Page 58

An hour later, we’ve covered cars, television, cell phones, and I give him a very abbreviated history of the internet.

Gabriel is fascinated by most of it.

Except social media. He thinks social media is proof that humanity has suffered a catastrophic decline in intelligence.

I don’t entirely disagree.

We’ve also established that he considers modern men’s fashion an affront to civilization, though he admits jeans look comfortable.

“Wait until you discover sweatpants that actually fit,” I tell him.

“These are perfectly adequate.”

“Gabriel, you’re one wrong move away from a wardrobe malfunction.”

He looks down at Derek’s gray sweatpants. “They are rather restrictive.”

I make the mistake of looking, too.

The fabric molds to his thick thighs and all of his other parts. He might as well be wearing a Speedo. Yep, everything is perfectly outlined.

“If you keep staring at me that way, that wardrobe malfunction is almost a guarantee,” he says, his voice husky.

I glance up at his face. “Sorry.” I close the laptop. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What do you miss most?”

He looks at me. “About being human?”

“Yeah.”

He considers the question. I expect him to say traveling. Or running his businesses. Or ordering people around in person instead of telepathically.

But he surprises me.

“Walking.”

I blink. “Walking?”

“Outside. Whenever I wished.”

He looks toward the windows.

“Every morning, before breakfast, I would walk down to the pond. There’s an enormous oak tree near the water. I would stand beneath it for a few minutes and enjoy the quiet.”

I picture him doing exactly that.

A younger Gabriel, probably wearing an expensive suit and thinking very important billionaire thoughts.

“Sounds nice.”

“It was.”

He looks down at his hands.

“I haven’t stood beneath that tree in one hundred and forty-three years.”