Sunday, December 25 #4
“I’m sorry,” Garrett said, trying to wrap his head around the ordeal she had endured and is still enduring. “That had to be a rough time for you, Angelica.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, reclaiming her coffee. “I bought my house in May. I didn’t know anyone in the area, but I was looking for a fresh start and a chance at a new career as a book illustrator. I’m hoping to create new, happy memories along the way.”
Overcome with sympathy and renewed hope, Garrett’s heart danced to a different beat.
Angelica trusted this humble detective enough to share her deepest, darkest pain.
Perhaps they were friends? And this schoolgirl isn’t a schoolgirl after all.
She’s thirty, and she’s resumed being the provocative woman she was.
Are they building a relationship? Is there room for optimism?
He settled back and crossed his legs. “That was commendable and brave of you. I’ve seen your drawings on the desk. You’re an incredibly talented artist. I’m sure you’ll be successful,” he said, meaning every word.
“I don’t know ... about this place, that is.” Angelica paused to take a few sips. “I’m not sure I belong here anymore.”
Garrett was on a rollercoaster. Just when the off-limits age gap disappeared, and he thought they were building a real connection, everything fell apart.
“Please don’t give up on Arbortown because of Matthew Jenkins. I promise we’ll find him, Angelica. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
What the hell was he doing, making promises about her boyfriend’s apprehension? He’ll have nothing to do with the man unless Jenkins turns up dead. How could he ease her fears forever? He felt like a scoundrel, driven by self-interest.
Damn, today had more lows than highs. He needed to get home, drink those beers—lots of them—and take an icy shower to quell his renewed feelings for this woman.
Garrett got up, and his empty mug came to rest on the coffee table. “Thank you for the coffee, Angelica. It hit the spot. I’ll see you in the morning at the police department.”
Angelica’s calm demeanor took a nosedive, reverting to the trembling woman by the side of the road—the same woman with tear-filled eyes from the break-in.
“Please don’t go, Garrett. What will I do if Matt comes back?”
This was the woman who first touched his heart—the one who was so scared and alone. He couldn’t lie to her and say the man wouldn’t return to her home. Jenkins alone knew his next move, if there was one. Garrett was the one who told her Jenkins was MIA. What could he expect? Shit!
Then again, he didn’t need to hesitate; the decision seemed simple, quite clear, and it required no sacrifice.
“There’s nothing I can say to ease your fears, or to prove they’re unfounded. I understand where you’re coming from. If my presence reduces your stress, I’ll stay, honey.” Crap, he called her “honey” again.
Teardrops escaped from the corners of Angelica’s eyes as she whispered, “Thank you, Garrett. Thank you so much.”
Taking a seat beside her on the sofa, he rested his arm on the back cushions. She slumped against his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was something about Angelica—innocent yet captivating, elegant yet na?ve, trusting yet betrayed. So horribly wronged by life.
If they had an uncomfortable moment, it was quick to pass as she laid an arm across his chest while the other snuck around behind him. That made Garrett raise a brow and wrap his arms around her. Whatever this was, it wasn’t bad, one way or another.
He pondered as Angelica leaned against him, finding comfort.
What’s going on here? Out of all the women in the world, what drew him to her?
This little thing. With Angelica in his arms, what happens next?
Is there even a next? Nothing had better happen if she viewed him merely as an extension of law enforcement or a protective pillow. This might be bad.
Angelica said she wanted to create new, happy memories. Had she started? Could he be part of them? He longed to be. He often dreamed of it.
They nodded off to sleep as the logs tumbled and the embers beneath the hearth faded from red to gray, exhaling their last heated breath. As mentioned, Garrett saw her in the morning, a bit earlier than he’d expected, not where he’d anticipated.
With Angelica still sleeping in his arms and her cat curled against his hip, the sun peeking through the blinds woke Garrett. He had a stiff neck, but surprisingly, his back and bruised leg didn’t hurt. He was, however, being poked in the side by his Glock. He didn’t care.
As he stepped into the frosty air, he realized that the most meaningful part of their night together—contrary to what he expected to feel again—was that his heart had melted. Garrett’s affection for Angelica had risen from a seven to a ten. He didn’t just care for her; he loved her.
His heart was singing as he jumped into his truck, but when the engine started, the dashboard radio played a different tune.
“… Don’t be a fool … You don’t have what it takes for a woman like that …”