Quiet Angel (13 page)

“I wasn’t strong enough to do that. I was really messed up and scared. I’m sorry. If you’d done to me what I did to you, I would’ve died. I don’t expect you can ever forgive me. Please know I’m truly sorry I hurt you. I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know that.” Gage pulled out the leather cord and lifted up the wings. “I got your message.”

Layla touched them with her hands. “I haven’t felt them in so long. I can’t believe you kept them.”

“I always wear them. You told me it’s bad luck to take them off—unless you give them to someone you love.” He stepped towards her, his eyes focused on her mouth. “I haven’t loved anyone since you.”

“Me, neither. But we’re not kids anymore.”

“We’re not. I know what I’m doing this time,” he said, leaning in close, his breath tickling her neck.

She blushed and pulled away slightly. “You knew what you were doing then, too.”

“I guess I did,” he said with a crooked smile.

“If we’re going to do this, it can’t be based on what we had. It has to be about who we are now.”

Gage placed a hand on her cheek, knowing she was right. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Layla’s dimples exploded on her cheeks. “What about today?”

“Today, I’m helping a dear friend get home. Tomorrow, I’m seducing a beautiful woman. It’ll be a fresh start.”

“Can you really forgive me?”

“I already did.”

A dozen children
huddled around her, Layla looked up from “Pokey Little Puppy” and saw Gage with a bundle of white calla lilies and purple lavender. Her heart skipped a beat. She straightened her hair just a little. She wanted to jump into his arms but settled for flashing a smile. He gave a slight wave and mouthed he was sorry for being early, for coming to her store instead of her house. She shook her head that it was fine and continued reading.

Gage couldn’t remember the last time he was so excited for a date, so excited to get his hands on a woman. He was determined to get back what they lost, to make up for lost time and pick up where they left off, to have the life they should’ve had together. He couldn’t wait to feel her soft pale skin, her chocolate hair—and this time hopefully without any clothes on.

He wandered into the little cafe, where a group of young mothers were chatting up each other while their kids were in Layla’s hands. Each woman was more beautiful than the next—brunettes, blondes, blue eyes, brown eyes, all in perfect shape. They looked like sorority sisters from a Southern college, or models advertising Savannah’s sweet charm. At once, they all stopped talking and greeted the tan, muscular man with open mouths and lustful thoughts.

“Ladies,” Gage said with a smile.

He walked past them to Poppy’s side of Story Wings and browsed a section of new releases, both fiction and non-fiction. He came upon rows of magazines and found a few on recent trends in aviation. He flipped through them to pass the time and, shockingly, found no mention of anesthetizing crying babies or flight attendants dressing like strippers. Dash would be so disappointed.

“Knew you’d be back,” Poppy said, appearing out of nowhere.

Gage recognized the woman but not the hair. “What did you do to yourself?”

“You don’t like blue?”

“Blue’s fine, but wasn’t it purple and long?”

“Yeah, that was last week. I cut it into a bob now.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Dye your hair and chop it all off?”

Poppy thought for a second. “I guess so.”

“She changes her hair with each failed relationship,” Layla said, coming around the corner. “One day I’m going to walk in, and she’s going to have a shaved head.” Gage handed Layla the flowers and kissed her on the cheek. She lifted them to her nose and smiled.
He brought me flowers again—and these aren’t windblown.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait. 12 years is long enough.”

“Damn, that’s a good line,” Poppy said. “I mean, panty-dropping good. You should marry him, Layla.”

“Poppy!” Layla cried.

Gage chuckled. “I like Poppy’s ideas.”

“Which one?” Layla teased. “Me dropping my panties or us getting married?”

“Both.” Gage pulled her hips to his. “Marry me?”

Layla laughed, though wondered if he was serious. “Not today.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow, either.”

“I’m going to keep asking,” he said.

Layla rolled her eyes. “Let me finish a few things, and then we can go. But I need to go home and change.”

“You look great,” he said.

“Another reason to marry him,” Poppy said.

“Not today,” Layla said and walked to her side of the store.

Poppy turned to him. “Do you really not like my hair?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m just wondering what’s wrong with the real you.”

She drooled. “Please tell me you have a brother.”

*

Layla lived close
to Story Wings. She loved walking to and from work, sometimes stopping off at one of the squares, or parks, in Savannah’s elaborate grid. There was always another new monument or statute to check out, another gazebo or bench to sit amongst the azaleas and beautiful fountains. But it was nice right now just to walk straight home with Gage, holding her flowers in one hand, her other hand holding his.

“Here it is,” Layla said. She opened a little white gate into a tiny front yard with perfectly-shaped blooms of white and pink camellias, extending all the way up to her small green cottage, with a porch and two rocking chairs. She led him inside. “Just let me change. There’s cornbread on the counter and tea in the fridge. Make yourself at home.” She bounded up the stairs.

Gage made a quick call for transportation then poked around the house. It was cute and quaint, and as small as it appeared from the street. There was a living room, with one wall holding a wood-burning fireplace and vintage white bookshelves holding a collection of first edition books. But there was no TV. He was certain a flatscreen would look perfect over the fireplace. He wandered into the galley kitchen and looked in the backyard. It resembled the front, full of bright-colored flowers. He pushed open a door to a guest bedroom, finding it was more of an office or workspace. There was no TV in there, either. He flicked on a light, and his eyes landed on an old photograph, its edges tattered. He slowly picked it up in his hands, his mind racing back to their “grounding,” back to when Layla took it from his bedroom.

“I’m ready,” Layla said from the doorway, wearing a light pink cotton sundress with ties for the straps, her brown hair flowing down her back.

“Me too,” he said, putting down the photograph.

She came up beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “We were so in love.”

“I still feel the same way,” he said, swooping her off her feet into his arms. “How is that even possible?”

“You still
love
me?”

“I tried not to,” he said. “But it’s hard to tell your mind to stop when your heart won’t listen.”

“There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you,” Layla said.

He looked into her crystal blue eyes. “I missed you, too, but you were never far.” He touched his shirt with the wings inside. “You were always there.”

Layla kissed his chest then looked up to his eyes, hungry with desire. She wiggled down, but he quickly pinned her against the wall. “Gage,” she whispered, unsure if she was asking him to stop or keep going. He brushed his lips against her neck then moved up to her mouth. He parted her lips and slowly stroked her tongue with his. Her body got hotter with each stroke, until it was white hot and screaming to be touched. She clenched her muscles to get a grip; after all, the man was only kissing her. She placed a gentle hand on his chest. “A fresh start, remember? We aren’t just picking up where we left off.”
But God knows, I want to.

He blew out a deep breath and took a step back. “OK.”

“I’ve never had sex on a first date,” she said, taking his hand, “and I’m not going to start now.”

“It’s hardly our first date.”

“A little patience,” Layla said. “You were so gentle and patient before.”

“But now I know what I’m missing!” Gage gave her a little squeeze then saw a table with wire, stones, and shells. “What’s all this?”

“I make crosses sometimes.” She pointed to one on the wall made from white seashells. “It helps me relax.” She held up another out of wire and turquoise stones.

He took it from her. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“It’s just a hobby.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“You can have that one.”

“I’ll keep it in my office.” Gage kissed the top of her head. “Do you sell them?”

“No, I donate them to Hope Cottage to auction off and sell. It’s a small charity that helps girls that have been molested. They do great work,” she said. “I’m giving them the money from my dad.”

“Layla, that’s generous, but. . . .”

“I’ll pay off some bills first.”

“Your dad wanted you to have that money. He wanted to finally take care of you.”

“It was guilt money, Gage. The letter meant more. His belief in me meant more. His apology meant more.”

“But. . . .”

“Enough about money.”

“OK, but before you do anything, could you at least buy a TV for downstairs?” She laughed. “Please tell me you have a TV somewhere. Upstairs bedroom maybe?”

“The bedroom is made for a few things,” she said, “and TV isn’t one of them.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No TV in the bedroom is fine with me.”

*

Several times Layla
asked where they were going, but Gage would never tell. It was fun to keep it a surprise. And he knew if he told her, she’d be nervous or maybe not even go.

She knew right away what he was up to when the limo exited towards the airport. “It better not be a glider.” He laughed and squeezed her hand. The limo made a few more turns then drove out through a private gate and onto the tarmac. Her eyes bulged at the four-seater plane about 50 feet away. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s a short ride,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe. It’s actually how I got here from Atlanta. The pilot is excellent, too. You’ll like him.”

“It’s not that Dash guy, is it? Dumb As Shit doesn’t inspire confidence.”

An older man appeared from under the aircraft. “Everything checked out great. She’s ready to go.” Gage took a clipboard from the man and ran his eyes over it.

“You must be Miss Layla,” the man said. “I’m Walter. I hear you hate to fly, but this little lady is in tip-top shape.”

“It’s so tiny,” she said.

Gage handed the clipboard back to Walter then opened the cockpit door. He helped Layla inside and threw the seatbelt harness over her, buckling her in and pulling the straps securely.

“Wait!” Layla cried, looking for Walter, suddenly nowhere in sight. “Where’s the pilot?”

“I’m the pilot,” Gage said. “This is my plane.”

“
You’re
flying us? You own your
own
plane?” She looked around frantically, scared to death she was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat of what seemed a paper airplane. “Where’s the crew, the flight attendant, the peanuts?”

Gage hopped in and began fiddling with the instrument panel. “That would be on the company jet.”

“Then I want the jet!”

“I’ll take you on it soon, but this is such a short trip.”

“You know, I could’ve just taken a commercial flight to Atlanta.”

He smiled. “What makes you think we’re going to Atlanta?”

*