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“You want to buy a what?”
Aziraphale sighed. He might have known that Crowley would find his new idea a tad unusual, but he didn’t need to use such a puzzled tone, as if it were so outlandish as to be preposterous.
“A cottage,” he said as he handed over a steaming cup of tea to his best friend, who had somehow taken over more of the bookshop sofa with his long lanky body than could be possible. “A nice one. With a thatched roof.”
He sat in his desk chair across from the sofa, sipping his own tea. “And a white picket fence.”
Crowley gaped. “In the countryside.”
“Well, of course in the countryside. That’s where the cottages are.” Honestly.
“But—“ Crowley waved a hand at the bookshop. “What about this? You aren’t giving up the books!”
“No, I’m not. I simply want to get away from the city – it’s so busy and bright and fast-paced.”
“Never bothered you that much for the past whatever centuries—“ Crowley paused to scratch his head. “How long have we lived here?”
“Too long. I need a respite. Especially after—“ He rarely mentioned their miraculous escape from the apocalypse. Crowley didn’t like to talk about it. “Well, after everything was so hectic. My idea is to find a quiet little village somewhere south of here, and stay there during the week. Quietly. And then come up to Town on the weekends to stay here at the bookshop, and go to dinner or the theatre.”
Crowley frowned. “And what am I supposed to be doing while you’re vegetating in the country? I am not watching the bookshop for you.”
“Of course you won’t be watching the bookshop.” Didn’t he understand? Ah, perhaps it’s because I left that bit out. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Naturally, I want you to live at the cottage, too, my dear.”
“Me?” Crowley nearly dropped his tea cup. “In the country?” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “With a picket fence? Are you mad?”
“You needn’t be so antagonistic.” This discussion was not going the way Aziraphale wanted it to. He wanted Crowley with him wherever he went – and he needed to keep him close. “Please at least think about it – how do you know you’d hate it if you haven’t tried it before?”
“So that’s what these are all about.” Crowley ignored the question as he picked up the top magazine from a large pile on the coffee table. “Country Life.”
Aziraphale had been perusing periodicals about the joys of rural living, and had been researching various areas. “Yes. The South Downs area looks very promising. Perhaps you could drive me there this weekend to look around?”
“Right. You’re going to live in the blasted country without a car, and without being able to drive. Good luck with that.” Crowley flipped through the magazine pages.
“If you’re not going to be helpful, at least don’t be hurtful.” He would have to give up his dream, he supposed, if the dear fellow wouldn’t come along.
Crowley had paused to study one of the articles. “Hm. Interesting.”
Aziraphale perked up. Was he actually reconsidering? Had a particularly lovely photograph enticed him? “What is it?”
“Did you read this?” He set his tea cup down and held the magazine spread up.
Sometimes You Have to Follow the Signs was the article title. “No, I didn’t. What does it mean?”
“It’s about people who found their precious little dream cottages by looking for signs – you know, special names or objects with a personal meaning just for them.”
“Ah. Such as?”
Crowley set the magazine on the coffee table and pointed to a photograph of a thatched-roof cottage surrounded by rose bushes. “Says they’re all David Austin roses, whatever those are, and the happy couple looking for a home are called Austin.” He sneered as he added, “It spoke to them.”
“I think that’s quite lovely.” Aziraphale picked up the magazine and looked over the photographs. “Ah, this cottage was named Shepherd’s Delight by the former owner, who sold it to a woman who owns German Shepherd dogs. How sweet.”
“Load of sentimental rubbish, if you ask me.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I didn’t ask you.”
“Really, Angel, it’s not my thing. You should know that.”
As he continued studying the article, an idea suddenly struck. “I suppose it isn’t…but, what if there were a sign that it was destined to be?”
He believed in destiny. Very much so. He would simply have to trust in it for this terribly important change in his life.
“A sign.” Crowley took up his tea cup and drained it. “Such as?”
“I’m not sure yet – we need to go there and find out.”
“Still not following you, Angel.”
Aziraphale tapped at the magazine. “We will go in search of a cottage, and if something speaks to you, then it’s meant to be.” He smiled, knowing now how to appeal to him. “Would you be willing to take that risk?”
As he expected, Crowley wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “Oh, you think I won’t go in case some idiotic sign ‘speaks’ to me, and proves you right, is that it? Are you actually daring me to go?”
Aziraphale smiled. “I suppose I am.”
“Right. You’re on.” Crowley grinned. “And trust me, no bloody rose bush is going to speak to me – not if I talk to it first in my own special way. So don’t get your hopes up.”
“Fine.” Aziraphale wasn’t worried.
This was a challenge he intended to win.
What he did, after Crowley left that evening, was to speak a prayer.
During the days following the near-destruction of the Earth, Aziraphale had done a great deal of thinking about his relationship with the Almighty.
Heaven was one thing – he would not be going there again, of that he was fairly certain. And he would not be speaking to any archangels again, either.
Which was perfectly fine. He loved being Earthbound, not only because of its multitude of delights, and not just because he adored his bookshop. He would never leave Earth of his own free will because Crowley would never leave it, either.
And he loved his dearest friend.
Not that he’d actually told Crowley this, but he would when the time was right, and that time, he felt, was when he’d found the perfect away place, as he liked to think of it.
London held too many fraught memories. Yes, there were also many good ones as well, but there were old hurts here, and newer strains, and it simply wasn’t the right place to start their new life together.
So he wanted to get away, and he would find that place where he and Crowley were meant to be – a place where they were free from all constraints, where there could be solace from past pain, where they could love each other.
Aziraphale had thought a great deal about the Divine Plan, and destiny, and the Ineffable Plan, and his part in it all. What if, Crowley had asked that fateful evening, the Almighty planned it this way all along – from the very beginning?
Well, of course She had. Omniscient, omnipotent deities could hardly be taken by surprise, after all, over any event. Which meant, so far as he was concerned, that he and Crowley were intended to be together. When all was said and done, Armageddon never happened, the world had been set back to the way it was, and the only thing that was truly changed was the fact that neither he nor Crowley were beholden to Heaven or Hell and were free, for the first time since the Beginning, to do as they wished.
Which seemed to him to be an awful lot of trouble to take over an angel and a demon’s well-being, but who was he to question the ineffable?
No, he wouldn’t question it. He would simply be grateful.
And since the Almighty had obviously allowed them to escape retribution and to live in peace, he may as well offer a heartfelt thank you, and also a little prayer.
Please let there be a sign.
“It’s moldy,” Crowley said as he poked around the kitchen.
Aziraphale rather liked the first cottage the agent showed them. It had a thatched roof, and though the garden was a bit small and there was no picket fence, he could probably fix that. “I don’t see anything.”
“Nope. But I can smell it.”
The two-bedroom place was on the outskirts of a quaint village which he also found enchanting. “Perhaps we could miracle it away?”
“Only if you want to be doing that every single week. It’s bad.”
“All right. Fine.”
“Also, I haven’t seen anything like one of those signs you think will turn up.”
“No? What about the village – it’s called Milton’s End.”
Crowley sniffed behind the refrigerator. “Nope. Doesn’t do a thing for me. That idiot got so much wrong.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Well, it’s early days. I’m sure we’ll find it.”
“Yeesh.” Crowley made a face. “It smells like Ligur back there.” He shuddered.
“I said it’s fine!” This was uphill work. “Let’s just go.”
His real estate agent, a woman named Helen, was waiting outside. “What did you think?”
“Not quite right,” Aziraphale said kindly, not wanting to upset her.
“It stank,” Crowley put in, ruining the effort.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry to hear that. But I have several other charming properties to show you today. Shall we go?” She headed for her sedan.
As they got into the Bentley, Crowley said, “Can’t wait to be charmed some more.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Then he thought of something, and as he climbed into the passenger seat, he smiled as he said, “Angels are rather charming, and you don’t seem to mind me.”
Crowley pulled onto the road to follow the agent’s sedan. “Give me another thousand years or so and I might get there.”
The next cottage, several miles away in a different town did have a great deal of charm. Bay windows were always a favorite of Aziraphale’s, and while it didn’t have a thatched roof, there was a white picket fence round the front, and Helen promised a splendid garden in back.
He and Crowley walked through the home. No bad odors this time. And the woodwork! Beamed ceilings, built-in oak hutch in the living area – and one of the bedrooms had built-in bookcases. This was looking much more promising.
Then they walked out the back door to look at the garden.
And found a very large apple tree right in the center.
Crowley practically growled at it. “I don’t think so, Angel.”
“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale sighed. “So sorry.”
“I got a very bad rep for that one small temptation.”
“Yes, I know, I know. But really, it wasn’t that awful, if you don’t mind my saying so. Started humanity off on its pursuit of knowledge, after all. Where would humans even be without leaving Eden?”
“Yeah, yeah. Heard that one before, too.” Crowley shook his head. “Maybe they wouldn’t have murdered a few billion or more of their own kind in the name of God. I liked Eden just fine before that nonsense with the damned apple tree.” He spun on his heel. “Let’s go.”
Sadly, Aziraphale had to agree with him there.
The next property had mice in the attic. Crowley could hear them.
The cottage after that had been named after the current owner, with a large carved sign hanging from the porch: Gabriel’s Grove.
Even Aziraphale didn’t bother going inside that one.
By late afternoon, after stopping for lunch at a village café, they were both tired. But there was one final property to view, so they headed off once more. Crowley yawned several times as he trailed behind the estate agent’s sedan.
Aziraphale felt discouraged. He so wanted this to work out, and he had felt so strongly that the right place was waiting for them here. If only there would be a sign. He needed one desperately.
“Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?” he asked. “That is, if this final property doesn’t suit.”
Crowley tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Angel, there hasn’t even been the inkling of one of those signs you want. Almost the opposite.”
“Yes, I know. But I want this to happen.” He put a pleading note into his voice. “Please think about it? For my sake?”
Crowley’s fingers stilled as he snuck a quick glance across. “All right. Not sure why it’s so blasted important, but all right. For your sake.”
“Oh, thank you.” Everything was going to be fine.
Crowley pulled off the main road to follow Helen down a narrower lane. “Not much out here.”
They had passed through a small village about a mile back, and now there seemed to be nothing but green fields broken up by hedgerows, with cottages dotted here and there.
The agent turned off a short ways down the lane into the drive of a white-washed, thatched-roof cottage. The land beyond it stretched quite far without any other habitation, though Aziraphale could see two more cottages about half a mile further down the lane.
“I think it’s very peaceful,” he said as Crowley came to a stop. The flat fields divided by hedges led to a gently sloping hill that seemed to stretch quite a long ways.
Helen opened the gate of the white picket fence for them, then went to unlock the door. “I do hope this is better for you. Two bedrooms, garage, large garden with two outbuildings in the back. The furniture is available if you’re interested. Do take your time. I have calls to make, but let me know if you have any questions.” She returned to her car.
Aziraphale caught his breath as he walked into the living room. Another bay window. A fireplace. Fine woodwork. The furnishings were from another era – mostly Edwardian. He dared not say a word, for fear Crowley would make a sneering remark.
He walked into the dining area to admire a Mission oak table and matching buffet. This was splendid. Crowley sauntered after him, following about as he explored the well-appointed kitchen, and then on down a hallway to inspect two large bedrooms, a full bath with a claw foot tub, and a small laundry room.
He loved it.
And he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Don’t spoil this. Please don’t let there be any mice or mold or unfortunate names.
He steeled himself for the garden. Please no apple trees.
Aziraphale walked through the kitchen to a door that led to the back yard. He took a deep breath, opened it, and strode outside.
There was a trellis with climbing roses. There were herb beds and flower beds and vegetable beds. There were cobblestones paths, and a rock garden with a little fountain, and flowering shrubs along one side.
In the center of the garden stood a pear tree.
Please. He sent up a silent prayer. Give Crowley a sign.
The object of his plea strode along the paths, idly fingering the plants as he went. “Hm. Not bad.”
Aziraphale let out a pent-up breath. “I wonder what the outbuildings are for.” There were two small buildings at the back of the garden. He walked over to one and opened the door. “Ah, potting shed.”
Crowley went to the other, slightly larger one and looked inside. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Aziraphale stepped in behind him. It was an airy, light-filled space with windows round two sides and skylights in the ceiling. A sink stood against one wall, near built-in storage shelves of a peculiar narrowness. “Those are odd.”
“It’s an art studio.” Crowley fingered the shelves. “These are for storing canvases.”
Hope filled Aziraphale. “You like art.” Crowley had acquired some amazing pieces over the centuries, and he knew that his friend had spent many years in the company of da Vinci. Could this be the sign?
“Could use a hobby,” Crowley said in a thoughtful tone.
“Yes! Absolutely splendid idea.” Did he actually know how to paint? Aziraphale felt that he really ought to know that – best friends surely knew everything about one another, didn’t they? “You could paint in here. Yes?”
Crowley pursed his lips. “Leonardo did teach me a few things. Spent a lot of time in his studio.” Then he shrugged. “Long time ago. Probably too long to remember any of it. Come on.”
As he headed back out to the garden, Aziraphale felt the moment had been lost.
“It’s a lovely home, though, isn’t it?” he said as they walked down the cobblestone path. “And that village we passed through looked most promising. I spotted at least one café, and a bakery.”
“Yeah, it’s the best one we’ve seen, I’ll give you that,” Crowley replied as they strolled back into the cottage. “No sign, though. Let’s talk to that agent of yours. Maybe it has a name. You know, like Michael’s Hideaway or Dante’s Delight.”
“No one would name a cottage Dante’s Delight.” Aziraphale felt a twinge of regret as he shut the front door behind them. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be after all.
Helen hopped out of her car as they came down the front walkway. “Well? Isn’t it perfect?”
Crowley stood in a well-practiced slouch, head tilted, hands deep in his jeans pockets, looking supremely skeptical. “Tell me, does it have a name?”
“Oh, I forgot to mention that. Yes. It’s called Eden Cottage.”
Aziraphale gasped. “Eden?” He gaped at Crowley, who had straightened up in an instant. “Eden Cottage?”
A sign at last! He beamed at Crowley.
His friend attempted a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. That’s something.” He whispered to Aziraphale, “Maybe for an angel.”
“You said you liked the Garden of Eden.” What more did the dear fellow need?
“And the next cottage down,” Helen added, “is Apple Grove, and the third one is called Eve’s Cottage. It’s because of the lane they’re on, of course.”
“The lane?” Crowley frowned. “I didn’t see a road marker for it.”
“It is rather small,” she replied. “These three cottages are on Paradise Lane.”
Aziraphale looked up at the heavens. “Thank you,” he whispered. He turned to Crowley. “Paradise Lane. Is that enough?”
But Crowley shook his head. “Again, that’s a sign for an angel.”
“Oh, for –“ He stopped himself before saying Heaven’s sake. “My dear, it has a pear tree. You know how much I love pears.”
“Yeah, but you agreed there had to be a sign. Not for you -- for me.”
Aziraphale stifled a distinctly non-angelic urge to throttle his best friend. “The furnishings are perfect.”
“Not modern enough.”
“The surroundings are quiet and peaceful. Look at that lovely hill – it probably has hiking trails. We could go for a picnic.”
Crowley looked at the hill. “Right. Still not a sign.”
“There are definitely trails,” the agent spoke up. “Around and through the hills, and down into the valley on the other side. Don’t you know where we are?”
“Nope,” Crowley replied. “Other than some fool’s idea of paradise.”
Aziraphale stifled yet another urge to kick his shin. He turned to Helen. “Where are we, please?”
She glanced at Crowley before saying, “It’s called Paradise Lane, and the cottages are given those related names, because we’re on the other side of that valley – protected from its influence, so to speak. That valley is the Devil’s Dyke.”
Crowley stared at her. His jaw dropped. “The what?”
“Legend says it was made by the Devil – he was digging a trench but had to flee before it was finished.”
Aziraphale smiled. He tugged at Crowley’s sleeve. “Would you excuse us? We need to have a discussion.”
“Of course. I’ll be in my car.”
Aziraphale pulled Crowley back inside the house. “How do you feel about Eden Cottage now?”
“Er…um…I…huh.”
“Was that English?”
“Devil’s Dyke.” Crowley rubbed both hands over his face. “We’re by the Devil’s Dyke.”
“And here we are on the other side, protected from Satan himself,” Aziraphale said. “So there aren’t signs here just for an angel. Not even just for you.”
Crowley’s brow furrowed briefly, then suddenly he smiled. “They’re signs for both of us.”
“Precisely -- Eden. Paradise. Safe from harm – all part of one story. Our story, our lives together. It really couldn’t be any clearer, my dear.”
“Point taken.” Crowley looked round the room. “After all, we did meet in Eden.”
Aziraphale reached up to brush his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “A fine place to start a friendship.” He dropped his hand and leaned in to kiss Crowley on the cheek. “Not to mention love.”
“Lo—“ Crowley raised his eyebrows. “What—when—“ He gulped. “Aziraphale, how long have you known?”
“Quite some time. That is, I’ve known that you loved me for a very long time, and perhaps not too long after, I knew that I loved you in return.”
Crowley sighed. “You might have mentioned it back then.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “Do you think that would have been wise?”
“No. Not at all.” Crowley touched Aziraphale’s face. “I didn’t say it, either. But after we survived, after we were free – why not then? I’ve been thinking of it ever since – but you didn’t seem, well, on the same path.”
“I wanted to be in a different place first,” Aziraphale admitted. “Somewhere without certain…memories. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I made you come with me here.”
Crowley’s eyes widened. “Angel – we are in the perfect place. We’re back in the garden – “ He took hold of Aziraphale. “This is paradise –“
Joy welled up in a fierce rush as Aziraphale pulled him into a tight embrace. “It can be. We can make one here.”
“I can’t believe the damned signs.” Crowley let go his hold to take off his sunglasses, flinging them aside. He reached to cup Aziraphale’s face with both hands. “We have got to buy this cottage.”
Then he kissed Aziraphale’s forehead, and his nose, and then paused mere millimeters from his lips, brow knitted in a questioning way.
“Please do,” Aziraphale said.
Their lips brushed lightly together. Aziraphale closed his eyes as he put one hand round Crowley’s head to clasp his hair, and then pulled him in tighter, stronger, pushing their mouths together in a yearning, aching exploration that nearly left him gasping.
He broke off only to find other places to touch, and they exchanged kisses on cheeks, down their throats, on the side of the neck…Aziraphale opened his eyes and ended his ecstatic tour with a light touch to each of Crowley’s closed eyelids.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Crowley opened his eyes, and smiled. “I love you more.”
“Not possible.”
“No? Well, then, I love you as much as you love me.”
Aziraphale kissed him lightly one more time, and then looked at the cottage’s front door. “Can we go buy paradise now?”
Crowley nodded. He touched Aziraphale’s lips. “I just got the only sign I need.”
Then they walked hand in hand out of Eden.
But soon enough, they would return.