Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [45]
“You’re right,” Monica cut him off, “I don’t want to hear the rest.”
“That’s what I thought.”
They strolled back to the sidewalk and turned into a small shop that specialized in seashells, tacky souvenirs, and gaudy jewelry. Curious, Monica moved to a crowded aisle, no particular destination in mind. She found a paper Japanese fan with a brightly painted dragon and spread it open, fluttering it in front of her face.
Chet grinned and she lowered the fan. Slowly the amusement drained from his eyes and darkened to a shade as deep and dark as a moonless night. His sudden enmity unnerved her and she quickly snapped the fan closed and returned it to the table, wondering what she’d done that had displeased him so.
His hand stopped her. “You’re beautiful when you choose to be,” he said.
His words confused her as much as his look.
She turned hurriedly up another aisle and paused at a rack of necklaces. Taking one, she slid the chain against the palm of her hand until she reached the pendant. A mustard seed was framed in a glass teardrop. The scripture verse about faith the size of a mustard seed leaped into her mind.
“Faith is an amazing thing,” Chet surprised her by saying.
That he’d know the verse shocked her. “You’ve read the Bible.”
He made a gallant effort not to laugh and failed. “I’m not a heathen, Monica, even if I’ve been known to frequent seedy bars and sleep with immoral women.”
“I see.” Embarrassed now by his honesty and her assumptions, she started to leave the shop. To her surprise, Chet took the necklace from her hand and carried it to the front of the store.
“What do you believe in?” she asked as they waited to make the purchase.
“Do I need to believe in anything?”
She could tell that the question made him uncomfortable. “Everyone has a belief system, whether he acknowledges it or not.” She sounded far more versed in the subject than she was. Her own had been so clearly defined for her from the time she was a child.
He didn’t answer her for a long, silent moment. “I believe life’s a bitch,” he said as he paid for the necklace.
Monica bristled, but then she’d asked and he’d told her.
He moved behind her and put the necklace around her neck. The glass teardrop felt cool against her skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, touched that he’d bought it for her.
“Don’t make a big deal out of a buck ninety-nine,” he said as if he regretted the purchase.
When they came out of the store, Monica was surprised to find that it was snowing. She couldn’t remember the weatherman mentioning snow. The fat flakes came down fast and furious and had already covered the sidewalk.
“I’d better hurry to the bus stop,” she said, anxious to get home before the weather made it impossible. She was already an hour later than she said she’d be.
By the time they’d climbed the steep hill to the bus stop Monica was breathless. It seemed that everyone in town had decided to head for home at the same time. Within minutes it became clear she was in for a long wait.
“You go on,” she urged Chet. “I’ll be fine.” But he refused to leave her and after waiting a half hour, Chet shook his head.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, “I’ll drive you home myself.”
“But it’s snowing, and the road conditions might make that impossible.”
“We’ll wait out the craziness and once everything settles down I’ll get my car out of the parking garage.”
He didn’t leave room for her to argue, and she doubted he would have listened if she had. Chet steered her toward the exit and reached for her hand when it looked as if they might be separated in the crowd.
“Where are we going?” she asked while they were making their way down the street. The conditions were blizzardlike. They were bent nearly in half as they walked against the brunt of the storm.
Chet didn’t bother to answer until they entered a red brick building. In the foyer, he stamped the snow from his shoes and led the way to the elevator.
“Where are we?” she asked, obediently following him.
“My building,