The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Twenty Six

It was hot. The kind that blistered skin and left heat haze shimmering over asphalt. Mike was glad he decided to bike. One step outside and he felt like cheese melting on pizza. The breeze, hot as it was, was at least something. Hair dryer gusts were better than a baking walk under the sun. The glare was oppressive too. Even with sunglasses, the city was washed out and opaque.

When Emma texted him it came as a surprise, which was surprising itself. Why did it catch him so off guard? They hung out all the time. At least, they used to. Admittedly, Mike had been preoccupied lately. When was the last time he saw her? Just after the fire at the church, when he tried to tell her about Lana? Had it really been so long?

The second he stopped his bike by the rack outside the pub, the heat hit again, squeezing like a sandwich press. By the time he finished with the lock, he had to remind himself to keep breathing. Even in the shade of the overhang, the brass handle on the pub’s old wooden door was hot to the touch.

Once inside, he was met with a gust of cool relief. The air conditioner was right above the door, blowing down on wilting patrons, instantly chilling a sheen of sweat. He spoke a few words to the hostess to let her know he was meeting someone, while his eyes adjusted to being inside. The shades were drawn down over the windows. Compared to outside it was practically nighttime. He blinked, scanning the room, familiar enough with the layout by now to know where they would seat guests first.

She was reading the menu at their usual table, and for a moment he just watched. Her auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail, catching the sunlight as it gently swung. A few stray strands lay over her face, and she wore a white sundress with red flowers.

A voice interrupted Mike’s thoughts. “Do you see her?” He’d already forgotten about the hostess.

“Yes, thanks.” His feet took him without need for further direction.

She tucked the loose hair behind her ear and crossed her legs under the knee-length dress.

Mike said, “Good thing you got here early to study the menu. So many choices.”

Emma rolled her eyes as he sat across from her. “You’re not half as clever as you think.”

As usual, he was surprised for a moment by her accent. It didn’t come across in text. He held his hand to his heart and breathed out a mock sigh of relief. “Then I’m still the cleverest guy you’ll meet all day.”

She stuck her tongue out at him but couldn’t hide the little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s about time you got here. I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”

“Never.” It came out more sincerely than he’d intended.

She eyed him. “Oh relax, it was just a joke.”

Mike noticed Emma was reading the drink menu and asked, “Special occasion?”

She sighed, “I’m knackered, if I’m honest. A rotten day at the end of a rotten week.”

The server approached the table before Mike could answer. She asked, “Can I start you two off with some drinks?”

Emma eyed him, waiting to see what he would order. After the heat, he just wanted something with ice. “Just water for me.”

She pouted, “You’d really make me drink alone?” When he didn’t say anything, she turned back to the server. “A mojito, please,” she sighed. “Just one, I guess.”

Emma turned her eyes on him. They were soft and brown and lovely. If there was one word to describe her, that would be it. More than any other woman in his life, Emma was lovely. Like a portrait of a flower on stained glass, early morning sunlight highlighting each petal and leaf placed just so. Except now the light was fading.

“Fine,” Mike sighed, “make it two.”

Her face lit up, and when she laughed it made him do the same. He tried to look chagrined, or at the very least resigned, but he couldn’t keep it from bubbling up.

“Alright,” he said, leaning forward. “So, what’s up?”

Emma looked around conspiratorially, leaned in, and pitched her voice low. “I’ve a bit of bother with a microwave.”

Mike blinked. He didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t that. “There’s a problem with your microwave?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. Sort of. I don’t want to talk about it right now. What’s new with you? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Still caught off guard by a potential microwave issue, he paused for a moment. He’d tried and failed to tell her about Lana, but what about Meredith? She’d made it clear they were strictly casual and had asked him not to tell anyone in case word got back to their co-workers. It was unlikely to be an issue with Emma, but still, it was the principle of the thing.

The situation with Allie was even murkier. They’d never had a conversation about a relationship, or many conversations at all, for that matter. Power and sex were the things they shared, which was not something you could casually bring up over lunch. It didn’t leave him with much.

“Not a lot. Classes are just keeping me busy. Econ and psych and marketing are all ramping up at the same time. It’s been a lot of, um, studying.” The lie sounded hollow even to himself.

Emma squinted at him. “Uh uh. Classes don’t make you look like that.” With her accent it sounded like clahhses. “Something’s up. You’re holding out on me. Spill.”

Shit. “What do you mean?”

“Michael Davis. I know you, and I know that look. There’s a girl.” She said again, “Spill.”

He felt his face heating up. Luckily, that was when the server came back with their drinks.

“Two mojitos. Anything to eat?”

Mike answered for both of them, since Emma was focused on him like a heat-seeking missile. “I think we need a little more time.”

Once she left, he held his glass out in salute. Emma was torn between thirst for gossip and thirst for ice-cold mojito. Mojito won. They clinked and shared the first long sip.

“What’s in these? I mean I know it’s mint.” He thought for a moment. “And definitely lime. Gin, maybe?”

“White rum,” she answered, setting the glass down and licking her lips.

“White rum?” he repeated. “I don’t think-”

“Nope,” she interrupted. “Not happening. S-p-i-l-l.”

Defeated, Mike settled on the safest ground he could find. “Alright, fine. There might be someone.”

Emma beamed and bounced in her seat. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Settle down. It’s new and she asked me not to tell anyone, so you’re not getting details. There, happy?”

Her smug smile drooped a little. “No details at all? That’s quite less than charitable.”

“None.”

“Rubbish,” she answered with a sniff. “Fine then, you can’t have my microwave story.”

Even when she was mad, Emma’s pretty accent and English turns of phrase made her impossibly cute. She pronounced the words like cahhn’t and hahhve. He could listen to her talk all day.

He snorted, “Oh no. What a tragedy. Let me guess, instead of the tray spinning in the microwave, the microwave started spinning around the tray!”

She gave him a look. “That’s quite an odd image, isn’t it? And no, I’m a bit gutted, if I’m honest. If I can’t have details, then neither can you.”

“Fine,” Mike said. “What else? Did you see they’re doing construction on Preston?”

“Ugh, yes, it’s near to my apartment so I have to take a different way home.”

It was nice talking of small things for a while. Mike had been spending so much time with people he’d just met that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a conversation with someone he actually knew. And Emma’s voice carried like a song. The way she told stories made him want to listen for the next phrase, the next note, the next line to the melody. After a time, their empty glasses were taken away and replaced with fresh ones. They clinked again.

The conversation moved to plans after college. Mike was looking forward to getting out of the classroom and into his cousin’s body shop. He looked down at his hands. The calluses from last summer were starting to fade. Those days flew by. And it wasn’t just the physical work, either. The back-office jobs didn’t even seem so bad. He didn’t know why the logistics of ordering parts and dealing with supplier backlogs made sense when economics and finance classes were like another language.

Emma wanted to go into fashion. Because of course she did. Everything she wore always looked amazing on her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but her outfits always seemed put together, in a complete sort of way. Her dress matched her shoes which matched her jewelry which matched her bag and so on. It was never just a tee shirt and jeans. And her clothes were always cut just right to fit her perfectly. Nothing ever seemed baggy or tight. Though that was probably because she was built like a model.

Most of all, it was nice to get the last few weeks out of his head. As fun as Allie and Meredith were, he was starting to feel like a piece of meat. And whenever he was with Lana, the pressure to release her from their bond was overwhelming.

Did she have a microwave in her apartment before? He tried to think of the last time he was there.

“Okay, explain the hat thing to me,” he said as the server brought another round of mojitos.

“What do you mean?”

“Your hats,” he nodded to the wide brim in the seat next to her, peaking over the edge of the table. This one had a white band around the crown and was decorated with roses. It matched her red and white floral-patterned sundress, because of course it did. “I mean, they look great, but that’s at least the third big hat I’ve seen you wear…”

“Have you been noticing my clothes?” Emma grinned.

“…and there’s no way they’re functional. Maybe they’re useful on days like today, but what do you do with it when you’re inside? Or when it’s cloudy? Where do you even keep them all? It just seems like an oddly specific accessory to have more than one of.”

Had something exploded in the microwave?

She was staring over his shoulder, the look in her eyes far away. When she noticed he was waiting for a response, she shook her head and replied, “I’m terribly sorry, what did you say? I don’t usually drink this much.” She dropped her voice low and giggled, “I’m actually a bit bladdered, if I’m honest.”

Mike smirked and shook his head. “Why all the hats?”

“Ah.” She looked thoughtful, like she was feeling out the words. “Part of it is just being creative. Seeing something like a dress or a bag or anything, really, and building an outfit around it. It all comes together in my head and then I need to see it. And part of it is like a puzzle. I might have earrings and shoes that I really like together, but finding the rest of the pieces to finish the outfit is a challenge I quite enjoy.”

Emma leaned in and dropped her voice. “And the last part is that there’s nothing quite like knowing you look good. When everything is working together and you know. You go for a walk, and women look twice.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Women?”

She gave him a knowing smile. “Boys are easy. We can turn boys’ heads with a little skin and a decent push-up. But when women get that look in their eye, that half-jealous, half-impressed look that says, ‘Bastard, you look amazing and you’re a real git for it.’”

He loved how she said bah-stuhd.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. “Mmm. It’s better than sex.”

Mike looked her over again while she was distracted with her own daydream. Her earrings were roses. Her bracelet was gold with red and white flowers. Her bag was white with red trim. The hat fit right in. He never appreciated the attention to detail that turned clothes into an outfit. She really could be a designer. Or a model.

“There. Now I’ve given you a peak behind the scenes. I hope it doesn’t take away,” she waved her hand up and down her body, “from the magic.”

He gave her a look, straight-faced and disbelieving, until she cracked and covered her face in her hands.

“Please forget I said that,” she laughed, blushing between her fingers. She took a moment to compose herself, before saying, “But come now, I’ve given you something, be a mate.” When he didn’t respond she said, “Come on! That’s not fair!”

Was the microwave sparking or something? It was starting to bug him. And Emma was adorable when she pouted. What harm could it really do? “Fine, but then you’ll tell me the microwave story?”

Emma quickly nodded.

“Okay, but first, I need to use the bathroom.” When he stood, the alcohol hit all at once. It wasn’t impossible to stand straight, just a little harder than usual. He touched the table for balance.

“Alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, but they’re strong,” he nodded to the pair of mostly-empty mojitos. How many was that now? When he returned, the server was standing next to their table with an expectant look.

Emma asked, “Shall we have one more round?”

He waved his hand. “I don’t think so, we’re probably-”

“One more round of Mojitos please,” she interrupted with a giggle. The server looked to him for confirmation.

Mike sighed, “One more I guess.”

“Listen, it’s even fun to say. Mow-hee-toe,” Emma laughed. “Come on, say it with me.”

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Mow-hee-toe.” She giggled again. He had to admit, it was fun to say. Maybe he was drunker than he thought.

When the server returned with their drinks, Emma’s face turned serious. “Okay, time to dish, who’s the lass?”

Right. He’d already forgotten he agreed to that. He took a sip to collect his thoughts. “Just between us, okay? I told her I would-”

“Yes, yes. Dish.”

No way to get out of it now. “Her name’s Meredith. She works with me.”

“She paints?”

“More like an admin to help Tom. She does scheduling and ordering and stuff like that.”

“Is she cute?”

“Mmhmm. More than cute. She’s worked there for-”

“Wait,” Emma interrupted. “Dark hair? Curly? Wears a lot of buttoned-downs and sunglasses up here?” she mimicked sliding sunglasses to the top of her head.

That couldn’t be good. “Uh, yeah. You know her?”

“You introduced us last year, dork. At some bloke’s house. Alex, maybe?”

He’d forgotten about that. “Oh yeah, right. Andy. So you have met.”

Emma grinned at him proudly. “She’s hot. How long’s it been?”

“A few weeks now.”

Her eyes flashed. “Now I know why you’ve been dodging me. She said she wants to keep it casual, and you’re not supposed to tell anyone? Do you think she’s seeing someone else?”

“She doesn’t want it to be awkward at work. And, I don’t know. I guess she could be.” Mike eyed the way Emma was staring at him. “What’s that look for?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Come on, you have a microwave to move.”

Caught off guard by the whole thing, Mike watched Emma tilt her glass back and down her mojito. He shrugged and followed suit.

“Wait, what do you mean move?”

She swayed when she stood. Then she giggled and held his arm for support. “Shall we?”