Angel Wings Read Free

before her, quite real. Tall, muscular, still wearing black jeans but now wearing a different black T-shirt. Last night’s T-shirt had been solid black. This one had a pair of white wings across the front. His hair looked darker than ever, but at least there wasn’t any glass in it. And his eyes seemed to tease her.
    “I thought I’d use the door this time.”
    “Pardon?” she answered, automatically. What she was thinking was impossible. She had not met this person before. Or, if she had, she was positive she could not have met him in her living room last night. There was a perfectly logical explanation.
    “Do you want to invite me in?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but walked past her and into the galley kitchen. He opened the cupboard door above the sink, took out a mug—the Irish one that Hanna had given her on St. Patrick’s Day a couple of weeks ago—and poured himself some coffee.
    He leaned back against the counter and took a long swallow. And then a deep sigh. “I forgot how good this stuff tastes.” He added more coffee to his mug, and went to the table to sit across from her place setting.
    “Breakfast is getting cold,” he said. “You’d better eat.”
    Jessibelle stood by the door, leaving it open. The thing to do now would be to leave her apartment and call the police from Mrs. Hartfield’s apartment. But at that very moment, Mrs. Hartfield came out of her unit wearing a pale blue raincoat and carrying her huge red purse.
    “Oh, hello, dear. Did that nice young man find you?”
    “Ah—”
    Mrs. Hartfield poked her head inside Jessibelle’s unit, spotted the man sitting at the dining room table, and waved to him.
    He waved back.
    “I see he did,” Mrs. Hartfield said. “Good morning then. Have a nice day.”
    Feeling oddly calm, Jessibelle closed the door. She checked her mind, to see if she could detect any symptoms of being crazy. But if you were crazy, how would you know?
    “Breakfast?” he reminded her, as he leaned back in his chair.
    Sure, why not. It was a delicious looking breakfast and she had to eat before she left for work. Anyway, this would all make sense in time. Everything in its time, her grandmother always used to say.
    Jessibelle returned to the table and sat down. The food looked real, and smelled real. She coaxed one of the poached eggs onto a piece of toast and poked it. The bright yellow yoke spilled out, smothering the toast and, she had to admit, looked authentic.
    Then she tasted, and the food tasted like eggs on toast, only better. The way food tastes when you have not had any for a long time.
    After she finished the eggs, she looked up at the man opposite her. He slouched in his chair, cradling his coffee mug.
    “Did you make me breakfast?”
    He smiled and nodded. “One of my many talents.”
    “And your name is?”
    He smiled again, a broad grin, like they were meeting at a party, and not at the Twilight Zone.
    “Gabe.”
    “Just Gabe?”
    “Yes.”
    Conflicting feelings battled inside her. Ever since last summer, when Rodney had confessed his love for Hanna, Jessibelle had hoped against hope that he would come to his senses, and come back to her.
    But he had not come to his senses. He had asked Hanna to marry him. He’d asked her on the first day of fall last year, at the Autumn Leaves Festival. And the next day, Hanna had flaunted her new diamond ring as she bubbled over with happiness.
    Since then, life had been one meaningless day after another as Jessibelle went through the motions of living and tried to pretend her heart would ever be whole again.
    And now?
    Now a figment of her imagination was sitting across the table from her. And she was trying to decide if she should give up and go back to bed. Or if she should see a doctor. Or, if she should maybe play along and see where this lunacy took her.
    “And why are you doing this?”
    “Helping you?” Gabe, her figment, sat up straight now. “We got a referral,” he said. “You met the