Virtue of Death Š 2016 by Randi Perrin All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author. Virtue of Death is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing. www.hottreepublishing.com Editing: Hot Tree Editing Cover Designer: RM Graphx ISBN-10: 1-925448-34-7 ISBN-13: 978-1-925448-34-4
Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three
Dedication To that angel of death who had her chance to take me four years ago but didn’t. Your graciousness in disobeying orders gave me the chance to chase this dream.
Chapter One
SERA Shrouded by shadows, Sera, alongside her best friend, Cheryl, stood on the desolate bridge, watching, waiting. An itch raced up and down her spine as her wings, hidden beneath a thin layer of skin, anticipated their release, and Sera braced herself for what would happen next. A black car without headlights came from the north, and the itch changed to a burn. This is it. Sera watched in horror as the car crossed the line, gathering speed as it went. From the south came the sound of squealing brakes and tires as they struggled to grip the road. Then the crash of metal on metal was heard as the front ends of the vehicles collided. Married together by sheer force, the cars spun 180 degrees and slid down the road. The heavy smell of burnt rubber washed over her like a violent wave. Invisible to the world around them, but not to each other, Sera watched as Cheryl unfurled her delicate, yet powerful, green wings. She glowed white and held her hands in the air, holding an unseen force at bay. The intense look of concentration told Sera how much Cheryl struggled to control
the careening automobiles. The cars broke the guardrail and were both left teetering precariously on the thin line of balance that kept them from falling into the depth of the choppy waters below. Cheryl dropped her hands. The light glow faded, her pale green wings retreated, and she looked human again. “Not good enough,” Cheryl muttered with a determined look on her face. She sprang forward to the cars and, in moments, had dragged a man and his infant son to safety. Then Sera changed out of her human form, grateful for the release that came with transformation. With her ice-blue wings spread open behind her, she radiated light in a matching hue. She took slow and deliberate steps in the direction of what used to be two cars. The front ends of both cars had flattened and disappeared, much like an aluminum can on the forehead of a drunk guy at a bar. The driver of the speeding car without headlights lay atop the jagged, broken glass of the windshield scattered on the dashboard of the car he had hit. Blood seeped from his abdomen, his breathing shallow, as he moaned and writhed in pain. At least he’s conscious. As she stepped closer, the stench of alcohol —whiskey, to be precise—mixed with the smell of scorched tires and blood. She struggled to keep her stomach contents from traveling north. He nodded in recognition when he saw her, and as she stepped closer, his upper lip lifted in a caustic sneer. She held out her hand with a smile that was very hard to muster.
He spat on the hand she extended to him. A tight pink line replaced the smile on her face. “I know what you are. You’re death.” “An angel of death, yes.” “The hell if I’m ready to go. Go tell your boss that.” He rattled off a few more choice profanities, and Sera recoiled from the hate in his words. This is going to be harder than I thought. She took a few deep breaths so she could tamp down the frustration before speaking again. “Do you remember what happened tonight?” “Yeah, was out celebrating—my boy’s finally going to be a daddy.” The night was going to end with that man never getting the chance to hold his grandchild, and the part of her that wasn’t disgusted by his saliva on her hand wept for his loss. “My wife called and told me to get home, so I left. I was driving, and that car hit me.” Sera struggled with what to say next, but she knew that blaming him for the accident wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Not that any of it mattered; the more pressing situation was convincing him to take her hand. She took a cleansing breath and replaced the irritation in her voice with compassion. “What do you feel?” He paused and looked around. “Pain and heat.” “That is my heat you feel. It is meant to be a comfort as you pass from this world to the next.” “I told you. I’m not ready to go, and I ain’t gonna.”
“You flew through two windshields. Humans are not made to withstand that kind of force.” “In the navy, I was shot at and beat up. This body can take anything.” He raised his arm in an attempt to make a muscle, and the pain registered on his face. He adjusted for a better view of the parts of his body that screamed at him in pain, but the shift in weight broke the delicate balance the vehicle made when it came to a stop. The car tumbled over the edge of the bridge in slow motion and flipped upside down as it fell into the water below with a splash. Sera opened her mouth to call to Cheryl for help, but no words in her vocabulary fit the moment—if she could swear, it would have been an excellent time to do so. Red lights flashed and sirens wailed in the distance. Sera’s attention returned to the water, where the man’s head popped above the surface, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, as a small wave lapped around him. Sera flapped her wings and lowered herself from the bridge, her light illuminating the man’s struggle to stay afloat in the water tinged with his blood. She concentrated and appeared inside his head, both of them standing inside an area filled with white light, his jumbled thoughts streaming around them. Even there, the stench of whiskey assaulted her nose. “How long do you think you can do this?” she asked him. “I don’t know, but I’ll die trying.” Her gaze softened, and she placed a hand on his arm. “That is exactly the point. You will. You can come with me, to the
possibility of something better. Or ignore me and suffer something much worse.” She glanced around in fear; she hoped her threat hadn’t brought out the evil that searched for wayward souls. She exhaled loudly when she realized it was still just her and the man wrestling for his existence. “I’m supposed to have a grandbaby soon. I have something to live for.” As soon as he said the words, his shoulders shook, and tears fell from his eyes. “You will be able to see your grandchild. You may never get the chance to hold him, but you will see him.” “How do you know? How are you so sure?” “I don’t know for sure. I just take you to judgment. It is all on you whether you pass or not. But I do know that once there, you are able to see the conclusion of your unfinished business.” “But that’s only if I go to heaven.” The man dropped to his knees and looked at her with crestfallen brown eyes, but he made no move to stand up. Physically, his body had begun to give out, his grasp on life weakening with each word, even inside his head. Her time was limited. “I don’t know the answer to that. But this is your choice.” She placed her hand close to his. Once again, he eyed her outstretched hand with disgust, but he kept his bodily fluids to himself. Well, that’s progress, right? “Can’t I just offer to quit drinking, go to church, mend my ways, and live?” He looked up at her, cheeks damp and eyes that pleaded with her more than his words ever could.
Sera shook her head. “Sadly, it doesn’t work that way. Second chances are not my department. My job is to make this moment easier, not to stop it. I’m sorry.” He nodded at her. “Thank you for being merciful,” he whispered. His thoughts fading to darkness around her, she put out her hand, and he silently took it. As the man’s fingers wrapped tightly around hers, his earthly vessel released its last breath and freed its hold on his soul. A wisp of light trailed behind her as she led it to the heavens. High above, among the stars, she glanced down to see his physical remains fall beneath the surface of the water to his final resting place. She returned to the bridge and nodded at Cheryl. “It is done.” They flew away from the scene of the accident just as the emergency vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the one remaining car from the wreck. -------------------The pair of angels landed on the roof of Sera’s beachfront house. They sat down on the peak as the waves crashed and lapped at the shore under the light of a full moon. “So, that’s what you do,” Sera said to Cheryl, whose gaze was locked on the waves breaking before them. “Almost twelve years of this, and I’ve never seen you perform a miracle before.” Cheryl turned to her and laughed. “Back at you, Grim Reaper. I think I’m going to buy you a scythe.”
Sera glared at Cheryl. “I am not the grim reaper. I don’t make the decision about who lives and dies. I simply execute the moment.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” “I don’t sleep much, so it doesn’t.” Sera yawned. “I must admit, I sort of expected a bit more pomp and circumstance around your miracle.” Cheryl laughed. “Like water into wine? I’m not stepping on those toes. You should know this better than anyone. The real miracle these days is simply surviving. Some nights it’s more work than others.” “You have so much power at your fingertips. Don’t you feel shortchanged just using it to hold a car on a bridge?” “Not at all. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy, but the easier the job, the happier I am.” “You’re far from lazy, my friend,” Sera said as she rubbed her shoulders. “At least you get to do more than get in people’s heads and pull souls free.” “I’d love to get into people’s heads. Some virtues can, but I can’t.” Cheryl hung her head, her wings flapping behind her to express her frustration. “I don’t know why.” Sera pushed the hair out of her face. “Believe me, it’s not as great as it sounds.” “If you say so,” Cheryl said, her eyes focused on the black water again.
“Can you believe it took twelve years before we were assigned a job together? I would swear those dominions, particularly Michael, would plan better than this.” “Honestly, Sera, our dominions are doing Gabriel’s bidding by bossing us around. They don’t get a say in much. We get a say in even less. It’s all kind of crappy when you think about it. Humans are given free will, but what about us?” Anger grew with each word out of her mouth, and she twisted her face into a frown. “We started out human, remember? We have the choice to remain divine.” “Haven’t you ever wondered what life would have been like had we just received normal gifts for our eighteenth birthdays instead of wings and divine powers? Maybe we’d have even escaped this flipping town.” The two had been best friends since they turned eight, when they bonded over a shared birthday. That bond only grew stronger after they were gifted their wings on the same night ten years later. “First of all, I’m happy here. Virginia Beach is all I know. Second, we were chosen, Cheryl. Doesn’t that count for something?” Sera’s eyes glistened with tears. “Doing this with you counts for everything,” Cheryl said as she wrapped her arms around her best friend. “Have you ever thought about it? It’s almost a sick joke to take humans and say, ‘Here, have some cool gifts, but don’t abuse them. You’re doing the bidding of a higher power.’”
“You want a sicker joke? Take that newly-created angel, still uneasy on her wings, and tell her she is responsible for collecting her parents’ souls.” Sera wiped a tear from her eye as she remembered the car fire that had claimed the lives of her parents not long after she became an earthbound angel. “I guess at least they were able to see what I became and be proud of me for something, for however long it lasted.” Cheryl squeezed her friend in a brief hug. “They were proud of you for going to culinary school, no matter what you want to believe. You’re right, though. Your über-religious mother probably spent her final few minutes on earth basking in the fact her daughter was an angel. Not that she understood it.” “We’ve been angels for twelve years, and I don’t understand it. I mean, why me?” Sera asked. “You love this. Whether you understand it or not, it’s who you are, who you are meant to be.” “No, Cheryl, this is who we are meant to be.” “You’re right. We were gifted our wings together, and we’ll keep them together.” Cheryl’s eyes crinkled as she broke into a large grin. In the moonlight, her goth-inspired eye makeup, coupled with bright red lipstick, made her look like the Joker. “Come on, let’s go for a run on the beach before we call it a night,” Sera said. “I need to let off some steam to prepare for that big catering job tomorrow.” “Nope, I have a date.” Sera cringed. “I can’t believe you date so much.”
“I can’t believe you don’t. I mean, becoming an angel was the best thing to happen to my dating life. I can’t get pregnant. If he’s a psycho, he can’t kill me. Why wouldn’t I date all the time?” “Because there’s a secret looming over your head, chasing you, threatening your relationship. Heaven forbid he find out because it won’t be pretty.” “Are you talking about Jeff?” Sera nodded. “Typical Jeffrey Boyd, if you ask me. I wouldn’t trust him farther than I could throw him. You shouldn’t let his stupidity and fear of the unknown control your life the way it does.” “I thought I could trust him,” Sera whispered. “It was years ago. It’s time to move on. Just use it as a lesson learned. Don’t trust anyone with the knowledge you’re an angel. I don’t.” They gently glided off the roof and landed in the sand. Their wings withdrew into their backs, and, at least to the naked eye, they were completely human again. Sera knew, however, they were anything but.
Chapter Two
DESTIN Destin leaned his tall, lanky, tuxedo-clad figure against the bar and raked his fingers through his brown hair. The locks in the back were short, but he had some longer pieces in the front that curled just right to frame his eyes. He kept meaning to get those cut, but he never did. He surveyed the female action on the dance floor and shook his head. The reception itself was pretty much over but he wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet—not while his new friend tending the open bar was still pouring drinks for him. Besides, it would be a travesty for the best man to go home alone. Normally, his game wasn’t to hit on bridesmaids because he was above such clichés. The fact of the matter, however, was that it had been far too long since he felt a woman’s touch, save for the occasional punch in the arm from Kristian’s fiancée. He stared at each of the bridesmaids, taking mental notes to determine which one would be the least offensive to wake up next to the following morning. His gaze landed on the shortest of the three first, and he had to admit, she filled out the hideous
hot pink dress better than the others. She held her drink in the air, as if she were toasting someone, and she danced far too fast to the slow music that filled the room. So she likes to drink and doesn’t have rhythm. I don’t have rhythm when I’m drunk either. Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. Kristian, in his matching tuxedo, came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying the scenery? Those are Cady’s sorority sisters.” “Aww, come on, man. You’re such a jerk. Why’d you have to ruin that for me?” It wasn’t that Destin was against sororities; he rather enjoyed the view every time he walked by the sorority houses in college. It just seemed that every sorority girl he dated —and there were quite a few—was the same: blonde, damn near clueless—some of them were downright clueless—and worried more about the lipstick she might have on her teeth than the man in front of her. “You would have found out soon enough. I was just saving you the trouble. ’Cause that’s what best friends are for.” Kristian and Destin had been best friends since they met their junior year of college in a dingy bar on the beach. Kristian had been enamored with Destin’s dart skills and used him to hustle poor, unknowing tourists out of their money. The friendship was founded on lying, cheating, and drinking; but it had lasted damn near a decade, an achievement that surprised them both. Destin had put the lying and cheating days behind him after college, but Kristian and the drinking remained constant.
Destin’s attention turned to another short girl, this one with a long, blonde ponytail running around behind the buffet table. “Who is your caterer? She’s pretty fuckin’ hot.” “Dude, no, you don’t want anything to do with her. She’s psychotic.” Destin analyzed the girl. She had curves that wouldn’t stop, and she looked amazing in her little black apron that was delicately tied over a white button-down and black miniskirt, which showed off her tanned and toned legs. She had ice-blue eyes that peered at the world from beneath long eyelashes and a freckle on her right temple. As if the rest of her wasn’t already enough to make him fantasize what she’d look like wearing nothing but that apron in his kitchen, his stomach clenched with desire based just on the fact she was confident enough to not bother covering up the blemish, which many women in his past had referred to them as. That level of confidence is so hot. “She doesn’t look crazy,” Destin said, peering over his drink at her again. She was bent over the table, blowing out the Sterno cans beneath the empty chafing dishes. Yeah, baby, I’d like to give you something else to— His thoughts were interrupted by a noise from his stomach like an angry pit bull. It appeared his stomach didn’t agree with his mind’s decision to stick to whiskey instead of food. “The real crazy ones never look it,” Kristian said as he accepted a glass from the bartender and raised an eyebrow at Destin. “But, trust me on this, I know.”
“How do you know she’s crazy?” Destin swirled his whiskey around the cubes of ice and enjoyed the high-pitched ting sound the ice made as it bounced off the crystal. “She’s my brother’s ex.” “Are you fucking kidding me? You call her psychotic, yet you’re the one who asked your brother’s ex to cater your wedding?” Destin glanced over his drink at the caterer again, but when those blue eyes looked in his direction, he quickly dropped his gaze to the half-melted ice cubes in his glass. Kristian shrugged. “Have you had the food? She’s amazing.” Destin shook his head and willed his stomach not to growl again at the mention of food. He walked away from the bar, leaving Kristian in his wake. The rhythm-challenged bridesmaid fell into him, and what was left of his whiskey soaked his rented tuxedo pants. Even if Kristian hadn’t killed this girl’s chances, that party foul was enough to knock her out of the running. Not that it mattered. His sights were on the blonde in the apron, and he would not be deterred. He helped the bridesmaid up and then gritted his teeth as he looked at the empty glass in his hands. He toyed with plodding across the room to return to the bartender, but the desire to talk to the caterer won out. By the time he made it to the table, the caterer had vanished. He looked around confused; that was when the cake table jumped, and someone cried out in pain. She crawled out from under the table, rubbing the back of her head. Another girl,
this one in a matching black apron, rushed to her side. This girl was decent-looking with her black hair in a pixie cut and the figure of a Victoria’s Secret model—just a touch too skinny if you asked him—but her biggest downfall was the excessive amount of eye makeup she used to hide her jade green eyes, which were just a tad lighter than his own. Destin was pretty sure this girl was too old to sport the goth look, but she didn’t seem to care. “Darn it, that hurt,” she said to the goth girl. Destin returned to the bartender and asked for ice as he pulled the handkerchief from his suit pocket; a habit his mother beat into his head every Sunday when he wore his suit to church. He looked heavenward and silently thanked her for providing him with this opportunity. While he wrapped the ice in the handkerchief, he asked for a shot of whiskey. The bartender eyed him with concern. “It’s not for me. It’s for the hot little thing over there,” he said as he pointed at the caterer, whose hand was still on her head. The bartender shook his head as he handed him the tiny shot glass. “She’s way out of your league, man.” Destin put the five-dollar bill he was going to use to tip the guy back in his pocket. He returned to the cake table, inching close enough so he could place the ice on her head. At first she reared back, like an injured cat defending itself, but then she flashed the briefest
smile at him as she covered the ice with her own hands. The smile was enough to shake him off his game for a moment. “Thank you,” she said softly. His knees went weak at the breathy timbre in her voice. What I wouldn’t give to listen to that voice all night. He flashed his signature smile, which was responsible for bedding plenty of sorority girls in the past. “You’re most welcome. I also grabbed you a shot of whiskey to dull the pain.” “I don’t drink,” she replied with a grimace. He turned to her friend and held the tiny glass out as an offering. The other girl smiled, but shook her head. “I don’t drink either.” “Well then, more for me,” he said as he tilted his head back and let the liquid roll over his tongue and down his throat. He had so much whiskey already his throat was completely numb to the burn that came with it. The caterer’s blue eyes locked with his, and her lips turned up in the slightest hint of another smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish cleaning up this mess.” With that, she stood up and, still holding the ice on her head, walked away, the goth girl trailing behind her. Well, that didn’t go well. He glared at the bartender across the room who shook his head with an amused smile on his smug face. Time for plan B. Now, where did that party foul go?
Chapter Three
SERA The morning after the wedding, Sera awoke after far too few hours of sleep, as usual, and went to her bakery, Heaven on Atlantic. Inside, she took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of baked goods that always lingered, and she smiled. Today is the start of a great week. I can feel it. She slid her arms into the sleeves of her chef’s jacket, which featured her shop logo and name embroidered on it, buttoned it up, and then she turned on the ovens. She placed her phone in the speaker dock and flipped to her favorite playlist. Singing along quietly, she dug her hands into a large canister and covered the metal counter with a fresh snowfall of flour. At the fridge, she pulled out eggs, cookie batter, and the croissant dough that she’d made the previous day. She tossed the dough onto the counter, and a cloud of flour dust billowed around her. Rolling pin in hand, she attacked the dough with precision, giving it a little time to warm up before she had it thin enough to cut and roll into perfect croissant shapes. With a paintbrush in her hand, she covered the prepared croissants with quick brushstrokes of an egg wash.
While the croissants rose and turned golden brown in the oven and the scent of melted butter permeated the air around her, she climbed up the stepladder to the precarious-looking shelf above. She ran her hands across the cookbooks—so many the wood bowed under the weight—and she placed a finger on one and pulled it out. Sera paused for a moment and, with her right index finger, traced the words on the cover: Cooking with Love by Marielle Dufour. When she opened it, a couple pages fell out and fluttered to the ground. She scrambled off the stepladder to pick them up. This little book has seen it all and has the battle wounds to prove it. As she turned the pages of the book, the spine cracking with each motion, she thought back to when she was a teenager and discovered cooking. Marielle Dufour’s show aired before dawn on Sunday mornings in the most obscure time slot possible. Despite that, Sera was always up in time to memorize every move the quasi-celebrity chef made. Marielle Dufour was taken off the air years ago, and she died a few years later, but Sera used the cookbook to keep her memory alive. Every Sunday morning, she flipped through the well-worn pages, searching for the perfect recipe to bake to honor her cooking idol. She flipped to page 293 and smiled at the picture of a basket containing madeleines, which overflowed and spilled onto a gingham tablecloth below. She didn’t need the cookbook
for this recipe anymore, but in the interest of tradition, she pulled it out anyway. She buttered and floured the pans. More flour ended up on her clothes and on the floor than in the pans. She sighed heavily, flour dancing with her breath. Well, at least I wore the white chef’s jacket today. Then she filled the pans with the batter from the silver KitchenAid mixer on her right and placed them in the refrigerator. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to put those in the oven?” Cheryl asked as she walked into the kitchen. “Well, I will, eventually, but the trick to the perfect bump is to chill the pans and the batter first. Come on, you’ve been baking with me long enough, you should know that.” Cheryl shrugged, placed an oven mitt on her right hand, and flipped a spatula through the fingers on her left. She pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven and quickly transferred the cookies to the cooling racks. Sera grabbed the croissants and turned that oven off. As she moved them to cooling racks, Cheryl stole one of the hot, flaky pastries. She bounced it between her hands while she blew on it. “I did just pull it out of the oven, silly. Things are hot when they come out of there. You could wait a couple seconds.” “Yeah, yeah. Where’d you stash the Nutella, woman?” Sera put her hands on her hips. “I do not purchase Nutella. I make my own.”
Cheryl sighed. “Okay, where is your homemade chocolate hazelnut spread, oh baking angel?” “That’s more like it. It’s in the fridge in the container marked ‘homemade Nutella.’” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Of course you labeled it, you freak.” Sera laughed. “Oh, shut up, or I’ll withhold it the next time you want to make yourself breakfast. Grab the madeleines and put them in the oven when you’re done.” Sera turned her attention away from her friend and whisked powdered sugar and milk together to create a simple glaze to drizzle over the cakes when they were done. She shoved the loose pages into the cookbook, climbed up on the stepladder, and nestled the book back into its crowded space. Sera came down the stepladder and Cheryl, who still had a mouthful of croissant, handed her a steaming cup of coffee that smelled of the French vanilla creamer hidden in the back of the fridge. “Rough night last night?” Cheryl asked. Sera took a gulp of coffee, and let the heat and sweet soothe her. “Yes, had to take multiple souls last night. As much as I love flying, that much in a short amount of time is downright exhausting.”
“Ugh, those nights are the worst.” Cheryl paused to swallow the croissant in her mouth. “Have you finished all of your baking for today?” Sera wiped her flour-dusted hands off on a towel that was draped across her shoulder. “Yep, as soon as this last batch comes out.” “When they are done, come out front and keep me company.” Sera gave her a cautious look. “If you’re going to be a walking zombie today, I’d rather you be where I can keep an eye on you instead of in the back around hot ovens.” She popped the last bite of her croissant in her mouth. Sera held her coffee in her left hand and wrapped her right around Cheryl’s waist in an quick embrace. “How on earth would I function without you?” Cheryl held up her hand as she swallowed. “You wouldn’t, and so long as you don’t go stealing my dates or my eye makeup, you’ll never have to worry about finding out.” Cheryl smirked and walked through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the front of the bakery. Sera peeked in on her madeleines. “Perfection,” she whispered to the oven, as she pulled the towel off her shoulder to use as an oven mitt. Steam rose from the shell-shaped cakes, and she fanned it away with the towel. Then she wandered out to the front to top off her coffee and hang with Cheryl. As Sera sat down, her first customer walked in the door. “Hello, Mr. Brigham.”
“Morning, Dad,” Cheryl said, a tight smile on her lips. Sera knew how much she hated it when her father invaded her world. As if his being the former mayor with a legacy that spanned everywhere she went wasn’t enough, he was also an earthbound angel. Not even Cheryl’s secret life was spared from her father’s reach. “Hello, my dears. Sera, you look like you’ve spent too much time working.” “Indeed, a late night, sir.” Sensing Cheryl’s frustration, Sera hopped up to handle pulling together his order: two croissants, some of her homemade Nutella, and a half dozen chocolate chip cookies. Cheryl affixed a sticker with the bakery’s logo to the top of the box containing his order before she handed it to her father. “Well, the dead, they wait for no one.” Sera smiled brightly at him. “No, sir, they do not.” Cheryl shot Sera a look that instantly chilled the hot cup of coffee she’d just poured. He took the box from Cheryl’s outstretched hand and pulled out his wallet. Sera placed her hand on his arm to stop him. “You know your money is no good here.” Sera turned to address another customer, a woman in a black suit with large sunglasses, and he shoved a twenty into the tip jar. Cheryl kissed him on the cheek before he walked out the door. “Sera, why’d you have to engage him in conversation?” “Uhh, to be polite?”
Cheryl cracked her knuckles. “Yeah, and when I get home tonight, he’s going to jump me about having an art history degree I don’t use and still living at home when I’m almost thirty.” Sera raised an eyebrow as she pulled two of each item out of the case and arranged them in boxes. “You could have moved in with me, and it’s not your fault your passion is something that’s not his. Don’t let him bring you down. He isn’t your boss. In fact, Michael bosses you both around. In that respect, you’re both on equal footing.” “I never thought of it that way.” “Oh, and your calling is way cooler than his. He’s just like a government consultant, you get to…” Sera paused and furrowed her eyebrows, searching for the right words to use in front of a customer. “You know, do things. Things he can’t do.” The woman smiled and, as she walked out the door with her two boxes, Kristian walked in, hand-in-hand with his new bride, Cady. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd,” Sera chirped as she stepped toward the couple. “Good morning, Sera,” Cady said, a bright smile on her face. “We just wanted to stop by to bring you the check for the balance for your work last night.” Sera took the envelope from Cady’s French-manicured fingers and slipped it into her back pocket. “Thank you,” Sera said.
“Jeff sends his regards,” Kristian said. He took a step away from the icy glares all three females shot at him. “What? He does.” Cady put her hand on his arm. “Sweetheart, half of the city knows that the two of them have no love lost for each other. How she even puts up with you after what he did to her is beyond me. She’s a saint, as far as I’m concerned, but you don’t need to go testing that resolve of hers.” Pity settled in Sera’s stomach when she realized this was Cady’s life—cleaning up behind her idiot of a husband. “Thank you, Cady,” Sera said with a smile. “Can I interest you in a cookie or something?” Cady shook her head and placed her hand on her belly. “No thanks. I have to admit, everything looks amazing.” “That’s because it all is amazing,” Sera said with pride.
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