“I'll be sure not to let anyone but you carry me in her arms." He turns and leaves the kitchen before I can figure out what to make of his comment. A sense of humor is one more thing I don't think angels should have. The fact that his sense of humor is corny makes it even more wrong.”

“A sense of humor is one more thing I don't think angels should have. The fact that his sense of humor is corny makes it even more wrong.”

“So long as you don't bleed in the shape of wing joints, you should pass for human. Oh, and don't let anyone pick you up. They'll know you're not right as soon as they feel how light you are.""I'll be sure not to let anyone but you carry me in her arms.”

“In the long second before everyone absorbs what just happened, I see the angel rolling his eyes heavenward, like a teenager in the presence of overwhelming lameness. Some people just have no sense of gratitude.”

“You should know,” he says. His whisper is low enough that even angels probably couldn’t hear it beyond the background noise of conversations in the corridor. “I don’t even like you.”

“I don't have the luxury of leaning on anyone's strength, least of all an angel's.”

“Hey, I don’t call the shots,” he says. “If I was good at marketing, I’d spin you an empty story that sounds profound. But the truth is that we’re all just stumbling around in the dark. Sometimes we hit something terrible.”“That’s it? It can’t be as random as that.” I don’t know what I want to hear, but that’s not it.“It’s always as random as that.”He sounds more like a seasoned soldier than any angel I’ve ever heard of. One thing’s for sure—I’m not going to get a lot of answers out of him.My hand stays out with the offered food long enough to make the moment awkward. “Don’t you want it?” I ask.“That depends on why you’re giving it to me.”I shrug. “Sometimes, as we’re stumbling along in the dark, we hit something good.”