Another quiet laugh leaves him, a deep, rumbling baritone of a sound. “Let’s get you cleaned up first or they might try to chew on you.”
“Do goats really eat everything?” I ask as we unbuckle. He levels me with a stare, darting his eyes between mine and the seat, and somehow, I understand he's commanding me to stay put. I wait for him to walk around and help me from his beast of a truck.
“No, that’s a myth. They are picky divas that won’t even eat hay unless I get them the kind they prefer.” He steers me away from the creatures, who watch me with their weird rectangle pupils while they chew their cud, cheeks full as their jaws swish side-to-side.
Inside, everything smells like Beau, and I almost expire on the spot when he puts his hand on the small of my back, leading me into his living room. “Things are, uh, a little messy,” he says, his fingers combing through his hair and leaving it wild. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s fine, I swear.” The house certainly isn’t dirty,but for a clean freak like me, the stuff thrown everywhere makes mea little twitchy. Blankets, a giant hoodie that might as well be a blanket, a pile of shoes and boots by the front door. Random mail is strewn across the table, and a box of cereal sits on the counter.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone over,” he mumbles, and is that a blush on his cheeks?! His beard makes it hard to tell, but I’m positive big burly Beau is flushing up a storm.
“Handsome guy like you?” I tease, reaching to poke him in the chest when I remember I’m covered in flour, and I cringe, dropping my hand.
Uncaring how dirty I am, he nudges me with his shoulder. “Let me show you the shower. Get cleaned up, and I’ll leave clothes for you to wear while we wash those.”
His clothes?
My eyes rake up his brawny frame, a full eight inches taller than me and much wider. “Okay,” I happily agree, and he shows me the bathroom, then pats the doorframe and shoots me one more smile before he leaves me to shower.
As soon as the knob clicks closed, the tug of a summons hits my gut. “Shit!” I mutter, pacing on the stone tile. My gaze drifts to the door as I weigh my options.
The first is the most obvious—I can ignore it. My role as The Cupid doesn’t require me to answer every call.But… and this is a big but… I’m admittedly lazy. If I get into the habit of ignoring them, how fast will it spiral? I want to begoodat this, not known as the idiot who ruined love for humankind.
Dramatic? Perhaps, but it doesn’t lessen the concern in my anxious mind.
Water plunks against the bottom of the clawfoot tub as I twist on the tap. Of course a man like this… with a house like this… would have atublike this. It’s not an antique, though, because it’s twice the size of any I’ve ever seen. A small grinsneaks onto my face as I realize he likely had it custom made to fit his stature.
Seems big boy Beau likes his bubble baths.
A soft knock taps against the door. “Hey, Az, clothes are right outside. Take as much time as you need.”
“Okay, thanks,” I call back, and heave a resigned sigh as the summons nudges me again.
There’s no reason I can’t make a quick detour.
Steam rises from the tub as I draw on my magic, leaving the homey comfort of Beau’s bathroom. Black suits and dark dresses surround me as I arrive smack dab in the center of a large crowd. It takes a moment for them to notice me, but the first blood-curdling scream makes me realize something is horrifically wrong.
Another piercing scream shatters my eardrums, then another, and another, until chaos engulfs the room. Panic erupts as people shriek, pointing with shaking fingers, while some collapse to the floor, wailing and sobbing. Others flee, wedging into a useless, wiggling heap in the doorframe. They're all unwilling to be the first to back up and let someone else exit, so instead, they're trapped.
“¡Fantasma!” a man screeches, right as the crowd parts and I see it.
The casket.
Surrounded by flowers and an enormous portrait of a guy who looks…
Huh.
Well, he looks a lot like me, to be honest. His curls are looser, and his skin is lighter than mine, more of a golden brown than a mocha, but I’m also…
Fuck. Covered in flour.
I glance down at my white, powdery body and sigh. Really, fate?
Prayers in rapid-fire Spanish spew from a short woman whose hair is more gray than black, and a cross is thrust into my face. “Go, Rafael!” she pleads, the beads of her crucifix rattling. “Go to Heaven where Papa Alfonso waits for you!”
“Oh, my goodness… no, no,” I say, holding my hands up as I try to calm her. “Oh, mercy. Funny story, this is a huge misunderstanding… I’m not going to Heaven, I’m…”
“¡Dios mío!” Pale-faced, a younger woman bursts into tears, clutching at her heart. “No Heaven?! Rafael is going to hell! His soul is damned!” Multiple wails form a chorus around me, and somehow, my eyes get even wider.
