by Mia Sheridan
“I always get up this early. I do my best work in the morning.”
“Your work …”
“I’ve been working in the garage this week.”
“Oh.” Right. I’d almost forgotten he worked at all. A rock sculptor, he’d said. “Can I … see what you do later?”
He glanced at me. “Sure, if you’d like.”
I nodded, taking a sip of my coffee, sighing from the pleasure of it. It was the first time I’d felt really human since that night in the parking lot. I started to push that memory away, but it made me think of what had happened just before, why I’d been so filled with self-hatred. I’d hurt Gabriel and detested myself for it. I’d provoked those men on purpose and ended up … here. With Gabriel. Ironic. I snorted at the cosmic joke.
“What?” Gabriel asked, looking at me briefly and then staring back out at the rising sun.
I studied his profile for a moment—the strong line of his jaw, the shadow of scruff on it. He hadn’t shaved in several days, presumably because he hadn’t left the house. I liked it. “Why did you come when Kayla called you? After what I did to you?” He turned his head, and my eyes darted away, but when I glanced back he was only looking at me thoughtfully, no anger in his expression at the mention of how I’d used Rita to set him up.
He opened his mouth to answer and then paused as if weighing the words he was about to say. “I wish I had come sooner. I had a dream about you.”
I watched him. He was serious. I huffed out a small sound of amusement. “A dream. So you’re some sort of mystic?”
He shot me a grin, his whole face lighting up that way it did. It was beautiful, but it was also slightly painful in the same way light makes you want to squint when it’s turned on in a dark room. I looked away, uncomfortable with the way my stomach flipped, uncomfortable because his smile always seemed to startle me slightly deep inside as if my very bones were reacting. What was that? It was a wonder the sensation didn’t hurt my injured ribs.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a mystic, no. But I’d like to think there’s some mystery to life. Don’t you?”
You’re going the wrong way. You must turn back, sweetness.
I sighed, pushing the memory of my own dream away. Just a dream. “Mystery? Sure there’s mystery to life. It’s a mystery how I’m going to pay all my medical bills, it’s a mystery how I’m going to keep from being evicted from my apartment with no job. Life is just full of mysteries, Gabriel. They’re everywhere.”
He chuckled and I narrowed my eyes at him. I hadn’t meant to make him smile. “It’s true, some mysteries are better than others.” The amused smile remained on his lips, and it irritated me. I took a sip of my coffee, glaring out at the horizon as if it, too, had done me a personal wrong.
Gabriel sighed. “The truth is, I don’t know. Maybe the dream was mystical. Or maybe it was just telling me what I already knew but didn’t have the courage to admit, or would have rationally talked myself out of somehow in the daylight when everything can be dismissed more easily. Maybe I simply used it as an excuse to come when Kayla called me. Or maybe it was just dumb luck that I even answered my phone. Maybe it wasn’t lucky at all. Maybe this is the worst thing that ever could have happened to you, being here right now, with me. Is that how you feel?”
No. The word came immediately to mind, but I didn’t say it out loud. Instead, I massaged my temples. “How I feel is that all these what-ifs are giving me a headache.”
He chuckled softly again, and I continued to massage my temples. “Yes. The great what-ifs. They give me a headache, too.” He looked pleased, as if we’d both arrived at the correct conclusion together.
When he was still quiet after another moment, I dropped my hands from my head and really looked around. The patio was made of large flagstones, and the overhead pergola was laden with vining white roses. There were large pots of colorful trailing flowers and smaller pots of what looked to be herbs placed in the corners. The furniture was simple and sturdy, featuring the dining table we were sitting at and a casual lounge area to the right. It looked out on a large, grassy backyard, enclosed by a wooden split rail fence. Beyond that, a meadow of wildflowers went to the edge of the woods, over which the sun had now fully risen. “It’s beautiful out here,” I murmured. Maybe the most peaceful place I’d ever been. And I understood now why I’d thought he didn’t belong at the Platinum Pearl. This is where he belonged. Surrounded by open air and beautiful things.
There was a large tree several yards from the patio, and a bird feeder hung in it, swaying gently in the breeze. A bluebird flew into the birdbath on the ground below it and started playing in the water. I watched for a minute as he danced with unabashed joy and shook his tail feathers, chirping gleefully. I laughed at his antics and his obvious pleasure. When I looked at Gabriel, he was watching me with a small, sweet smile on his lips as if his happiness was coming not from watching the bird, but from watching me. I blinked and he looked away, back out to the yard. The bluebird flew away in a shower of water droplets and happy chatter.
Gabriel leaned back again, putting his hands behind his head, his T-shirt stretching slightly so I glimpsed a line of tanned, bare skin above his jeans. When I realized my eyes were lingering on that spot, I flushed and quickly looked back to his face. He was still looking out to the horizon and hadn’t noticed my wayward glance. My shoulders relaxed.
“When I was locked in that basement, there was this small window high up on the wall. It was barred and impossible to get through, and the glass was tinted, but there was this small scratch in the tint, and the window faced east. Every morning this golden light would show up through that tiny scratch, growing brighter and brighter. Just a bare slip of hope—a reminder that even in a place like that, maybe God still saw me. I told myself if I ever got out of there, I’d spend every morning watching the whole sunrise simply because I could.”
My heart lurched as I thought back to what I’d said to him about controlling me. I had been so insensitive and cruel. Someone did that to me once, and I’d never do it to someone else. No. He wouldn’t. I swallowed, something tight and painful moving through my chest. Talk of God made me uncomfortable, slightly itchy, and yet, the look of peace, that steady strength on Gabriel’s face also filled me with a longing I wasn’t sure how to classify. Maybe it was the picture I had in my head of that tiny scratch on the window of his prison and the idea that sometimes that’s all hope is—just a thin sliver of distant light. I cleared my throat. “And you did get out,” I whispered.
He looked over at me and smiled. “Yes, I did.” He took a last sip of coffee and started standing. “Do you want to see my temporary studio, Ellie?”
Ellie.
You’re such a good, smart girl, Ellie.
I shivered, a shimmery feeling of warmth dancing through my veins. He’d called me Ellie when he was caring for me during my fever, too. I hadn’t even remembered I’d told him my real name. I hadn’t thought I ever wanted anyone to call me Ellie again. And yet, I found that my name felt safe on Gabriel’s lips. Safe. I gave him a small smile. “Yes, I’d love to.”
* * *
The garage was large and mostly empty, the floors painted a dark, speckled gray, the wooden doors standing open, letting in the light.
On the right side there was a long built-in wooden work counter that housed tools and gardening supplies. And set up right next to it was a table holding a large piece of white rock.
I limped toward it, following Gabriel and stopping next to what appeared to be a solid piece of marble. There were small chips all over it, but if it was supposed to be something specific, I couldn’t tell what that might be. “What is it?”
Gabriel laughed. “Nothing yet. What it will be is a cherub. It’s for the outside of a museum being built in France.”
I snapped my eyes to his. “A museum in France? Really? That sounds pretty important.”
He just hummed, turning the piece around on the lazy-Susan-type thing it was on. His brow fur
rowed as he took it in from all sides, seeming suddenly distracted and slightly antsy, his eyes darting to the tools sitting next to what would supposedly be a cherub at some point. “Do you need to get to work?”
He raised his eyes and blinked at me and then shook his head slightly, a smile appearing on his lips. “Sorry. Sometimes when I start on a project, it feels almost as if it’s trapped inside waiting to be …” He ran his hand through his hair, looking suddenly embarrassed.
“Set free?” I supplied.
He tilted his head slightly. “Yeah. I guess.” He ran his hands over the rock, his fingertips exploring small divots and raised sections. I was struck again by the beauty of his hands, how strong yet gentle they appeared, how long and slender his fingers were, how tanned his skin was against the snowy white marble. It reminded me of the fever dream I’d had where I touched them, exploring their lines, and a small shiver moved through me despite the mild temperature of the garage.
He moved his hands almost lovingly over the stone as if he were reading a type of Braille that didn’t spell out letters but perhaps … potential. “You have hands for creating beauty,” I murmured. The words had fallen from my lips before I’d considered them. And yet, I realized how true they were.
Gabriel’s gaze rose to mine, those warm hazel eyes soft and full of some type of knowing. “I don’t create beauty, Eloise, I just reveal what’s already there.”
I stared at him for a moment, and that connection we seemed to have vibrated with an elusive energy. Is that what he was trying to do with me? Reveal some sort of imagined beauty? Chip away at all the sharp edges and rough spots until I was what he pictured me to be deep down inside? What he hoped I was?
I turned away. It was all too overwhelming. I didn’t want him to try to see something in me that wasn’t there. It was too much pressure, and he was wrong anyway. I was nothing more than what he saw. There was no beauty to be revealed. My sharp edges were there for a reason—I liked them. They protected me, and I’d be damned if anyone was going to try to take them away. “Gabriel—”
The sound of a vehicle approaching the house caused me to turn toward the open garage door. There was a red truck pulling up in front, next to where Gabriel had left his own truck. I looked back to Gabriel questioningly, and he was smiling.
An older man with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair stepped out of the truck and walked toward us.
“Hey, George,” Gabriel called, walking to where I was standing.
“Hey,” he said, a warm smile on his face. “I’m heading to the quarry. Thought I’d stop in and see how everything was going.” He turned his smile on me. “And this must be Eloise.” He held out his hand.
I hesitated briefly before taking his large, callused hand in mine. He squeezed it lightly before letting it go. “Ellie,” I murmured. “You can call me Ellie.” I wondered what Gabriel had told this man about me, who he might be. I felt self-conscious in front of him, standing there in a small pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt, my face battered, my hair ratty, leaning on a pair of crutches.
“Okay then, Ellie. I’m George, and any friend of Gabriel’s is a friend of mine.” He glanced at my casted leg. “How are you feeling? Heard you had a nasty run-in with a group of wild animals.”
I let out a half laugh/half huff. Despite myself, I liked this man already. “You could say that.”
“Truth is, Ellie, I’d like to say more than that, but I try to watch my language in the presence of a lady.” He smiled again. A lady. That was one I hadn’t heard before.
George moved his attention to the piece of stone behind us. “How’s she coming along?”
Gabriel grinned. “How do you know it’s a she?”
George laughed. “I guess I don’t. I guess that’s your call.” They moved over to the piece of stone and I remained behind, watching them as they discussed it for another moment. George. The news article I’d read about Gabriel had mentioned a business partner that had taken Gabriel and his brother in after their parents died. This must be that man.
“When’s Dom back?” George asked. There was a worried look in his eye that I wondered about, something under the surface of his words.
“I don’t know exactly. End of the week maybe. He took off two weeks from work, right?”
“Yeah. I just wasn’t sure if he was going to stay gone that whole time.”
Gabriel shrugged, his attention still on the piece of rock in front of him.
George sighed. “I better be heading to work myself.”
Gabriel looked up. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll call you tomorrow.” George nodded and started to turn away, when Gabriel said, “Oh, hey, have you heard any news in town about that missing boy, Wyatt Geller?”
George frowned. “No, not a word.”
A look of deep sadness—almost grief—passed over Gabriel’s expression, and he put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. That stance. I’d heard about the missing boy on the news when I was in the hospital. It had barely registered—it was on in the background when a nurse had been taking my blood pressure, but I remembered now. Did thinking about him fill Gabriel with memories of when he was the boy in the papers? It must. How could it not?
“I check the local online news every morning,” Gabriel said. “I hadn’t seen anything, but thought maybe you’d heard something new in town that might not be posted …”
“I wish I had.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel breathed. “Me, too.”
George nodded, his eyes lingering on Gabriel for a moment before he gave me another warm smile. “You be well, Ellie. I’ll see you soon.”
I nodded. “Okay. Nice meeting you.”
George’s truck drove away, leaving a trail of dust in its wake as it moved down the road.
“I heard about Wyatt Geller when I was in the hospital.”
Gabriel nodded, his body held more rigidly now than it’d been before.
“I’m sure it … brings back memories.” I felt awkward, not knowing exactly what to say.
“It does,” he said, and then he turned back to his rough-edged, as yet unrevealed, cherub.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hold on, hold on. The sun shines for you, too.
Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone
GABRIEL
After that morning, it became a ritual. She joined me on the patio, limping to the same chair, her coffee cup in hand as the sun welcomed a brand-new day. I watched her surreptitiously as her eyes focused on the small sliver of golden light growing larger and larger on the horizon. I loved the expression on her face—cautious awe—as if she wasn’t sure she should allow herself to fall in love with anything beautiful, even the sunrise.
Sometimes it hurt me to watch her, hurt me to see that she was so lonely inside, so sure that the whole world was a dangerous place for her. I longed to show her that it didn’t have to be, but for now, I offered her the sunrise and a safe place to watch it. I prayed that someday soon she would trust that she deserved this beauty.
It scared me a little that I enjoyed our mornings together so much, because I knew they were destined to end. She was healing every day, and soon she’d leave here.
For a week, she’d been completely dependent on me for her every need. So sick, she allowed me to feed her and keep her hydrated. So weak, she couldn’t protest when I held her as the food came back up. So soft, I felt I had imagined the hard, resilient woman who needed no one or nothing. And strangely, being needed felt almost cathartic.
For twelve years, I’d been treated with kid gloves. No one had needed me. But Ellie had, and it had felt … right. Good. Despite her steely façade, her soul was tender, kind. Although I figured she’d probably hate it if she knew how vulnerable she’d truly been, if she remembered what she’d allowed me to see while she was delirious with medication and fever.
And then the morning I’d been changing the dressings on her ribs and she’d reached out and traced my hands, my fingers. I’d felt a disjointed sense of di
stress, but the longer she’d touched me, the more a yearning rose in my soul, so strong it took my breath. It was the first time I’d enjoyed another person’s touch since I was a little boy. And though I was still slightly scared, I also undeniably longed for more. I wanted to feel her touch again. I wanted her to stay. When she left, I wanted her to want to come back. To me. If only to see the sunrises …
Don’t lie to yourself, Gabriel. You’re falling in love with her. Maybe you’ve already fallen.
Was I? Was this what it felt like to fall in love? A sort of agonizing joy? Or was it just that Eloise was going to make it harder than most, and I knew that and still didn’t care?
Eloise.
God, I’d felt like I might fall over when she told me her name. What were the odds?
And what was the strange pull that made me feel like we belonged together? Was I a fool? And if the answer was yes, did I care enough to do anything about it? No. Somehow being a fool for Ellie felt like it’d be worth it. Even this tearing inside reminded me that I was alive. Not only that, I was living. I was taking chances, following my heart, willing to risk being hurt for a broken girl too scared to stake a claim to anything at all, most especially me.
She is going to hurt you, Gabriel. You know that, right?
Yes. Yes, I suppose I did know that. And yet I was still all in.
A few days after George had stopped by, I found one of my mother’s favorite decorations in the attic and hung it in Ellie’s room in the evening, knowing she kept the shade open so that the first light of dawn would wake her. The next morning, just as a slip of sun began to show above the horizon, instead of going straight to the patio, I went to her room and knocked softly on the door.
“Come in.”
I found her standing in the middle of the room, leaning on her crutches, a look of joyful wonder on her face as she looked around at the rainbows scattered on the walls. Her gaze found mine. “How did you do it?” Her voice was breathy and soft.