It felt like I’d been waiting forever. Just the last month—the last two weeks, since I’d started dropping off gifts for Angel—even that felt like a lifetime.
I checked my phone outside my next stop.
No new messages.
“Shit.” It wasn’t a shock, really. My phone sat in the cup holder in my console, right where I could see the caller ID the moment it rang. My mom called once, and Becca later on, to see if Angel had been in touch.
“Not yet,” I’d told her around four.
“He’s probably out for the day.” She’d tried to comfort me. “When else would he have time to shop?”
“Maybe.”
“Or he could be at his mother’s. They might be baking you something.”
“I have a package for Mrs. Ramos.” I said.
“Ooh. Maybe he’ll be there. That would be a Hallmark movie moment…or like something in an Officer and
