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fast, because the room spun. Stumbling back to the edge of the bed, she sat and took some deep breaths. Then she got up again, slowly.
    When she reached the living room, she could see Gabe, setting the table, with two place settings this time. He wore the same clothes as yesterday—the black jeans and the black T-shirt with the white wings across the front, but he looked different.
    More human, she decided, with his tousled hair and the shadow of beard stubble etching his strong jaw.
    He saw her and pulled out a chair for her. She collapsed into it and tried to clear her mind, realizing she couldn’t clear her mind because her angel was still in it.
    He put her yellow smiling face coffee mug in front of her, filled with steaming coffee and with the milk added. She wrapped both hands around it, inhaled, and swallowed a tentative sip.
    The warmth and the flavor soothed her aching head. She took another sip and closed her eyes, carefully holding the mug, feeling the heat flow into her hands, and into her soul.
    She could sense Gabe standing beside her, watching her. Her headache pulsed, as she tried to banish his image. And then she quit trying, because resisting her illusion wasn’t working. Resisting her illusion only made her head hurt more.
    And pushing away what she was really feeling—that wasn’t helping either.
    “I did feel angry last night,” she admitted, feeling her shoulders slump and loosen. “But I’m tired of being angry.”
    “Now you can be sad,” he said, in a voice so kind it took her breath away.
    A lump of emotion lodged in her throat. She set the mug on the table, took her hands away, and covered her eyes. Then she started to cry.
    “Jessi.” He swung her chair toward him and knelt in front of her. “That’s good,” he said. “It’s okay for you to cry.”
    In her mind, she heard her grandmother’s words . It’s all right to feel sad . But, her grandmother was not here. Gabe was here. He gripped her shoulders and lightly rubbed his thumbs over her aching muscles.
    She bent her head toward his chest and he gathered her into his arms and held her, strong and sure.
    And real.
    She didn’t know how long she cried, but it seemed like a very long time. “I’ve cried all over your shirt,” she said. “All over your wings.” At least, all over the white wings on the front of the T-shirt he wore.
    “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a shirt.”
    She placed her hand on the damp fabric, and looked up at his eyes. “Do you have wings?”
    Smile lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Would you like me to have wings?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “I have all the basic parts,” he said, with that teasing smile. “And they work.”

Chapter Four
     
    After a breakfast of coffee and dry toast and aspirin, and a long hot shower, Jessibelle walked to work with Gabe, who had insisted on coming along. Since there was nothing she could do about whether or not her illusion followed her, she didn’t object. And, she liked having him around. She was beginning to accept her craziness.
    “I love your shower,” Gabe said, as they crossed Chatham Street.
    The apartment’s showerhead featured a pulse mechanism that pounded the water into your back, massaging out aches and spasms and unhappy spots.
    Gabe marveled at everything. The shower, the coffee, his eggs and the way the yolk spilled into the toast. The buds on the cherry trees amazed him, as they hovered along the branches, ready to bloom. The scent of the air enticed him, as the spring breeze mixed with the smell of the ocean. Jessibelle felt an accepting smile touch her lips.
    And then she caught herself. She still had to get through this next month.
    “You said there were three things we had to do to get ready for the wedding,” she said, remembering, and wanting to get on with the process. “What are the other two?”
    “First, the dress.” He held the big glass door open for her and they entered City Realty.
    Jessibelle started