A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(28)
Now she was pleased it had been overridden because it gave her an opportunity to see Chet again—if she did. It didn’t feel good to admit that, but Monica was tired of fooling herself. She needed to see him again, just once more, to banish him from her mind, to prove there could never be anything between them.
The performance went well, although Monica was preoccupied searching the sea of faces for Chet’s. No doubt he was entertaining himself in the Blue Goose, the bar he chose to frequent. It would serve him right if she walked right in there and demanded to talk to him. She could embarrass him the way he had her.
Sneaking away from the others, however, proved to be more difficult than she anticipated.
“Are you coming?” Michael asked her. He was tall and so thin the first thing she thought of whenever they met was that someone should feed him.
Monica looked up at him, her mind a blank. She hadn’t been listening to the conversation and hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.
“To Sherry’s,” he elaborated when she didn’t respond right away. “She’s invited the ensemble over for hot cider and cookies.”
“I . . .” Her gaze darted to the Blue Goose. “I have an errand to run first, but I’ll be there shortly.”
“An errand,” Michael repeated. “Downtown?”
She said in a no-nonsense tone, grateful he didn’t quiz her about what she was doing, especially in light of her earlier protests about abusing the Lord’s day. “I won’t be long . . . you go on ahead with the others. I’ll be at Sherry’s within the hour.”
“You mean you aren’t going back with everyone else?”
The man seemed to have a comprehension problem. “Yes,” she said forcefully. “I already explained I have an errand I need to run.” Then feeling mildly guilty for the outburst, she added, “I won’t be long.”
“Perhaps we should wait for you.”
“No,” she said quickly. She could well imagine what the others would think if they saw her walking into a tavern. “I appreciate the offer, but that isn’t necessary.”
Michael looked as if he weren’t sure what he should do, which only served to irritate her further. “Perhaps I should stay with you.”
“Michael, please, that isn’t necessary.” The man seemed intent on thwarting her, which aggravated her so much she was barely civil. “I’ll see you within the hour.” Not waiting for any further arguments, she turned and abruptly walked across the street to the Westlake Mall.
The crowds were thick and the moment she was free to leave, she escaped the shopping mall and hurried across the street. Making certain none of the other choir members had lingered, she walked purposefully toward the Blue Goose.
Her hand was on the door when she realized what she was doing. She was willing to walk into an establishment that practiced iniquity in the lowest form, in order to locate Chet. A man who plagued her thoughts from the moment they’d met. Something was dreadfully wrong with her.
She turned, practically running in her eagerness to escape, stopping only when she came to the street. She felt someone move behind her.
“I thought as much. You were looking for me, weren’t you?”
There could be no mistaking the voice. It belonged to Chet Costello.
Chapter 7
It must have taken Jody forty-five minutes to persuade Timmy to go to bed, and then only after Glen agreed to help her tuck him in.
“I’m not tired,” Timmy insisted as Jody pulled back the sheets of his twin bed. “I want to talk to Glen.”
“About what?” Jody knew the instant the words escaped her lips that she’d walked right into that with both feet.
“All kinds of stuff. I need to know what kind of dad he’s going to be. After all, God sent him, didn’t He?”
A gigantic hole for her to fall in would have been welcome just then. Her son had a knack of knowing exactly what to say that would embarrass her the most. “Timmy, please.”
“I don’t really need to be tucked in,” Timmy told Glen, sounding mature for his years. “I just wanted to show you my stuff.” Something that he’d spent every available moment doing since Glen had arrived. Timmy had dragged out his baseball mitt and bat and his beloved baseball card collection for Glen to inspect. The poor man hadn’t had a moment’s peace in over an hour.
“Good night, Tim,” Jody said sternly, standing in the doorway, her hand on the light switch.
“ ’Night, Mom. ’Night, Glen.”
Jody felt as though her cheeks were red enough to guide ships lost in the fog. She barely knew Glen and already her son was announcing what a great father he’d make. There was no help for it, she was forced to explain.
“I’ll get you that coffee now,” she said, leading the way into the compact kitchen and reaching for a mug. Her back ached from holding it so straight and stiff. She didn’t know how she could possibly explain. “I apologize for what Timmy said earlier.”
“About what?”
“You know, about you making him a great father. He’s at the age now where he misses a man in his life.”
“I imagine his friends talk about their dads.”
Jody nodded. “Recently Timmy wrote a letter in school to God asking for a father. Apparently he looks at you as the answer to his prayer because . . . well, because you’re the first man I’ve dated in a long while and . . .”