Alex smiled, the grin going all the way up to his eyes, making them seem to sparkle in the low light. I thought of the night before, of the gentle way he’d stroked my hair. and my stomach fluttered while my heart did a quick little double beat.
I may have had only half my hair and a scissor wound in my leg, but at that second, I felt like a very normal girl on a very normal date, with a good-looking man. No, an amazing-looking—and amazing in general—man. The way he smiled at me—the way his eyes burned right into me—made me feel like the only woman in the world, like a supermodel with a full head of hair. Suddenly, I didn’t regret last night’s drug-addled fog and romantic ramblings. Will was nice, but this was Alex.
And I loved him.
The realization shot through me from tip to tail, making me slightly dizzy and giddy at the same time. I loved him.
I, Sophie Lawson, loved him, Alex Grace.
My eyes started to water and my cheeks began to hurt from my love-struck grin.
“Someone looks like the cat who swallowed the canary,” he said to me.
I let out a slow breath, my heart beginning to thunder wildly. For once in my life, my mind was littered with images of rose petals and cartoon hearts, rather than blood bags and bodies. When Alex rested his hand on the table, I pulled my own out of my lap and tentatively placed it over his.
It was a test.
He smiled, and pressed his thumb on the outside of my hand, then opened his fingers so mine could slip inside.
My whole body sung.
“This is nice.”
Alex cocked his head. “What is?”
I shrugged. “This. Me, you, breadsticks. The city out there.”
“Don’t tell me Sophie Lawson is getting the suburban itch.”
“No, I love living in the city.” I frowned. “Sometimes I just wish it weren’t so . . . volatile.”
Alex seemed to consider, then cocked his head at me, giving one of those Father Knows Best expressions. “Lawson, you know that wherever you go—”
“Stop,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it. Please indulge me in my non-demonic, non-everyone-wanting-to-kill-me fantasy of a suburban life, complete with white picket fences, kids’ soccer games, and a big shaggy dog.”
“No minivan?”
“Volvo. Two-point-five kids. Laughable mortgage. One of those plastic ducks out front that you dress with the seasons.”
Alex grinned at me. “Seasonal duck dressing? Sheesh, Lawson, I figured you might want a break, but I never pegged you for the Donna Reed type.”
I narrowed my eyes, feeling indignant. “I can be the Donna Reed type. Why? Don’t you think I could be the Donna Reed type?”
Alex crunched on a particularly cheesy breadstick and spoke with his mouth full. “That’s right. Never question the homemaking prowess of a woman who can shoot a pot roast seventy-five feet.” He grinned and I felt my cheeks redden.
“That was one time. And, if I recall correctly, I was—”
“Three sheets to the wind?”
“I was going to say imbibing excessively, but we’ll go with yours, sure.”
“Okay.” Alex leaned back in his chair, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin. “So you’re living in suburbia with your shaggy dog and your two and a half—”
“Two-point-five,” I corrected.
“Two-point-five kids.” He blinked out at the starlit city. “Is there a guy in all of this Norman Rockwell goodness?”
My heart did a little neurotic patter. Was he saying he wanted to be a part of my future? I turned to look at Alex, who continued to study the skyline. His profile was perfect—a thick head of run-your-fingers-through chocolate brown curls, dark brows that, when cocked, could make a girl lose her inhibitions—and possibly her panties. A strong, straight nose. Pronounced chin with just the right amount of stubble. I felt the flutter in my stomach but mustered my courage anyway. First I batted my eyelashes in that sexy way that Nina did so effortlessly. Then I prayed to God that the majority of the cheese and marinara sauce in my appetizer had made it into my mouth. Then I lowered my voice into what I hoped with a sexy octave.
“Why do you ask?”
Alex’s head lolled toward me and he laughed. “Nice, Lawson.”
I rolled my eyes but eyed him. “Do you ever dream of running away?”
“To the suburbs?” He shook his head. “No.”
“Where would you go? You know, if you could?”
It was fleeting, and if I hadn’t been looking at Alex so hard I would have missed it—the hint of sadness that darkened his eyes and flitted across his face. He pursed his lips and the muscle in his jaw jumped and I had to look away, feeling a lump growing in my own throat.
“Sorry.”
The longer an earthbound angel walked the earth, the more he started to remember about his previous life. To us it would seem welcome, but to someone who will never again be able to touch a loved one or share a memory with a friend, it grew nothing short of hellish after hundreds of years. Alex had been earthbound for a while now, and I knew from the darkness that marred his handsome features now and again that the memories were pouring back, and they were strong, powerful—and hurtful.