“Poetic,” I breathed, desperate to veer away from this topic of conversation.
I guess the thing about accepting the job at St. Michael’s was that it came with strings attached. Spiritual ones.
Bastien left me thinking.
A lot.
Entirely too much for my liking.
I’d been running in fast-forward for so many years, chasing a dream, fleeing from reality, I’d never really stopped to think about what truly motivated me and why I made a habit of surrounding myself with the misfits and broken toys.
“Is there someone you can count on to?”
“There’s nothing from my past worth holding on to. Not a single thing.”
“What calms you, then? What brings you peace?”
I swallowed. “I guess candlelight, soft music, a bath…”
“That sounds like a first date more than a spiritual practice.”
“I’m not sure when the last time was you had a first date, Father, but baths aren’t really a custom.”
His gentle chuckle filled the room and hollowed out my insides. “My point is,” he said finally, “you might find unloading some of those things to be beneficial.”
“And…you’ll be there when I’m ready?”
“I’m bound by a sense of honor to be.”
“How godly of you.” I hushed, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth as I focused on him. The soft glow highlighting the bow of his top lip, the sooty line of eyelashes that added dark mystique to his already otherworldly aura.
What would happen if he kissed me? What would I do if he launched this moment from innocence to sin with just the brush of lips? Would lightning strike us in retribution?
My breathing quickened when Bastien’s eyes narrowed, the side of his mouth twitching into a scant curve. He could probably hear the heart rattling within my rib cage, thundering beats dancing to the rhythm of his.
I swallowed, consumed by the imagined touch of his lips against mine. Tongue probing, hands cascading down my back until…
Boom. Boom.
The sound of the wind catching what sounded like a heavy door shook me from my fantasy.
Bastien’s hand settled over my palm, eyes darting across the span of my face before he pressed up on thick thighs and rose from the floor. “That sounded like the door into the nave.”
I felt my eyes close, reality settling itself into my bones.
“Stay here, keep yourself warm, and think about what I said.”
I narrowed my eyes, giving my head a quick shake to let him know I would not be doing that last part, before he paused, regarding me for another long moment.
I must have been a sight, curled up on the tiny couch, two quilts to hold in the body heat, my eyes faraway, in a land where girls didn’t dream of kissing the priests who saved them.
* * *
By the time Bastien was back fifteen minutes later, he wasn’t alone.
A teenager bundled in a dirty ski jacket, oversized flannel, with beat-up combat boots on her feet hung in Bastien’s shadow.
“Tressa, this is Lucy. The shelter has been at capacity all week with the storm. I told her we’ve got plenty enough heat to keep her warm.” His eyes cut to her with a small and encouraging nod at the fire, and she darted across the room, thrusting her hands toward the warm flames.
