Page 36 of Living with Death

I pull the butter top off, spoon some, and flop it into the pan. “I’ve had pancakes a thousand times. Besides, I’m not a breakfast person. I like lunch and dinner.” The butter begins to sizzle, melting down. “My grams always kept some in the house, so I do, just in case the mood strikes.”

He nods, and I take a sip of my coffee as I mix the ingredients, enjoying the sunshine warming my skin.

“She likes lunch and dinner,” he says.

I smirk. “Keeping mental notes?”

“Always.”

I spoon the ingredients into the pan before leaning against the counter, bending my knee, and placing my foot behind me. My robe falls open. Azrael’s eyes go to my legs. I refrain from covering them. “How long have you been watching me, anyway?”

He leans back in his chair, wearing a black shirt and dark jeans. “A while.” He looks away from my legs. “Off and on.” His hands rest on the table, long, thick fingers. My eyes roam his forearm. His veins twist under tattoos, and his muscles flex as he strums his fingers lightly.

“Why?” I turn around to flip the pancake.

“Let’s just say you caught my attention.”

I scoff. “That’s not an answer.” I reach into the top cabinet and grab a plate, setting it beside the stove.

“Would you like syrup?”

He smiles. “I don’t know. Would I?”

I grin. “You would.”

I scoop up the pancake and place it onto the plate before grabbing the syrup and drizzling it over the pancake. I set the plate in front of Azrael. He holds his fork, cutting into the pancake as butter slips down the side, along with the sweet syrup. He looks at me as he takes a bite.

I smile. Azrael’s eyes light up. “Good, huh?”

“This is exceptional.”

I turn the burner off and put the pan into the sink before dumping the mix into the trash. “You never answered me. What would you like to do?” I turn the water on and fill the sink, adding soap.

“Well, I’ve already crossed out a few things on my list, so let’s do something on yours.”

I place my hand in the warm water, thinking as I wash the dishes and hearing his fork hit the plate as he eats. I watch the bubbles roll off the side of the bowl, gazing out the Pella garden window Grandpop installed for Grams. The sun catches an airplane. “Let’s take that airplane ride.”

“Where to?”

A few leaves fall onto the glass. “I’d like an aerial view of the trees around here during autumn.”

*

I’m shaking, and my stomach is in knots. I took Cook's advice and dipped into my father’s money. We booked a private flight to take us around for thirty minutes. I’m praying my heart will keep beating for that long. Azrael looks over at me.

“You okay?” The plane begins to take off.

I clutch the seat as it shakes, and sweat trails down my back. “No.” The engine grows louder, and my mouth dries.

Flying was a bad idea.

“Why did I want to do this?”

Azrael laughs and leans over to my ear. “You’ll be fine, Mabel. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I look at him, and he grabs my hand. A spark ignites where our hands connect. One I wasn’t expecting. I swallow, and he runs his thumb over mine. It brings me comfort. “Look out. You wanted to see the trees, remember?”

I inhale and look out the window, watching as the world drops below us. My stomach falls, excitement replaces anxiety, and I smile from ear to ear.

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