A Terrible Fall of Angels (Zaniel Havelock #1)(93)
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The Cozy Cauldron’s sign was a teacup the size of an old-fashioned witch’s cauldron being stirred by a smiling woman wearing a black pointy hat and a frilly apron, as if the artist hadn’t been sure if they were drawing a witch or a French maid pinup. It made me smile because it was just so fun. If Reggie had been here, she would have thought it was sexist at the minimum. When we met, she’d enjoyed dressing up for what she called Slut-o-ween, but now that Connery was old enough to trick-or-treat, she hated all the women’s costumes. “Don’t you want him to grow up respecting women?”
I’d been honest before I thought it through. “You used to dress up like that and other people’s little boys saw you.”
It devolved into a serious fight in which I wasn’t even sure what I was fighting about, but Reggie was certain, and I didn’t know how to get out of the circular arguments.
Jamie touched my arm, jerking me back to the here and now. “You okay, Z?”
I shook my head and said, “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Jamie said it with such conviction that there was no doubt; I’d forgotten he used to do that before he . . . went away. He’d been able to see through my emotions, no matter how I tried to hide them.
“I like the sign and I thought that Reggie wouldn’t like it.”
“Why?”
I told him.
He frowned. “I don’t know if that makes sense, but she isn’t here right now, so you can smile at the sign. Emma giggles every time she sees it.” He smiled as if even the thought made him happy.
Lots of things made me think about Reggie, but they didn’t make me smile. I followed him through the door; it rang a little bell above the door instead of the usual electronic sensor.
“Bells to keep the bad things out,” Jamie said over his shoulder to me as he looked around the crowded restaurant.
“Bells don’t keep out everything,” I said, scanning the full tables for a woman sitting alone. The extra height helped me spot two tables, each with a woman sitting alone. A dark-haired woman wearing glasses was sitting against the far wall close to the bathroom sign, and a blonde was sitting almost catty-corner from her. The brunette looked younger, but maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Thanks to living with Reggie, I knew the blonde was wearing a lot more than most men would notice. She looked good, beautiful even, but Reggie had taught me that good makeup could turn a five into a ten, or higher. I’d thought Reggie was a twenty without makeup, but she didn’t, and it was her opinion that counted.
“What does Emma look like?” I asked.
“Long, curly hair and the cutest freckles . . .”
“Glasses and dark hair?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then she’s sitting against the far wall close to the bathrooms.”
He started through the line waiting for coffee, which had snaked through the tables. He didn’t even apologize as he pushed through. The old Jamie would have hesitated or apologized, but not this one. I wondered what else would stay changed if he stayed . . . okay?
I apologized coming up behind him, but then like all tall men, if I didn’t try to be nicer people saw it as aggressive. I’d learned to smile more than I wanted to, because without it some people were afraid of a man over six feet tall. We didn’t have to do anything to threaten them, it just seemed to be a size thing. Of course, if I smiled too much some people thought I was flirting. Two women and one man in line smiled back wide enough that I knew I needed to tone it down. Reggie used to think it was funny that I didn’t know how to modify the smile, until she got jealous of any woman who flirted with me. The men who flirted back never bothered her.
The man in line who smiled back had his boyfriend jerk his arm to let him know to stop it. The man turned back to his boyfriend with a smile and a kiss to let him know I wasn’t important, just eye candy. I’d seen the interaction too often not to recognize it regardless of the gender involved. The two women were alone in line, so I just stopped making eye contact and hurried after Jamie. I’d been noticing too many women lately; I had to stop before something happened that completely ruined my chances of getting back with Reggie.
Jamie was already at the table, the woman with the glasses up and hugging him. It had to be Emma. I finally won free of the crowd without offending anyone. The blonde at the table nearest to Emma was looking at me, that appraising look that made me realize she was tall, or at least long-waisted because of how much of her was sitting above the table. Her hair was a rich honey blond that was rare enough in humans that it was probably not her natural color, but that didn’t make it any less eye-catching as it framed her face and complemented a pair of big blue eyes and the almost neutral lipstick she was wearing, so that even though she was wearing a lot of makeup, it was all understated, so it didn’t take away from the eyes and the hair. I wanted to compliment her on it, but she’d think I was flirting. I’d already stared, too long, and her smile was a little surer of itself, her eyes filling up with that weighing and measuring look like she was trying to decide if she wanted to take me off the rack and try me on.
I looked away a little too fast, making it awkward enough that she laughed, the kind of laugh that a certain kind of beautiful woman seems to practice: throaty, sensual, as if the sound should only be heard in high-end bars and bedrooms. It was a sound that would make men and some women turn to look for its source. I looked before I could catch myself. Her blue eyes were solid on mine, the look on her face a challenge, or an invitation. I still couldn’t always tell the difference, and sometimes there was no difference, because some women see dating like a game with winners and losers, and them as both the prize and the contestant. I didn’t know how to date women like this, but sometimes they hunted me even when I ignored them, something again about being tall and in shape, or so Reggie had tried to explain to me.