Page 47 of Angel's Temper

“Your customers are being poisoned?” Chrome barked.

Bronze lifted the unopened can of coffee out of Chrome’s hand, did the honors, and gulped back a swig before Drea’s mate could close his fist around the can’s vacated space. “Sorry, you’re too slow, bro,” he said before returning it to his brother.

Chrome swiped the can close to him and muttered, “Asshole.” Then he knocked back the rest of the thing with three long swallows.

Molly nodded. “I’ve had two customers complain of food poisoning within the past week. One even came in with a patient lab report showing high levels of something or other. Some chemical found only in spoiled fish. She insists it was from something she ate here, as if I had any way to prove it,” she said with resigned frustration.

“That’s common though, isn’t it? Food poisoning? It could come from anywhere, really,” Drea provided with hope in her voice.

“Not really, no, at least it’s not common among small operations like mine. I source the hell out of my food, and Benny runs that kitchen tighter than a military operation. He’s always the first to notice when equipment needs servicing long before there’s ever a problem. Also, thanks to my little taco terror, the health inspector came to pay me a visit. He didn’t find anything and reissued my sanitation certificate, but that doesn’t mean something else hasn’t happened already. All it takes is one more public complaint, and I don’t think it’s something my reputation can easily come back from. People talk. The Internet can be a brutal place.” Molly spilled her proverbial big-fear beans all over the floor and waited for the problem-solving suggestions to attempt to vacuum them up.

As she suspected, none came. Apparently, three strikes and you’re out was a universal phenomenon among humans and angels alike. She may not have figured out how to wear lucky very well, but despair she had down pat, especially when it was all wrapped up in a feather boa of pathetic.

Molly ached to turn around, to see whether Brass was still deep in his Mr. Fix It due diligence or whether he’d quietly entered the dining room to see her. It was killing her, not being able to sort through this mess with the one person who she’d literally gone through it with.

As much as she still loved her best friend, and as kind and wonderful as these people were, she didn’t want to hear any of this from them. She didn’t want to hear how the man who’d begged her for everything except forgiveness, because he knew it was the one thing he needed to win back rather than plead for, hadn’t even looked at her since the explosion. Yes, he’d arranged for his family and Drea to come and be there for her immediately. Yes, he’d left her so he could work tirelessly shoring up the one thing that mattered to her, the restaurant.

But it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to hear that he was an angel from anyone else but him. A part of her felt that, even though his true nature wasn’t a secret any longer, it was still his story to tell, if he truly wanted to tell it to her.

Obviously, he didn’t.

Why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you just talk to me?

“Molly.” The floorboards creaked behind her, and she turned to find Brass, soaked and solemn, drying his hands on a dish rag. The look on his face was so heated it could have burst the remaining pipes in a five-mile radius.

Molly shot to her feet. “What is it?”

“Has anyone else been in the kitchen?”

She shook her head. “No, just you and Benny.”

Then he nodded and turned to his brothers. “Thank you for coming out. I’ll update you guys later.”

Reading the message behind Brass’s words, everyone emptied out of the restaurant, leaving behind soft sentiments of encouragement and reassuring condolences. When the two of them were alone again, Molly’s heart resumed the same unsteady rhythm from when she’d last spoken with Brass.

When she’d last kissed him.

He stepped forward then, with her coat in his hands. He opened it wide and held it out to her to put on. “I’d like to show you something.”

“What is it?” she asked, already sliding her arms into the sleeves. Somewhere, she was sure there was a set of rules she was breaking about being too eager or showing your hand, but when Brass clutched her to his side and escorted her out the front door before locking up behind them, she didn’t care.

She’d waited all night for any sort of contact or connection. Like hell she was about to ruin it based on someone else’s ceremony.

His hand never left her hip as he tucked her close and led them toward her car. “Answers.”

Chapter 22

Molly held Brass’s hand as he led her down a set of carved granite steps polished to a shine so high they rivaled the glinting flecks of mica studded throughout the stone walls. Normally, her underground experiences were limited to basements, the occasional cellar, and that one school field trip in fourth grade where they visited a cavern carved out by a prehistoric river.

The hallways she passed through now had none of the stalactites or weeping walls she expected to see. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? Like she had any real expectation of what an underground angel den buried deep beneath the White Mountains could possibly encompass, especially after the revelations that had been dropped on her thus far that day.

Fat fucking chance.

Even as Brass led her through his home, casually remarking on the rooms they passed with the alacrity of a distracted museum docent, she didn’t have the bandwidth to process what he actually showed her.

There’d be time for that. There were only so many wonders the human mind was capable of absorbing in such a short period. Especially when the biggest wonder of all had reverted to his customary silence while he led her down a flight of stone stairs and into?—

“Oh my goodness.”

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