2. Tuvid

2

TUVID

T he woman I'd crushed on since my foolish mistake in her garden sat across from me in my office, crying.

I got up and walked around my desk, unsure what I should do about her tears. Should I hold her in my arms? Pat her back?

Maybe hand her a tissue. I opened my desk drawer and tugged out a box of them, holding it out to her.

"Thank you," she sobbed, grabbing a tissue and blotting her pretty cheeks. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm one of those people who cries when I watch sappy commercials. I weep during movie funerals. And I've been known to sob on my own birthday. My emotions catch up to me, and I can't hold them back."

"Have I upset you?"

"You did that when you accused me of stealing those gnomes."

I wanted to ask if she'd cried after I left, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know. It would gut me to think I'd hurt her.

She wiped her face with the tissue and sniffed, giving me a weak smile that made my heart flip over and stumble. "I'm stopping." She held up the tissue. "See? Dry face. My tears are shut off—for now."

"You can cry all you want. I'm sure you have a reason to feel upset."

"Yes, my pretty kegs are gone, gone, gone." More tears formed in her eyes.

Pretty?

"I've worked at my Uncle Brandon's microbrewery since I finished high school. He made sure I got all kinds of training, and I took over when his brewmaster retired. And when my uncle died . . ." Tears welled in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. "When he died, he left his microbrewery to me." Sobs shook her shoulders, and she curled forward in her chair.

I grabbed another tissue. Then, because the sound of her distress was ripping me wide open, I picked her up and wrapped my arms and wings around her, holding her while she cried.

"Has he been gone long?" I asked.

"A year. I should be over it by now, right? My dad died when I was little, and as Dad's brother, he stepped into that role. He took me bowling, he brought balloons to all my birthday parties, and he told me he'd walk me down the aisle one day." More sobs shook her frame. "But I didn't get married."

"That's a relief. "

She paused and looked up at me, frowning. "Why is that a relief?"

"I meant, that's . . . I . . . I believe that's a true tragedy."

She continued to frown. I kept my face neutral, though I was relieved. If she was married, I'd put her down and pat her shoulder, not hold her in my arms while wishing I could kiss her.

"I'm okay now. Really," she said. "You can put me back in the chair, and I promise not to cry. It's sweet of you to comfort me like this."

While I was tempted to carry her around my desk and sit with her in my lap, I lowered her onto her chair and returned to mine.

She grabbed more tissues and wiped her face.

My gaze drunk in the way her auburn hair draped to her shoulders. I wanted to tug on the strands, glide the ends across my lips.

"I hope you don't mind if I take this case," I said. "It'll give me a chance to make up for my prior mistake." Now that the gnome case had been wrapped up, I could devote all my time to Angie.

My only other obligation was to interview a potential new agent this coming week.

"I need all the help I can get." She sniffed. "Thank you so much. The kegs were stolen three days ago, and I haven't been able to sleep. I can barely eat. All I do is cry."

"I promise I'll get those kegs back for you in time for the Brew-off." I also needed to stock up on tissues, because I was determined to fit this woman into my life.

I leaned back in my chair. I wanted to stare at her, take in how her top outlined the curves I'd craved to touch from the moment I met her, how her skirt exposed her lush thighs. The wind had swept her hair around, tangling it, and I ached to run my fingers through it and tangle it up some more.

"Alright, then, you've got the case." She thrust her hand across my desk to shake on it.

When I took it, the skin on my hand quivered.

"That's odd," she said, frowning at the symbol that had just appeared on the top of my hand. She traced her fingertip across the slice of a silver moon curling around a star with the tips of the star connecting on the tips of the moon. "I don't believe I saw that tattoo when you . . . stopped by to view my gardens." Her eyes now sparkled with humor.

"It's new." As was usual with gargoyles, the mating mark appeared not long after we touched the person we were destined to love.

In this lovely lady, I'd found my fated mate.

Now all I had to do was convince her she was mine.