I felt him.
The warmth surrounded him like an invisible curtain, enveloping everyone without really touching them as he crossed their path.
I pressed my mouth closed, containing the sigh on my lips.
“Ready for that upstairs tour?” His eyes cut across the room to hover on mine.
“Sure.” I forced a small smile, locking my hands together as he gestured me out the kitchen and up the stairs. A wave of cold air nearly took the breath out of my lungs when we reached the top landing.
“Huh.” Bastien pushed a hand through his cropped dark hair, a frown gracing his features.
“This feels colder than my house.” I scrunched my nose from the chill.
“It does, doesn’t it?” He breathed a small chuckle. “I have to confess: the last time anyone stayed here was my nephew Cruz this past summer when he was helping me install a security system, I had no idea how drafty the place was until now. I guess unless you want to lose some toes to frostbite, maybe camping out next to the fire would be best.”
“I’m with you. And you have a nephew?” I asked as we walked back down the stairs.
“My sister’s son. They live in Brooklyn, I’m afraid we’re not close in age, she’s eight years older than me, but we left Havana together before Cruz was born. She knew someone in Brooklyn, so we went there, but the church even back then needed me elsewhere, so I had to leave them. He’s grown now, in college and so smart and helpful. And she’s a great mother, it’s my greatest regret that I couldn’t be there to help her raise him more.”
“I’m sure they felt your love from here,” I offered.
“I hope you’re right,” his eyes averted to the fire as we entered the living area.
He seemed to do that often. Letting his eyes linger while his thoughts ran away.
I’d give untold stashes of money to be inside his head then, wading through all those saintly thoughts.
I didn’t know why Father Bastien fascinated me so much—I’d been freezing my ass off half the night and consumed with thoughts of him—curiosities really. What’d brought him here, what he’d done before he was here. Maybe it was just his age, or the wisp of salt and pepper at his temples. Maybe it was because I’d never seen a priest with corded muscles that stretched the dark fabric of his shirt.
“So,” I searched my mind for a topic to fill the silence. “Evolution—do you drink the Kool-Aid?”
A hearty laugh filled the room and made me proud that I’d been able to coax the sound from him. “My—the pope’s—innermost thoughts on things like evolution and the Big Bang might surprise you.”
He picked up the small prayer missal that sat on the end table, bathed in dim yellow light.
“…And?”I breathed as he uncapped a small vial of holy oil, dampening the pad of his finger before making the sign of the cross in the air between us, a familiar gesture from my childhood, and one I hadn’t thought about until that moment.
“My first anointing from the new priest…”
His eyes glinted with dark mischief as he started the time-honored ritual. “Tressa…”
His lips hissed around my name and I nearly choked.
“You’re a rebel.”The thick accent on hisrvibrated down to my toes as he swept the blessed oil across my forehead. His fingers on my skin set off sparks of desire inside me like the grand finale at a Fourth of July show.
“Saint,”I accused.
His grin cracked even further, another layer of the armor he seemed to carry falling away.
“I wish more people could see you like this.”
“This?” He stepped closer, eyes lingering on mine with amusement.
“Funny.”
He grinned, stark-white teeth cutting the warm pink flesh of his lips. My heart thundered inside my chest as he and his heavenly bubble of radiant warmth moved away, heading to the kitchen where he quietly tipped the lid on a pot bubbling away thanks to the gas-powered stove.
“Do you always say whatever comes into your head?” Bastien’s smile deepened.
