My Guardian Angel Thinks We are Married

Are your weekday morning emergencies usually confined to burnt sourdough and an espresso machine filing for emotional disability? Prepare to have your mundane reality audited into oblivion by Percival—a Class Four Celestial Overseer who radiates three hundred watts of amber smugness and insists you've already exchanged eternal vows across seven distinct lifetimes. Nora Bell only wanted to manage intermodal shipping freight in peaceful, unbothered solitude, but apparently her immortal soul boasts a catastrophic administrative rap sheet featuring an unlicensed herbalism feud in Anglo-Saxon England, seventeen unauthorized stone cherub fountains in Renaissance Milan, and a seventeenth-century Dutch wedding where the four-tiered cake achieved independent locomotion, sprouted muscular human calves, and kicked the altar boy into the baptismal font.Enter Gabriel Finch: a rugged, dirt-dusted landscape architect whose grandest earthly ambition was planting dwarf boxwoods and waging theological war against decorative ceramic lawn gnomes. But the moment his knuckles collide with Nora's over the final jar of Scottish strawberry preserves, reality slips three gears, the jam begins humming medieval plainsong, and heaven's most overzealous caseworker drops an eighth cosmic convergence squarely onto their heads. To reclaim their right to ordinary, un-prophesied mortal romance, Nora and Gabriel must outmaneuver an ancient celestial matchmaking algorithm that occasionally classifies soulmates as two-slice breakfast toasters, endure couples counseling with militant hotel pillows, and survive a timeline so completely scrambled that their only legal officiant is an ancient Greek mountain goat with a non-refundable deposit policy.Inside this certified celestial liability hazard, you will encounter:An Athletic, Outlaw Wedding Cake: Decorated with royal icing, fully developed kneecaps, and an ideological opposition to the sacrament of marriage that requires decorative meat cleavers to resolve.Barnaby the Presiding Goat: A fully ordained, unionized pastoral officiant whose rectangular pupils radiate absolute disdain for human hesitation and radial truck tires.The Hazards of Seraphic Data Entry: The tragic truth of how a junior clerk's slip of the mouse can legally bind your eternal soul to a mid-century mahogany credenza for thirty consecutive years of Sunday polishing.Sentient, Aggressively Empathetic Hospitality: Featuring luxury resort bolster pillows operating under a strict collective bargaining agreement and a sensitive Carpathian mountain named Reginald who apologizes via interpretive rockfalls.One Spectacularly Unemployable Guardian Angel: Armed with an iridescent mother-of-pearl clipboard, zero understanding of personal space, and three hundred engraved pewter goblets stashed behind your laundry dryer.DO NOT ALLOW THE SEVENTH FIRMAMENT TO FINALIZE YOUR DESTINY WITHOUT PROPER MUNICIPAL PERMITS!Scroll up, click BUY NOW, and secure your copy of My Guardian Angel Thinks We're Already Married before Percival intercepts your delivery address, charges your account for eighty silver groats, and dispatches a flock of two hundred unionized urban pigeons to enforce your immediate matrimonial compliance!