Page 5 of Fallen Angel
“Then definitely the closest garage.”
Less than fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a freshly paved u-shaped driveway. Above the closed triple bay doors was a sign that read “Calloway Automotive” in shiny chrome lettering, and on top of the flat roof was a sleek motorcycle.
“You go ahead inside while I unhitch your car,” Larry said before he slid off his seat to the ground.
Angel quickly grabbed her bag and jumped from the truck cab, desperate to escape the lingering scent of his pungent snack. Hurrying across the parking lot, she swung open the entrance door, setting off a quick bell. As she approached the desk, a woman came around the corner. Cherry black hair skimmed the woman’s waist like a waterfall, bone straight and glistening. Her trim and clearly enhanced figure was wrapped in a deep purple dress.
“Hi there,” the woman said, a slow, seductive smile spreading across her face. “What can I do for you?”
She was the kind of woman that made Angel feel frumpy, especially after just finishing her shift at the bakery. She was everything Angel wasn’t—full but tight figure, perfectly applied makeup, breasts bursting from her designer clothing. Angel pushed a wayward lock of her dark brown hair behind her ear and resisted the urge to redo her messy bun.
Anyway, what would be the point?
Sure, Angel was fit—she worked on her feet all the time, but any curve she had was reserved for her bum alone. Her breasts had always been on the small side. The rest of her was as put together as a demolition site. Her morning routine consisted of slapping a coat of mascara on her lashes and a layer of Vaseline on her lips before running out the door.
Next, to the woman at the counter, Angel felt utterly forgettable.
“My car was just towed here.”
“Okay. Just take a seat,” the woman said before walking away, her hips swaying in a perfectly feminine rhythm. As she disappeared through a polished swinging door, it occurred to Angel what a curious sight the woman was behind the counter. She looked like someone who might be on a poster, draped across a muscle car, adorning the walls of a garage—not working in one.
Angel took a seat. The chairs were comfortably padded. There was a TV suspended in the corner. She looked away from the sharply dressed newswoman predicting more rain for the Boston area. On the table, there was a mix of magazines: fitness, cars, home improvement. She picked up one on cooking but put it down just as quickly. She was too nervous to even pretend to read. What if her car was a goner? She had recently overdrawn her account renewing her registration. Hell, she couldn’t afford the inspection she needed by the end of the month.
Forget the universe. This time she just straight up prayed.Please, God, let it be a new battery.
