A Pocketful of Gems

Chapter 7: a pocket full of rye - Part 3

A table set for two was laid out inside the lighthouse. The glittering yellow flame of the candelabrums reflected orange on the tableware, the large thick glass windows and the unlit bulb of the lighthouse. Spencer stood beside the table; the fingers from his left hand touched the table while his other hand was behind his back. His hair had been brushed and held back from his face with a thin black hairband, the loose golden curls framed him like a halo with streaks of light where the candle's flame shone through the spaces between his curls.

My mouth opened, not to speak, and certainly not to breath; mortals dare not draw breath in the presence of Angels.

Spencer smiled, it was smug and knowing and adoring and satisfied all at once.

"Happy birthday, Gemma."

-

I was bristling.

Spencer seated me quietly, smile still smugging adorable on his face.

"Who told you?"

"That's not important."

"It is to importa- Clara?"

Clara skipped out wearing an elegant little black dress and gold flats.

"Good evening, my name is Clara and I will be your waitress tonight, assisting me will be Mark, who'll be our wine server and chef." She smiled gleefully as Mr. Meyer, decked out in a crisp chef's uniform and pressed white apron, approached our table.

"Close your mouth girls you're drooling on the fine linen," Spencer put his elbows on the table and sat forward. I snapped my mouth shut.

"Good evening, guests, I'm glad you could make it," Mr. Meyer smiled down at us. He produced a bottle from behind his back, "here we have the house's finest, Merlot, made of the finest cranberries Ocean Spray could grow."

I giggled as he poured us a glass each.

He placed the fake bottle of wine in the ice bucket.

"For the appetizer I'll be serving you up a savoury bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon, I do hope it will be to your liking."

Clara came and stood beside him, smile wide, she winked at me and mouthed what I'm pretty certain was, 'overtime pay coming my way'.

Mr. Meyer offered her his arm and when she took it eagerly he escorted her away.

Spencer sipped his 'Merlot' and placed the glass back in the exact spot he'd taken it from.

"Who were the two guys?"

"My step-dad Martin with a 'y' not an 'i' and Eve's dad Cruz," he tilted his head to the right. "The lady serenading us-"

"Serenading?" I tilted my head to listen over the sound of rain against the lighthouse windows. "I don't hear any serenading."

He smiled. A soft strumming started up behind me, I turning in my seat, my dress crinkling, and looked into the back of the curved room. Just behind the stair rails a dark lady sat cradling a violin under her chin.

"Hello, Mrs. Adams," she's Abel's mom, "that's really beautiful."

She smiled and her dark eyes twinkled, I blushed and turned back to Spencer.

"How did you get these people to do all this?"

"I asked nicely."

"With that smile?" I accused.

"But of course."

Clara brought out a platter of thinly sliced bagels smeared with cream cheese and topped with a fold of orangey-pink salmon and a sprig of dill.