“Evening, Gabriel.”
The archangel Gabriel smiled down at me with sky blue eyes. “Good evening, Jordan.”
“Busy day?” I asked, opening the fridge to pull out ingredients to make dinner. Spaghetti tonight, and every day until payday. What a glamorous life I led.
He shrugged. “The usual. I see you have logged two more souls today.”
“Yep. That puts me at ninety-eight. You wouldn’t mind rounding it up to an even hundred, right?” I asked with a voice as sweet as honey. He laughed—a gentle, slightly echoing sound. That creeping sensation of joy rose inside my body and I did my best to ignore it. Gabriel had that effect on human beings. Even though I had known him for two years, it was still really unnerving.
“If only the Good Lord would allow me to. You have done remarkably well this year. You are nearly past the mark to your salvation,” he replied.
I didn’t even bother to shrug. “Ring-a-ding ding.”
He watched me with a considerate look as I went about filling a deep pot with water to cook the noodles. “Something troubling you, my dear?”
“Not at all.” He closed the book and placed it back on the fridge, which was no feat for him since he was close to seven feet tall. Gabriel appeared in his human form because his angel form would have blinded me. He wore a navy Armani tux that easily cost more than my rent. An archangel with impeccable taste, oh my.
“Shouldn’t you be happier about your progress?”
I sat the pot on the stove and turned the dial, watching the coils for the red glow. “It’s hard to get worked up about the fact that even when my debt is paid, I still have to do this for the rest of my life because I’m the only one who can. I don’t like having that decision made for me already, Gabe.”
When I turned to face him, he had a curious expression on his delicate features. I shook my head.
“You don’t get it. It’s fine. You’re a seven-foot angel in charge of delivering God’s will. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the mind of a twenty-one year old American girl.”
I moved to take the spaghetti sauce out of the cupboard when I felt his large, warm hands resting on my shoulders. His face brushed my cheek, voice low and soft with kindness.
“Have faith, Jordan. That is all I ask of you and all you should ask of yourself.”
He kissed my forehead, in the same spot as always—above my right eyebrow. Over the years, it had become a familiar gesture between the two of us. I felt the gentle brush of air as he walked past me and out the door. A lone golden feather drifted to the floor in his wake. I stooped and picked it up, twirling the holy object between my fingers. His pep talk hadn’t worked, but I did love it when he left souvenirs. I tucked the feather in the top of my ponytail and went to gather the seasonings for the spaghetti. All three of them—seasoning salt, garlic powder, and onion powder—were sitting in a row on my counter. Had Gabriel done that while I wasn’t looking?
Once again, I raked my gaze through the apartment for any sort of presence before reminding myself to calm down. Gabriel must have done it, because ghosts can’t touch anything. Relax.
Still, maybe I should sleep with two guns underneath my pillow. A girl can never be too cautious.
Chapter 2
“Order up for Tables 6, 10, and 14!” The head chef’s voice beckoned me back to the counter where the steaming portions of fried chicken, grits, corn on the cob, and greens sat waiting for a hand to carry them to the customers. I finished refilling the sweet tea for a gentleman reading the paper on my left before heading back to where the chubby cook bellowed.
The Sweet Spot was a tiny but well-known Southern cuisine restaurant. Odd to have one in Albany, but it was pretty popular. The place was owned by Colton Banks—a South Carolina native who moved up North when he married a New York resident. I’d known him for going on three years and secretly felt a little proud of how the place had bloomed since we met. Not on my account, of course.
I scooped up the three plates and balanced them on my flat, round tray before gliding towards the tables. They were each labeled with little plastic outlines of the state of South Carolina. Corny but memorable, as Colton always said. Work hours were odd for me because I basically went through them with my brain turned off. The hand gestures of writing orders, carrying trays, and pouring drinks came unconsciously. No matter how fast the chef rang up orders, I could get them to tables, no sweat. Most people had a career or were in college in their twenties, but I was dancing the elegant dance of a waitress.
After the plates had been passed out, I set about clearing off the table of a couple who had just left. The pair was currently on the sidewalk giggling obscenities in each other’s ears. Something in my chest ached as I watched them from the corner of my eye. I couldn’t remember what it was like to have a life, let alone a boyfriend. Must’ve been nice.