Page 46 of De-Witched

“Maybe. Maybe that’s why we’re in this situation.”

“Situation?”

Sonny dipped his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re okay, the animals aren’t hurt. The other stuff... I’m sure we’ll push through. Like Leah says. That girl always thinks of something.”

Gabriel studied the way the paint had stained the brick. “Would you sell?”

“Retire, you mean?” Sonny dragged in a breath, knuckled his chest as though something hurt. “Time was, I’d have said I’d drop dead in this place.”

“And now?”

Sonny didn’t answer.

Gabriel thought of Leah. “You could sell it to her.”

“I’d give it to her,” Sonny corrected. “She’s been here since she was fifteen. She’s as much a part of this place as anyone. But it’s a white elephant. It’ll bleed her dry and then take more. I’d never pass over that burden.”

Gabriel’s business mind told him Sonny was right. Running a charitable organization like this required more money than any one person could supply. It took multiple deep pockets. “You need investors.”

“We need a lot of things. Right now, we need to walk the dogs, feed the cats and get this mess cleaned up. Fortunately some of the guys from the music store next door, the bookshop across the street, they’re volunteering hands. God knows we need ’em.” Sonny clapped a hand on Gabriel’s arm and then walked through the carpet of glass, battered sneakers crunching as he went.

Gabriel brooded. The human was right about one thing. Words were useless; action counted. And so, he bent for the broom he’d brought out with him. He surveyed the millions of tiny shards with a sigh. If he had full use of his magic, he could literally evaporate them all in the space of one second.

But he didn’t. So, he dutifully bent and began sweeping. It was, he’d discovered, one of the only tasks he didn’t suck at.

It took him the better part of an hour. He’d shed his coat, his tie, rolled up his sleeves and was rubbing the ache in the small of his back when Leah stepped out.

She stopped short. “Oh. I thought you’d gone.”

He steadied the broom with one hand. “Why?”

“Because you left.”

“The glass needed sweeping.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You swept up the glass?”

“It needed doing. I’m going to start on the paint.”

She held up the bucket she was carrying. “Great minds.” But she didn’t come closer, feet shifting with edgy energy. “If you want to get inside, I can do this.”

He didn’t move. “It’s cold. I can do it.”

“I’m not fragile.”

She was tense, body half angled away, but it was her eyes that tugged at him. Shielded. Not friendly, not seething. Nothing.

He’d finally pushed her away.

A sharp ache spasmed in his chest.

“Seriously,” she said, still polite. “You’ve done your share. I can do this alone.”

He should do what she said.

But he couldn’t. “About this morning.”

She blanched. “We don’t have to...”

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