow.”
Marg let out a tired sigh.
I turned back to face her, raising my brows in a silent question.