A Bad Habit - Taking The Leap

“Oh, good,” she says looking anywhere but at me. “The sanctuary is lovely.”

“It is. I can feel the Lord’s presence here. I am anxious to get started.”

“I bet. A new flock always needs the most attending,” she says sagely. I nod along in agreement, but a stray thought pops into my head and I’ve never been one who bites their tongue.

“How old are you?” I blurt out.

“They didn’t tell you?” she asks, raising her ridiculously perfect eyebrow at me. Why is it so perfect? It should be unruly. Are old ladies really the only nuns I’ve ever seen? Thinking back, I realize that they are.

“The only thing they told me was that you are from Pennsylvania,” I reply honestly. They didn’t even send me her name.

“I just turned twenty,” she answers, adjusting her wimple. My fingers itch to pull it off to see what her hair looks like. She’s so young. I am only thirty, but I have been ordained. I look at her left hand and see that it is ringless. She has not yet taken her final vows. For the first time in my life, I want a woman and that won’t do.

I show her to the rectory. “The bedrooms are upstairs,” I tell her as we pass the stairs that lead up. We pass through the kitchen on the way to the offices. I start the coffee pot in order to warm her up quickly.

“Will I be cooking for you?” she asks looking around the small but functional kitchen.

“I hadn’t thought about that. I have been eating in restaurants since I arrived.” She looks surprised by that.

“That’s terrible. I will cook for you. Three healthy meals a day,” she says smiling at me for the first time.

“That would be great. Thank you, Beth.”

“No thanks are necessary, Father. I helped out with the kitchen at the convent.”

“If you are sure it’s no trouble,” I hedge.

“None at all, Father,” she whispers. “It’ll be a pleasure to serve you.” I clear my throat and adjust my suddenly tight collar.

This is going to be a disaster. There’s no way it isn’t going to be.

Chapter Three

Beth

Oh, no. Oh no. Why God? Why? He is hot. Like so so so hot. My time in public school wasn’t wasted. I know a hot guy when I see him. I never did more than go to a movie with a boy back then. My body is betraying me because I want more with him and that just cannot happen. It can never happen. It’s forbidden. Shoot, that makes it sound even better. I don’t know what I expected with Father O’Riley, but an Irish accent and a bad attitude were not it.

As soon as I close myself in my room, I lean against the door and take several deep calming breaths. It doesn’t help. Not at all. My face feels like it is on fire. How am I going to be around him without making a fool of myself? The answer is, I won’t be able to. It’s inevitable. I will do something entirely stupid in front of him and then this… infatuation will end. Why does the thought of that make me so sad? This thing deep inside of me can never be realized, so why do I want it to be?

Shaking my head, I open my suitcase, pull my apron out, and put it on. Then I begin to unpack. Once my space is settled, I realize that I have to seek him out again. I need the keys to a vehicle to get to the closest grocery store. Shoring myself up to see him again, I leave my room to look for him. For a brand-new church, it has a lot of touches that make it seem older than it is. Religious relics are scattered throughout. I find myself drawn to a large cross near the sanctuary, which is where I find him.

He is helping two older ladies polish the pews. It’s hot in here and smells amazing. Like lemons, hearth, and fire. The heat is on full blast and the enclosed space isn’t allowing any of it to escape. This time, however, his jacket is gone, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up revealing Celtic tattoos on both forearms. I find myself wanting to see how far up his arms they actually go. Shaking my head, I move closer to him. His forehead is damp with sweat. My eyes follow a single drop as it trickles all the way down his face. I lick my lips and forget how to speak. The thoughts in my head are filthy and depraved. I remind myself that I’ll need to take confession from this man. I shouldn’t do things that I can’t tell him about. How else would I get absolved of the things I am thinking about? Fornicating on these shiny new pews is not something I can tell him, the object of my obsession, about. Get a grip, I mentally chastise myself.