She had watched civilizations rise and fall for reasons she found completely frivolous. She had watched over kings and paupers. Now, her biggest concern was remembering how many donuts were in a baker’s dozen. What choice did she have? She followed Pam into the kitchen, where the sweet smell of sugar combined with the yeasty scent of freshly baking bread into a heavenly aroma.
Hearing voices coming toward him, Hamlin Paine turned around with a welcoming smile. Without thinking, he let loose a low whistle that carried his thoughts to Adriel, who stopped walking in surprise when she heard them clearly.
Hot. And that hair. I’d like to bury my hands in it to see if the strands are as alive as they look. Porcelain skin, eyes of burning blue, and tall enough to nearly look me in the eye.
Not that Adriel did. Face flaming in embarrassment, she turned away to hide jumbled emotions. It must have been a fluke—a random pulse of residual angel ability. It probably wouldn’t happen again. Best to put all thoughts of the past behind her and adjust to this new life. Adriel concentrated on observing the room around her.
Compact but well fitted out, the kitchen had been designed with economy of effort and efficiency in mind. Dry ingredients lined shelves on the right hand side of the mixing station; containers and utensils were stored above and beneath the stainless steel surface. The baker needed only to turn around to pull wet ingredients from the double coolers.
At the other end of the space, enormous commercial ovens took up the end wall, while a six burner cook top backed the short wall overlooking the sales area of the bakery. Golden-brown bits of dough bobbed and bubbled in the commercial frying station—their scent whispered of sugary sin.
As she watched, a rack rose from the oily depths to convey the puffs of cooked dough to a draining tray.
Talking rapidly, Hamlin explained how Pam had given him carte blanch to design the space so that the work followed a natural progression. A narrow doorway between a large metal cabinet he called a proofer and a section of counter dominated by two commercial mixers led to another room containing an industrial type dishwasher and a deep, triple sink.
Everything was scrupulously clean. Everything except for Hamlin himself. Dabs of icing clung to his apron, and most of his lanky, six-foot-five frame looked like it had been dipped in a vat of dry ingredients. Both hands were covered in the sticky, sweet substance he had just turned out onto a floured board.
Still talking and with no regard for his unkempt state, he reached a hand toward Adriel. What did he want? Then she remembered humans touched hands as a form of greeting. She was just about to make contact when he yanked his hand back. Now, what?. Had she hesitated too long? Hurt his feelings?
“Er, sorry,” Hamlin returned to his kneading. “Sticky fingers are a hazard around here.” Cheerful eyes sparkled while he worked steadily at developing gluten, and the dough slowly turned elastic.
“So I see.”
“Hamlin’s a genius with pastry, and so is Wiletta—you’ll meet her next time. They went to culinary school together.” Pam skirted the table to grab a tray containing two dozen cinnamon rolls, which she quickly and expertly glazed with a sticky, white coating. Despite the eggs Adriel had just eaten, her mouth watered.
She could get to like this eating thing.
***
The sun was just starting to burn through the thinner places of a low-lying fog shadowing parts of the town of Longbrook under a cool, damp shroud. A million sparkling mirrored drops turned every sunlight-touched surface into a fairyland that faded back to normal in a matter of minutes as the heated sunshine drank away the moisture.
For the second day in a row, Adriel shot awake when the incessant whistle of heavy equipment reversing outside the cabin penetrated her dreams. Closer to her bedroom window today, the noises were louder than ever.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she gave in to the temptation to utter a word forbidden to angels. “Shasta daisy.” Nope, not even close to what she had intended to say. Why was the naughty filter still in place if she wasn’t an angel anymore?
Denied the release to be found in yelling obscenities, she clutched the pillow to her head in a desperate attempt to block out the racket. Another hour. That’s all she needed, just one more hour of sleep. Okay, maybe two.
When the noise cut off abruptly, Adriel sighed with relief before relaxing back into a light slumber that only lasted until the unmistakable sound of an argument forced her fully awake again.
She threw off the covers and stomped over to the window to twitch aside the curtain. Even with her excellent hearing, the glass muted enough of the sound that she couldn’t make out what they were saying. One little nudge on the sash let in the raised voices and heated words flying thick and fast between two people standing at the edge of the trench. Adriel never got a clear look at the woman with the sharp voice, but the burly man dressed in blue jeans, a white tee, and a yellow hard hat pulled low on his forehead seemed to be in charge of the work.
“It’s not deep enough,” insisted the woman.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job. You may have persuaded the town to sign off on this ridiculous waste of time and money, but that doesn’t make you a construction engineer. This is plenty deep enough for a ditch that will never get any use.”
She ignored this piece of truth. “Fine, then at least line it with stones so the grass won’t grow back.”
“Get back inside and let me handle the heavy lifting; or do you think your big mouth qualifies you to run a loader, too?”
“I don’t care for your tone.”
“And
