Page 53 of Living with Death
I feel a wrinkle form between my eyes. The note is still on my mind, too. What did Grandpop mean? How has Azrael tricked me?
What frustrates me so much is that I can’t even ask him.
Ugh, where is Azrael?
“Mabel,” Robbie says, snapping his fingers. “Are you here today?”
“Oh yes, sorry.”
“Prices are too high, and the employees are potheads,” the lady says.
“Potheads?” I question.
“That’s what I said. You’re stoned.” She swipes her card and snatches her bags from Jason, her cheeks a rosy red. The door catches her purse, and she grabs it with a huff.
“Well, she was a bitch,” he says.
“Agreed.”
He opens a few bags while we’re standing here with no customers. “So, what gives with you today, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you haven’t been here in a few days, and you’re acting…”
“Like a pothead?” I lift a brow.
He laughs. “I wouldn’t say that, but you seem far off somewhere.”
“I guess I have some stuff on my mind.” I grab a paper towel and wipe some water from the conveyor belt. “So, did you ask Leigh out yet?”
He grins. “I did. We’re going to that seafood restaurant near the water Friday.”
“Oooh, fancy,” I say playfully, reaching over and messing up his hair. I think back on my date with Azrael the other night. Date? Was it a date? Or was it just an experience for him? How handsome he looked with the candle’s light reflecting off him.
“Darling, I nearly ended some of these men’s lives early because of how they stared at you.”
“Mabel,” Jason groans, trying to fix his hair.
I laugh as the door opens. The newspapers on the rack flutter, and I wrap my sweater across my body as my eyes land on Azrael.
My heart flutters.
He stands there, watching us. His eyes go from me to Jason, tightening. As he walks toward the back, I chew my bottom lip, and a customer starts placing his items onto the belt. I begin scanning, wondering what Azrael is doing here. I’m wavering between being upset and thrilled. I have questions, and I need them answered, but I also want to climb him.
“Did you miss me?”
I smile to myself.
“No.”
I hear a low chuckle from him.“That’s not what your thoughts say.”
“It would be best if you weren’t reading my thoughts.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Why?”
