In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 by Fanny Lee Savage Read Free Book Online Page A

gave her a check for two month's rent and promised to keep in touch. Clouds are forming, giant thunderheads, and I wonder if today will be the day the heat finally breaks. The weathermen don’t say it, but it feels like we are headed into a severe drought. The last one we had in Florida, hundreds of acres of state parks burned. It was so bad, ash fell from the sky, carried hundreds of miles by the wind. Thick pieces stuck to cars and dry patches of lawns. It was an eerie sight, standing on the beach, the scent of burning wood, flakes, like snow, falling around your feet.
    My mind goes back to Norm and his warnings. His words have left a sick knot in my stomach, and I can’t seem to shake it. Norm has always been a tad on the strange side, but quiet. Nothing like what I witnessed this morning.
    My phone rings and I pull it from my purse. The number is blocked, but I know it is Henri. My stomach lurches into my throat, and I answer the call.
    “Are we on for dinner this evening?” He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Straight to the point.
    “Yes,” I say.
    “Good. I will be by at seven to pick you up.” He sounds different than he did yesterday. More... open. “Wear flip flops.”
    He hangs up without another word, and I am left staring at my phone, not sure what he has planned.
     
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    I stand in front of the mirror in my room and look down at my toes. The nails are now what the bottle of polish told me is Convertible Pink. It is a fitting name. The color reminds me of the Barbie dolls I played with as a child. They ran off with Ken, fleeing in a flimsy pink, plastic car. The pretty halter dress I wear is turquoise and matches my large chandelier earrings. My eyes go back to my feet and the brown slip-on sandals they are in. Not exactly flip flops, but close enough.
    My hair is pulled back loose and braided to the side. It falls over my shoulder, the ends curling. My skin is darker with more freckles than I used to have. Usually, I wear no makeup, having been given the gift of flawless skin and long black lashes. But this dinner is special and I want to look nice. Like I haven’t spent the last five years wallowing in pity, working in a cheap motel, depriving myself of luxuries and people in self-loathing. I trace my eyes in a charcoal liner and add a hint of silvery blue shadow. It makes my eyes shine brighter, though, I’m not about to admit, it is for Henri’s benefit.
    After a close inspection, I figure I’ll pass. The sedentary life of a hermit has added a few extra pounds, giving me curves that I have never had before. My nose is long, longer than I like, my cheeks high, my jaw strong but feminine. Emily said once we looked like Grace Kelly. Emily exaggerated all the time.
    With a deep breath, I sit on the couch to wait. My insides are knotted, and the palms of my hands are sweating. I grab the hem of the dress and count backwards from twenty, trying to rid myself of the craving for a cigarette. A knock at the door almost sends me through the roof. I have to calm down.
    Henri stands on my porch, smiling, when I open the door. He is dressed casually, in gray slacks and a white button up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up over his arms, the first few buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest. I suck in a breath. Somehow in twenty-four hours, he has become even more beautiful. My chest tightens and the pain of seeing him is almost unbearable. The pulse in my neck feels thick, and my voice has disappeared.
    “You look lovely, Char,” he says and looks down to my feet. My eyes follow his, and my toes wiggle. He grins, that same one, and takes my hand, leading me to the SUV.
     
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    The restaurant he has picked is small and sits further north towards the tourist trap. We are seated by a thin girl that looks barely old enough to be working. She is fumbling with the menus and dinnerware, all flustered by Henri.
    Poor thing. I smile knowingly at her. I’m pretty flustered myself. He