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)
And the way he stares at me right now, it’s almost like he can read my every dirty thought I’m having about him. It makes my insides completely boil.
Maybe he can read my thoughts.
Maybe I should confess.
The kid behind the counter hands me Nate’s cone, and as I hand it off to my son, Father Carmichael orders a strawberry cone too.
“Do you really like strawberry?” I ask him.
He smiles, taking my breath away as he says, “Strawberry is one of those underrated flavors.”
The kid behind the counter hands us our cones and we head outside to sit at a little wrought-iron table.
“Please explain,” I say, licking my ice cream.
He watches my movements closely, and I hand Nate a napkin as he starts to make a mess. “It’s one of those flavors you never think about. It’s just there, taking up space in the ice cream store until you decide to get it one day and you remember it’s really quite good.”
I laugh a little. “It is good.”
He licks his cone and I wish it was me he was licking instead. “It’s very sweet.”
“You like sweet?” Oh my god. What am I doing?
My son is sitting right here as I flirt with a priest. What are things I never imagined on my bingo card? I blush as I work on my cone.
“I do like sweet. A lot.” His eyes darken as he says the words. “I also like other flavors, but I keep coming back to strawberry.”
“When you remember to?”
He nods. “I like strawberry.”
I don’t even know where our conversation is leading, but I try to steer us back on neutral ground. I glance at my son. “So, when did you start liking chocolate?”
He smiles, chocolate ice cream all over his chin. “At Camden’s birthday party. He’s a kid in my class. Jessica took me, and said I could have a bite of chocolate.”
I smile, trying to hide the raging jealousy coursing through my veins at the mere mention of Jessica. “And you loved it?” I ask him, pretending all is right in my world.
Father Carmichael watches me closely as I speak to Nate. Who knows what he’s thinking. He can probably see my jealousy pouring out like hot lava leaking from my pores.
“Did your dad like it too?”
“He wasn’t there,” Nate says. “He’s hardly ever home. He works all the time.”
Yes. I remember.
Another reason Christopher and I never worked out as a couple. Christopher kept late hours. Most of the time he was out with clients, or banging his secretary. He didn’t think I knew. I did.
“What do you and Mom have planned this weekend?” Father Carmichael asks, changing the subject and I’m grateful he has.
“We’re going to the park tomorrow.”
“Is your mom going to bring you to church?”
Nate looks at me, waiting for me to provide him with the answer.
“Unfortunately he has to go back to his father’s place early on Sunday.”
Father Carmichael doesn’t skip a beat. “That’s ok. Maybe I can show you the church tomorrow? Would you like that?” he asks my son.
Nate smiles. “Yes.” He glances at me. “Can we do that, Mommy?”
I lick my ice cream. “Sure.”
Father Carmichael’s eyes meet mine and for a second I picture myself calling him by his first name. Benedict. What it would feel like to know this man not as a priest, but as a man.
“How long have you been a priest?” I ask him.
“A long time.” His cone is nearly gone as he answers.
“Are you happy being one?” What am I asking this man? I can’t believe I just said these words aloud. Of course he’d never tell me if he was unhappy.
“Sometimes.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“The Lord’s work is tedious. Sometimes I feel like I’m not on the right path. That any little thing could set me off course.”
I finish off my cone as I listen. “Oh,” I finally say, wondering if he’s talking about me setting him off course.
Even though nothing’s ever happened between us outside of my mind, I wonder if that’s what he’s talking about. I wonder if he feels this insane connection between us like I do.
“Sorry.” He brushes off the conversation with a smile. “I guess this subject is a little heavy for ice cream talk.”
“I’m sorry.”
Father Carmichael stares directly at me, his eyes lighting me up from the inside out. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that.”
I almost want to apologize again but I keep my mouth shut.
“What time did you want to stop by for the guided tour?” Father Carmichael asks Nate more than he asks me the question.
Nate again stares at me for the answer.
“A little afternoon. Maybe one o’clock?”
Father Carmichael stands from his seat. “I’ll be counting down the hours. Have a nice night.”
I suck in a breath as I watch him walk away.
Later that night, as I have my son nestled into my side and we’re both falling asleep, Nate asks me about the church.