8

“You don’t need to keep making me breakfast in bed,” I grumble, as I wake to find him sitting on the end of my bed, a tray on his knees, “and how long have you been watching me sleep?”

“You’re so peaceful when you sleep,” he smiles, “you don’t carry the worries you do when you’re walking around.”

“We need to set some boundaries,” I mutter as he hands me the tray and I raise the coffee to my lips. “I don’t want you watching me sleep. It’s creepy.” I eye him over the top of my cup.

“Creepy how?”

“Creepy as in, I don’t know you. You’re literally a strange man, albeit with wings, who fell through my roof a week and a half ago, and now you’re bringing me breakfast in bed. It’s just… I don’t know… this bizarre partnership we’ve found ourselves in until your wing heals is challenging for me on a whole range of levels.”

“Do I frighten you?”

I take a few more sips of coffee and think over his question.

‘Does he? No. It’s more like I feel uncomfortable with his level of intimacy and proximity. But at the same time, he’s easy on the eye and he makes me smile. And not much has done that for a long, long time.’

“No.”

“Good. You don’t frighten me either. In fact,” he puts his hand on my feet where they lie outside my covers, “I’m very drawn to you, Merri, as I’m sure you know.”

Frowning, I place my cup back onto the tray and look into his eyes.

How can I tell him that I’m not used to being served? That I’m not used to being treated as someone attractive and desirable? That I don’t feel like I deserve that, especially not from someone so young and hot? And I wish he’d stop rubbing my feet. It feels divine.

“Ah, Chris,” I shake my head.

“You don’t like your feet being rubbed?”

“On the contrary,” I sigh, “I love it, but you’re a stranger in my home and in my bedroom. I hardly know you, and you’re so much younger than me, Chris.”

“You’re not a stranger to me,” he says quietly. “I felt as soon as I saw you that I’d known you forever. Is it wrong that I want us to be as close as we can be?”

I nod.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive too, but yes, it feels wrong.”

I don’t add that I may not be sleeping with him in reality, but in my dreams, oh boy, he’d started to feature nightly. Ever since he caught me when I fell from the roof and I’d felt those arms around me.

“Wrong because of our perceived age difference?” he presses. “Age is important to you?”

“Yes,” I sigh. “Age is important. And wrong because I’ve literally just ended a thirty-year relationship, thirty-two if you count when James and I first met.”

He says nothing, but it springs to mind instantly that my husband is somewhere, right now, probably getting more than his feet rubbed by someone half the age of Chris. The thought sours my mood. Flicking off the covers, I pull my feet away from the angel’s deft fingers and make for the bathroom.

“Is age really your concern, Merri? Or are you worried about what other people think? Are you worried others will see our relationship as strange because of my youthful looks? Or do you fear their comments if they learned that you have someone new?” He asks as I walk away.

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what people think, but it’s a moot point. You and I don’t have a relationship. I just want us to be friends,” I say over my shoulder before shutting the door.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” he says loudly.

“I’ll make an exception for you, if you behave yourself.”

“Friends is good,” he shouts as I turn on the shower, “friends with benefits would be even better.”

“Go away, Chris,” I garble, my mouth full of water.

But I can’t help smiling.