Page 16 of Take Me For Granite

“April—”

“You heard me?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

He hesitates. That is not reassuring.

“Gabriel.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me talking about Derek?”

“Your former boyfriend?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Oh, God.”

“The one who apparently lacks the ability to prepare frozen poultry?”

I groan.

“And whose infidelity involved a personal trainer?”

“Stop.”

“And who has made an unreasonable claim upon something to which fries air?”

“STOP!”

He does. But there’s a definite smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I stare at him.

“You heard everything.”

“More than I ever wished to know.”

I cover my face. This cannot be happening. It simply cannot. I have spent an entire week telling my deepest, darkest secrets to a gargoyle. I’ve cried and laughed and schemed. I’ve complained about Derek’s bedroom skills or lack thereof.

A gargoyle who is apparently a hot, naked man.

A hot, naked man who knows about my cheating ex-boyfriend, my bank account, my plumbing problems, and the fact that I once accidentally sent a very inappropriate text message to my former boss.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. “I need more wine.”

“I don’t think that’s advisable.”

I drop my hands. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve already consumed a considerable amount.”

I stare at him. “Have you been counting?”

“Three glasses.”

My mouth falls open. “You’re a judgmental statue.”