Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
She stares at me like I’ve slapped her. I quickly remove my hand from her arm. “You don’t want to hear about my troubles.”
“It’s kind of my thing,” I say with a shrug. “Now tell me about that rough day.”
Her eyes soften. “Just dealing with a lot of personal shi…I mean stuff.”
I crack a grin. “You can say shit around me.”
She smiles, a little surprised. “I can?”
“If it makes you happy, sure.” I tie up her bag and hand her another empty plastic bag. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
She stares at me, studying me intently, and it makes me wonder what she’s thinking. “You’re not like how I pictured a priest to be.”
This makes me laugh softly. “I’m not? How did you imagine I’d be?”
“I don’t know,” she says, tilting her head thoughtfully. “More distant, I guess. More...stern. Not like a real human.”
She’s cute.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” I lean in closer, which is a big mistake because I catch the scent of fresh coconuts from her shampoo. It makes me dizzy. “Shh, don’t tell anyone but I am actually part human being.”
She laughs. “What’s the other part?”
Devil. Demon. Monster. I want to tell her all the bad things about my life. The things that led me to this moment. This spot where I’m a priest who can’t have her.
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
She blinks her long lashes at me. “Angel?”
“Maybe.”
She leans in closer, and I swear I’m getting intoxicated by her scent. “It’ll be our own little secret.”
And the beast that hasn’t been awakened in years comes alive right inside my pants. Straining against my zipper. I pull away from her before I do something silly like touch her in some inappropriate way.
“Do you want more food?” I change the subject, back to safer grounds.
“No, this is plenty. I’m actually heading home to call about a new job I’m starting.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “That’s great. I’ll see you Sunday?”
She takes her bag of food and nods. “Yes. I’ll be here.”
I don’t want her to leave. “Sunday then.”
She heads out the door and I watch her as she makes her way across the parking lot to her weathered car in the lot. The sun has long gone down, and a lone street light illuminates the place, and I watch her drive away.
I head back to the table, gathering the rest of the groceries, feeling the weight of the bags in my hands. My fingers brush against the cool plastic as I stuff the final few items into the brown box. The white collar around my neck suddenly feels tighter, like it's choking me, so I slip it off and shove it deep into my pocket. It’s an odd sensation. Part relief, part guilt. I grab the small box marked "Donations" from the corner of the table, the corners fraying slightly from too much handling, and make my way across the street. The late afternoon air is crisp with the faint scent of fall leaves and burning wood from someone’s fireplace.
Reaching my car, I toss the box into the trunk, watching it land with a dull thud among the bags. My breath fogs briefly as I exhale and climb into the driver’s seat. I start the car and pull away from the curb, heading toward the shelter downtown. The hum of the engine is soothing, but my thoughts are anything but. I can’t stop thinking about Eva. The way she looked at me, the quiet pain in her eyes. It’s a weight I can’t shake. What has brought her to my parish? And why, out of all the people I’ve met, is she the one who lingers in my mind?
For a man like me, that’s dangerous. I’m supposed to be focused on the work that needs to be done—not on the complications of feelings. But every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, feeling the rough leather beneath my palms. I press my foot harder on the gas, trying to outrun my thoughts.
As the familiar streets blur past, I drift back to memories I usually keep buried. My upbringing—if you could call it that. We didn’t go to church. Not once. My mother was too lost in her own world, barely able to drag herself out of bed most days, let alone fix dinner for me. I remember the empty fridge, the silence of the house only broken by my father’s drunken rages. His voice echoing through the thin walls, the smell of whiskey clinging to him like a second skin. The feeling of helplessness, of knowing that no one was coming to save us.
I push the memories down as I reach the edge of town. The shelter is just up ahead, its worn brick exterior coming into view, but my thoughts are still tangled in the past—and in Eva.