FOURTEEN
Tressa
“See?” I yelled over the chugging of the volunteer fire truck a few afternoons later, a loud spray of water covering the wide, skating-rink-sized layer of snow in the side yard of St. Michael’s. “They are loving you so hard for this already!”
Bastien shook his head, crooked grin on his face at my use of modern teen-speak. He stood, arms crossed, looking all lush and warm and inviting as we watched the first stages of my winter festival game plan unfold.
Step one—convince someone with an extremely large hose and an endless water source to share a little for our community ice rink. An announcement had run in last week’s church newsletter requesting donations of old or no longer used skates and hockey equipment, and the drop-offs had come in droves.
Excitement was already high, so when a giant fire truck rolled up outside the local parish, the people came out.
I laughed as kids clapped and waved, one firefighter pointing out the control system on the hose to a small group of kids, as another group of older ladies pointed to the two firemen operating the hose at the business end.
I nearly made a joke to Bastien about the dirty old birds but thought better of it, before he caught my gaze and split into a laugh of his own that rumbled so deep, I swear it hit places he hadn’t touched since…well…
A dash of a frown crossed my face when I thought of Bastien’s hands on me.
I relived the few minutes his hands had spent beneath my panties, the rough touch of his desperate fingers working my skin into a fever, and it nearly sent me spiraling all over again.
Just a look from this guy was about enough to send me over the edge, the chaste white collar at this throat a taunt, begging me to tackle him and loosen it with my teeth.
I expected to burn in hell for these thoughts one day. I’d already made peace with it.
“We’re a good team,” Bastien said.
“We?” I bumped his shoulder. “I think it was me on the phone begging the fire commissioner to loan me that giant hose he’s got.”
“Loan, huh? Dare I ask what you promised in return, Tressa?”
“It’s better you not.” I winked, waving at the fire chief across the yard.
Bastien lifted an eyebrow.
“Turns out he hasn’t had goodarroz con pollosince his grandma passed last summer. I promised I’d make him a batch, with enough for the rest of the guys, a few times a month through all of winter. It didn’t take him long to agree.”
Bastien laughed. “I concede. You never cease to amaze me.”
“Well, for the record, I may have done the legwork, but it wasn’t without your inspiration.” I shrugged. “So, we are a good team.”
He nodded, eyes taking in the busy scene, St. Michael’s looking alive for the first time in a long time outside of weekly Mass.
“Things were pretty quiet without your particular brand of—”
“Crazy?” I interrupted.
“Love, I was going to say.” His voice lowered, gravelly with seriousness. “I believed from a very early age that I would do this. Many of the men in my family, untold generations, have been seminarians. I was drawing crosses and relics in my school notebook in Havana as a child. For a time, my mother thought I was the second coming of the Holy Father.” He shook his head, wry smile on his face at the memory. “That’s why she enrolled me at the Jesuit school and why she was relieved when I made it official after I graduated.Mi Mamá…”He paused, reserved irises softening with emotion. “She was raised with a belief system that’s both traditional and—” he shrugged his shoulders “—spiritual in a worldly way, I guess you could say. She told me stories of her ancestors escaping a revolution in Spain and Portugal, only to find themselves confronting another in Cuba. From the beginning, I’ve felt called to this life. I’ve pledged my soul to God’s highest good. It’s my vocation. The Jesuits teach that a vocation has nothing to do with you, that it will not always fulfill you, that it will not heal any sense of incompleteness or loneliness. That it is only a part of God’s pledge, that the answer shall be given in the end.” He turned his eyes to the sky, pondering something far beyond both of us. “I’ve been fortunate. This calling has always been good to me, and perhaps despite some of the sadness, it has breathed life into me. I’ve always been thankful for that, but it’s just one of the core values that led me down a path away from Jesuit thinking. The Catholic church may not pride itself on being progressive, but with few exceptions, it doesn’t seek to control and prostrate at the pyre for the slightest transgression. Hardship builds character, holy restraint requires deep self-reflection, and therein we unlock our true selves, free of bodily sin and suffering.”
“So…” I leaned closer into him. “The Catholic church is more forgiving that you had your hand down my pants?”
Bastien’s eyes turned dark, smile sinking into a frown. “Tressa.”
The way his lips hissed my name sent a thrill of rebellion cutting through me.
I liked eliciting a reaction from him.
I tipped my chin in the air, smile defiant.
“That look in your eye tells me I’m not wrong.”
