Angel Wings by Suzanne Stengl

She was happy. Right now. She didn’t need anyone to make her happy—she was happy. Period. She felt like putting on her dress and twirling.
    But first, she had to get off this bus and get home.
    About fifteen minutes later, she reached her apartment building. Fumbling in her purse, she tried to find her keys and not drop her package.
    “Oh, hello, dear,” Mrs. Hartfield said. She wore her pale blue raincoat and carried her huge red purse. “Shopping? Here, let me.” Mrs. Hartfield unlocked the building door and they rode up the elevator together. Mrs. Hartfield told Jessibelle how her grandson could hold his head up now and blow smile bubbles. She was still talking about the baby when they reached the end of their hall.
    “Let me open the door for you.” Mrs. Hartfield took Jessibelle’s keys. “What did you buy?”
    “A dress to go to a wedding.”
    “A wedding! How exciting! You must show me!”
    Late afternoon sunshine filled the living room as Jessibelle opened the box and held up her dress.
    “Oh!” Mrs. Hartfield clasped her hands over her heart.
    Feeling happy and pretty and—she would have said in love except she wasn’t in love, not anymore—Jessibelle held the dress up in front of herself and spun in a circle.
    “Oooo,” Mrs. Hartfield said, looking in the box and lifting a piece of tissue paper. “These look precious!”
    Jessibelle set her dress on the couch and looked in the box—at the lacy froth of red panties. A shade of red that perfectly matched her dress. How had he—?
    “Oh my,” Mrs. Hartfield exclaimed again. She held up a red sandal by its strap. “Simply lovely, dear. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
     
    · · · · ·
     
    When Mrs. Hartfield left, Jessibelle hung the dress in her closet, put the panties in her drawer and tried on the sandals.
    They fit perfectly. Of course, they would. Since an angel had picked them out for her.
    She took a few steps, testing them, and discovered that she felt surprisingly stable in the high heels. Then, she smelled food.
    The rich aroma of spaghetti sauce if she was not mistaken. She left her bedroom and headed down the hall, pausing as she entered the living room. From here, she could see her grandmother’s table. It had been bare when she’d come into the apartment. Now it was set with her Serendipity china, yellow candles and white roses.
    Gabe walked out of the galley kitchen and stood next to the table. He still wore the black dress shirt and the black dress pants he’d worn at the Jolie Femme . His gaze swept over her.
    “Like the shoes?”
    “Yes,” she answered, remembering she was still wearing them. They felt feather light on her feet.
    “Do you like spaghetti?”
    She inhaled the tempting smells, realizing she was hungry. “Yes.”
    “And a Merlot to go with it?”
    More wine? After last night? She checked herself, and realized that no traces of wine damage remained.
    Yes,” she said for the third time.
    He held out a chair for her and helped her to sit. Afternoon light gave way to the beginning shades of sunset as the colors bathed the room in warmth and magic.
    Gabe poured the wine. “To a successful shopping trip,” he said, holding up his glass in a toast to her.
    “Yes,” she agreed. “Very successful.” She clinked his glass and felt the wonderment of her situation.
    “Did you like the panties?”
    A dizzy bashfulness caressed her skin. Not real embarrassment, something else. Something personal, almost intimate. “I—ah . . .”
    “Not sure?” Playfulness etched his face. “You can model them for me, if you’d like.”
    She felt her face flush. “You’re very helpful.”
    “I aim to please.”
    They ate their pasta and drank their wine and bantered about the orange haired saleslady. And soon, their meal was finished.
    A sense of peace wrapped around her as the evening moved inexorably forward. She twirled the remnants of her wine in the glass, watching the light play over the liquid.