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Authors: Sharon Hamilton
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be part of something else. To blend…
Daniel swung the shower curtain back so fast her heart jumped. He stood before her, dripping wet. She felt hot angel blood flush to her face. She immediately exited to the bedroom to calm down, listening to the muffled sounds of the fluffy towel do its work. She would have liked to—
Stop it. She needed to exercise control, but slipped back into the bathroom, sure he was about to perform the ritual of shaving.
He looked into the mirrored cabinet and foamed up his face with fluffy white cream. Claire held her breath in anticipation of what was to follow. She was sometimes guilty of hiding her charge’s electric shavers. The sounds of the razor slowly sweeping over the fresh, menthol-laden surface of his cheeks and chin made her toes curl. She could have swooned. If he were mine, I would do this for him every morning, and again at night, if he would let me.
Steam came up from the hot water tap. His muscled forearm rippled as he rinsed off the razor once he finished. He tapped it three times against the porcelain edge of the sink.
He stared into the mirror. What did he see? Could he know she was standing behind him, that a droplet of the Mediterranean lime aftershave he used landed on her gown as he patted his cheeks? The moist air was as fragrant as any of the flower gardens in Heaven. The vision of his towel-clad body every bit as beautiful as the roses she picked. After drying his hands, he went to the bedroom. She buried her face in his towel and filled her lungs with his scent.
If he were mine, I would wrap myself in this towel and wear it all day.
What am I saying? Her friends would laugh at her if they knew this. But wouldn’t it be nice?
He dressed, then she followed him down to the kitchen where he poured himself some cold cereal and made coffee. Claire sat across the table, chin in hand, and elbow resting on the wooden surface. He bore no resemblance to the man she first met last night, like the journey she’d been on in his dreams had never taken place. She was pleased her healing hand had washed his soul.
He was rushing, checking his watch and hurrying out the door. He never looked once at the remnants of the destruction in the living room. Claire decided she would use the day to explore, mingle with humans in human form. She would go to the café she saw in the picture, or maybe to the gallery to see his paintings.
The instant Daniel left, Claire pulled herself out of her invisibility and walked in human form down the hallway leading from his bedroom, which was still filled with Daniel’s scent. She tore herself away, ascending the stairs to the attic, her yellow transport bag in tow. She could have willed herself up there, but loved hearing that delicious creak of the door as she pressed it open. She climbed the narrow stairwell like a human woman seeking a new adventure. It reminded her of secret rooms she had read about in castles in Europe.
The attic was tall at the roof’s ridge, but both sides sloped to a dormer and window. The little window she had seen from the street last night had an old wooden chair beside it, as if someone used to sit and watch who came and went. The place was dusty, but on the windowsill there was a fine layer of sparkling dust, like some gentle hand had pressed the glass, waiting for a glimpse of someone coming home.
Or, maybe that was just the story she told herself. Like one of her novels.
She touched the dust. It was from a long time ago. Had another angel sat there? Had she waited for her charge to return from his adventures in the human world? Did she succeed? Did she love her job as much as Claire did?
She set her bag next to the worn and scarred dresser in the middle of the room and tugged off her gown. She pulled on a t-shirt, then a hooded sweatshirt, and slipped into blue jeans.
Much better. She almost felt human.
Almost.
Chapter 6
Claire sat under an awning of the outdoor café, watching people hurrying down
Daniel swung the shower curtain back so fast her heart jumped. He stood before her, dripping wet. She felt hot angel blood flush to her face. She immediately exited to the bedroom to calm down, listening to the muffled sounds of the fluffy towel do its work. She would have liked to—
Stop it. She needed to exercise control, but slipped back into the bathroom, sure he was about to perform the ritual of shaving.
He looked into the mirrored cabinet and foamed up his face with fluffy white cream. Claire held her breath in anticipation of what was to follow. She was sometimes guilty of hiding her charge’s electric shavers. The sounds of the razor slowly sweeping over the fresh, menthol-laden surface of his cheeks and chin made her toes curl. She could have swooned. If he were mine, I would do this for him every morning, and again at night, if he would let me.
Steam came up from the hot water tap. His muscled forearm rippled as he rinsed off the razor once he finished. He tapped it three times against the porcelain edge of the sink.
He stared into the mirror. What did he see? Could he know she was standing behind him, that a droplet of the Mediterranean lime aftershave he used landed on her gown as he patted his cheeks? The moist air was as fragrant as any of the flower gardens in Heaven. The vision of his towel-clad body every bit as beautiful as the roses she picked. After drying his hands, he went to the bedroom. She buried her face in his towel and filled her lungs with his scent.
If he were mine, I would wrap myself in this towel and wear it all day.
What am I saying? Her friends would laugh at her if they knew this. But wouldn’t it be nice?
He dressed, then she followed him down to the kitchen where he poured himself some cold cereal and made coffee. Claire sat across the table, chin in hand, and elbow resting on the wooden surface. He bore no resemblance to the man she first met last night, like the journey she’d been on in his dreams had never taken place. She was pleased her healing hand had washed his soul.
He was rushing, checking his watch and hurrying out the door. He never looked once at the remnants of the destruction in the living room. Claire decided she would use the day to explore, mingle with humans in human form. She would go to the café she saw in the picture, or maybe to the gallery to see his paintings.
The instant Daniel left, Claire pulled herself out of her invisibility and walked in human form down the hallway leading from his bedroom, which was still filled with Daniel’s scent. She tore herself away, ascending the stairs to the attic, her yellow transport bag in tow. She could have willed herself up there, but loved hearing that delicious creak of the door as she pressed it open. She climbed the narrow stairwell like a human woman seeking a new adventure. It reminded her of secret rooms she had read about in castles in Europe.
The attic was tall at the roof’s ridge, but both sides sloped to a dormer and window. The little window she had seen from the street last night had an old wooden chair beside it, as if someone used to sit and watch who came and went. The place was dusty, but on the windowsill there was a fine layer of sparkling dust, like some gentle hand had pressed the glass, waiting for a glimpse of someone coming home.
Or, maybe that was just the story she told herself. Like one of her novels.
She touched the dust. It was from a long time ago. Had another angel sat there? Had she waited for her charge to return from his adventures in the human world? Did she succeed? Did she love her job as much as Claire did?
She set her bag next to the worn and scarred dresser in the middle of the room and tugged off her gown. She pulled on a t-shirt, then a hooded sweatshirt, and slipped into blue jeans.
Much better. She almost felt human.
Almost.
Chapter 6
Claire sat under an awning of the outdoor café, watching people hurrying down
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