Abraham understood. And he knew better than to trust her.
Beth said, “Actually, I just wanted someone to talk to.”
“No, really. I mean, you know how hard it is being what we are. No one trusts you. Everything, even just a simple hello, gets construed as some sort of game. I haven’t had meaningful social contact in three weeks, and it hurts.”
Abraham raised a single eyebrow. His time in Heaven hadn’t dampened his sense of style or grooming. His white polo was emblazoned with the library’s logo of a book in a halo, and he managed to wear it like he chose it, instead of the other way around. “You pulled me from a meeting for ‘meaningful social contact?'”
“You didn’t mention you were in a meeting!” Beth threw her hands up. “I’m sorry, then. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”
“What did you expect? I’m an angel. You’re an almost-demon.”
“Would this be the best time to remind you that less than two weeks ago, you were a demon cavorting with an almost-angel?”
“Cavorting is a strong word.”
“Would you prefer madly in love with?”
His eyes flared. She shrugged and quickly added, “It’s fine. I don’t care. Your secret is safe with me—and whoever else saw you making puppy eyes.”
That was probably not the wisest thing to say. But hey—she’d already lost his help by taking him from that meeting he refused to tell her about. Apparently, becoming an angel mandated passive-aggression.