A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(33)

“What’s the trophy for?” Timmy asked, turning it upside down and examining the bottom. “This is weird, the way they put it together.”

Jody could barely speak for the tears in her throat. “Your father won that when he was twelve,” she said, holding onto the statue with both hands. “For soccer.”

“My dad played soccer?”

Jody nodded.

“I didn’t know that.”

Jeff was wonderfully athletic, the same way Timmy was, but he’d concentrated on football and track in high school and college.

“Wow,” Timmy said, “look at this. It’s really old.”

“It’s your dad’s report card from when he was in the first grade.”

“He was smart, wasn’t he?”

“Very smart.”

“You were too, weren’t you, Mom?”

She nodded.

Timmy was hurriedly opening one box and then the next. “This stuff is really neat. I can keep it, can’t I, forever and ever?”

“Of course.”

“I’m never going to forget my dad. Never,” he vowed, sitting back on his legs and releasing a slow, uneven sigh. “You know, Mom, it might not be such a good idea for you to get me another dad. Not when I already have one. It was just that until now he was a face in a picture you keep by the fireplace. But he was really a neat guy, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she agreed, “he was someone very special.”

Timmy’s eyes grew serious. “Then it’d be wrong to look for another dad.”

Chapter 8

Monica was in a tizzy. Chet had seen her standing outside of the Blue Goose, and knew she’d sought him out. Her first thought was that she should adamantly deny everything. That, however, would be a lie and she prided herself on her honesty.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he said in that impertinent way of his.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she snapped. The buzz of traffic zoomed past her as she stiffly stood on the curb, waiting for the light to change.

Chet laughed, the sound mingling with those from the street and the busy holiday shoppers. The signal changed and she remained frozen, unable to move with the others.

“I imagine that’s as close to the truth as I’m likely to get from you,” he said, and gripping hold of her elbow, escorted her across the street. He didn’t tell her where he was taking her and she didn’t ask. Although she had long legs, she had trouble keeping up with his brisk pace.

He steered her into Woolworth’s and over to the lunch counter.

“What are we doing here?” she demanded, disliking the assumptions he was making.

He ignored her and slipped into a booth. She would have brought attention to herself if she’d continued standing so she uneasily claimed the seat across from him.

“You hungry?” he asked nonchalantly, reaching for the yellowed plastic-coated menu tucked behind the silver napkin dispenser.

“I . . . as a matter of fact I am, but . . .”

“The steak sandwich is excellent and they don’t do a bad chicken-fried steak.”

“I’ll just have coffee,” she told him. By all that was right she shouldn’t be sitting with him. She barely knew the man and what she did know was a cause for a twenty-four-hour prayer vigil.

“Suit yourself.”

The waitress came, an older woman with gray hair in a pale pink uniform. She chewed gum and looked more worn than the linoleum in Monica’s kitchen.

“I’ll have a BLT on wheat, with coffee,” Chet ordered.

The waitress wrote down the order and looked to Monica expectantly.

“The same, only put mine on a separate ticket.”

The woman left, jotting down Monica’s order as she went.

“I saw you outside the Blue Goose,” Chet announced casually.

It was all Monica could do not to cover her face with her hands. It mortified her to know he’d seen her standing outside the tavern, debating whether she should go inside or not.

“I know why you were there too.”

“You do?” Her rebellious gaze shot to his. She was certain he could see her pulse beating in the vein in her neck, the sound echoing in her ear like thunder.

Chet set the menu back in place and waited for the waitress to finish pouring their coffee before he continued. “You’re curious about the same thing as me.”

“Which is?”

He smiled without humor, “I don’t know if you have enough courage or honesty to admit it so I’ll say it. We’re both trying to figure out if what happened between us was real.”

Monica had entertained a whole spectrum of possibilities of what had happened when Chet had kissed her. She blamed him, then herself, and eventually her upbringing. Having lived a sheltered, protected life hadn’t prepared her for the sensual magnetism she experienced at his touch.

“I certainly don’t have any intention of allowing you to kiss me again,” she told him, the words ringing with disdain. It was important he understood this right now.

“Not to worry, I’m not exactly thrilled with the prospect myself. I’m curious, and you have to admit you are too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Frankly, I can’t figure out what it is about you that intrigues me so much.”