by Autumn Grey
I shake my head. “I couldn’t. I’m a mess whenever I’m around her. I don’t know. It’s just . . . frustrating. It’s not like I want to have sex with her or anything.”
His brows shoot up. “Sex, huh? So you’ve been thinking about it.” There’s no judgment in his voice, only curiosity.
God, he probably thinks I’m undecided about being a priest. I wonder if other guys who’ve chosen this path go through the same thing. It’s messing with my head.
“I should be stronger than this. I am stronger than this.” I rub my hand down my face and jump to my feet. “Look, can we pretend this conversation never happened?”
“Solomon.” He pauses, leaning forward and aiming those all-knowing eyes at me. “It’s not too late to postpone going to seminary. You can take some time to think about this. You’ll be starting a journey that requires giving yourself wholeheartedly to serving God. A vocation that comes with a lot of challenges—”
“I’m aware, Luke. I’m an eighteen-year-old boy who has mastered control, remember?” I flash him a smile. He once told me he was quite surprised by how I’d managed to discipline myself from bowing to temptation and ‘carnal pleasures’ as he put it.
His lips twitch. “Okay. But you realize you’ve been a big influence on Seth. That kid is like a hawk. He notices everything. His faith in the Church was restored when you took him under your wing. He and the other kids at youth group look up to you like a big brother.” His brows shoot up. “See where I’m going with this?”
I nod. “I know. My mind is made up. I’m okay, I promise. It was a moment of self-doubt, but I’m fine now,” I’m quick to reassure him.
I don’t want to take a break. The first time Seth told me why they moved here from Baltimore, I was outraged. I started to pay more attention after that. I did research and read articles online about priests accused of doing really awful things. I got even more furious and determined.
Why couldn’t these priests be like my uncle, huh? Be the shepherd who guides people back to church. I knew I’d made the right decision then. This is my calling.
Doubt is such a fickle bastard.
Luke observes me thoughtfully for a long second, then nods, rising to walk around the desk. Resting his hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture, he says, “Okay. If you need to talk later, I’ll be here.”
I nod and smile. “I know.”
He’s always there for me, never wavering, which makes me want to be more like him. Be there for others just as he is for me.
I head out the door. Grace is no longer where I left her when I fled the sanctuary in an attempt to clear my thoughts.
Seconds later, I exit St. Peter’s Church and stride to my beat-up red Chevy that once belonged to my dad. I hop inside, and within minutes, I’m on my way back to work at Joe’s Auto Body Shop.
It’s been over a week since that split second of doubt after seeing Grace. I’ve actively avoided going to her mom’s diner, hoping to repair my fragile resolve. Deb’s Diner serves the best vanilla waffles, so I’ve been jonesing for them, but I’ve managed to be strong.
Until today.
Ivan insisted we grab lunch there during our work break, and after my many attempts to talk him out of the idea, telling him we could grab lunch elsewhere, I caved. My best friend can be very relentless. Plus, it’s so freaking hot outside, my resolve shattered in the presence of scorching heat and Ivan’s nagging.
And besides, what’s the harm, right? If you don’t look directly at the sun, chances of getting blinded by its rays are very slim. That’s what I plan to do. Not look at Grace any more than I need to.
We’ve been helping with repairs at the Rosemary Inn. The summer storms can be quite brutal on Maine’s coast, and the gazebo was torn apart by a storm two nights ago. Beverly, the co-owner of Deb’s Diner, is getting married there on Saturday to her fiancé, Mark. So when my uncle approached a few of the guys from church, asking if we could help with the hasty repairs, we all agreed immediately.
“Let’s grab a quick lunch and head back. Seth will be here soon. I don’t want to keep him waiting,” I tell Ivan when he stops walking for the tenth time since we left the gazebo. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to reply to a text from MJ.
He grunts. “You spoil that kid. No wonder he looks at you like you hang the moon, man.” He finishes texting and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Why don’t you ask him to meet us there?”
“Because.”
“Because why?” My best friend looks at me, one brow raised. “Let me guess. Grace.”
I frown. “What about her?”
“You don’t want your little protégé to see how much she affects you.”
I start to shake my head, but Ivan cuts me off.
“He has you on a pedestal. He looks at you as if you’re a saint.”
I wince and shove my hands in my pockets, contemplating Ivan’s observation.
Does he really? I mean, I love Seth like the little brother I never had. I see the way he looks at me with respect. It’s something I take seriously because it means I earned it the hard way, given how broken he was when we first met.
But a saint? Ivan is prone to overdramatizing things sometimes. This is one of those times.
“Listen, liking a girl is not a weakness,” Ivan says quietly, falling in step with me.
I roll my eyes. He’s officially gone into Yoda mode.
“It doesn’t mean you won’t make a good priest, man. I support your choice one hundred percent.”
I rub my neck with one hand. “So you’re going to stop pushing me to getting laid?”
“Of course not.” He laughs. “Everyone needs to get laid at least once in their life. God gave you a dick for a reason other than to take a piss.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as we step into the diner.
My eyes roam the space as if they can’t help but search for her. They finally land on Grace sitting in a booth at the back. My whole body sighs at the sight of her, but whether from relief or losing a battle I’ve been fighting with my heart and mind, I can’t tell.
Her shoulders are hunched forward as her fingers fly over the keyboard of her laptop. She pauses long enough to pull a pencil from behind her right ear, then scribbles something on a paper in front of her, brows furrowed in concentration as she starts typing again.
I don’t realize my feet have stopped moving until Ivan slams into me from behind, propelling my body forward and wrenching me out of my trance.
“Dude. Stop it,” he says, voice amused as he follows his words with a painful jab to my ribs.
I wince and face him, rubbing my smarting ribs to soothe the ache away. “What the—”
His eyes glint with mirth, lips turning up at the corners. “You’re staring at Grace with that intense, creepy look again. Looks as if you’re plotting to kidnap her. Wait, are you planning on kidnapping her? Because we could totally lock her up in the basement at my mom’s shop.” He lowers his head, eyes dancing as he whispers conspiratorially, “The next shipment doesn’t arrive from Korea for two weeks, so Mom won’t be down there for a while.”
Dropping my hand from my side, I roll my eyes and tug the baseball cap lower onto my forehead, mumbling a quick, “Shut up,” before walking away.
Three steps later, Ivan’s large hand drops onto my shoulder, stopping me from going any farther. Slowly, he nudges me in Grace’s direction. “Stop it with the longing and just talk to her, altar boy.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter as my feet make quick work of propelling my body in the opposite direction. I’ve never had an easy time approaching girls or talking to them. And Grace—
I shake my head, mildly terrified at the thought.
I slide into an empty booth, close enough that I can still look at her without being obvious but far enough that it’s not too creepy. Ivan sits across from me and lets out a loud sigh.
After a beat, he shakes his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. Even frustrated
, he still manages to look calm and collected. “Aren’t you exhausted from having a crush on this girl for ages? Why won’t you talk to her?”
“It’s been eight years, jackass,” I retort. “And I’m not crushing on her. I’m just . . . intrigued.”
“Sure looks like a crush to me, dude.” He laughs, but from the look on his face, I can tell he knows more than he’s letting on.
“What do you mean?”
He stays silent for a heartbeat as if he’s debating if he should continue talking, then shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve heard you pounding one out more than once. Moaning her name.”
My face heats from both embarrassment and guilt. “Is nothing private anymore?”
He grabs one of the laminate menus, corners twisted from use, and smirks. “Our apartment has thin walls, Sol. It’s a guy thing, you know,” Ivan says. “God won’t smack you upside the head for showing the guy down there some much-deserved attention.”
I groan, rubbing my hands down my jaw. “Oh, God. Do you have to be so—”
“Right? Awesome? Wise?” He grins.
“Annoying,” I finish, exasperated.
“It’s normal, man. You don’t need to feel guilty every time you think about boning Grace. She’s fucking hot.”
“Can we talk about something else?” I’m already getting hard just thinking about boning her.
He smirks. “You need to get her out of your system once and for all.”
Do I? How is that even going to help me? Even if I could get her out of my system, Grace has never shown any interest in me.
And why am I even thinking about this?
I glance at Grace, her head bent as she types on the laptop in front of her. I follow the curve of her neck and swallow hard. Even back in high school, I found myself studying her.
I memorized everything about her, subconsciously cataloging each little detail. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the way she smelled—like vanilla waffles. Sometimes she’d stare out the window, lips pursed with a faraway look in her eyes. Those were the times I wanted to talk to her the most, to find out where she went when she looked like that.
Then three years ago during our sophomore year in high school, everything changed. I remember it as though it was yesterday. She and that jackass Gavin Bachmann had been going out for a few weeks when everything fell apart after the pep rally. The only people who know what actually went down after the rally are Grace and Gavin. But rumors started to fly among the students that following Monday about her sleeping around with a bunch of guys in Gavin’s crowd. In less than four hours, Grace Miller became an outcast. Gavin did nothing to defend her, and in fact, he actively avoided her. They broke up after that. She became withdrawn and quiet, as though she was trying to erase herself from the world around her.
I’d never wanted to hurt anyone as much as I wanted to hurt Gavin. I remember the surprise in his eyes when I strode toward him as he was about to get in his car, fists clenched, and socked him in the jaw.
I’m not a violent person. In fact, I abhor violence.
But something in me just snapped that day. Grace was hurting. The girl who had told me everything would be okay when I was ten with such wisdom and sincerity. I believed her. And Gavin stole the hope in her eyes.
“So what do you say?” Ivan asks, bringing me out of my thoughts. The teasing in his eyes is gone, replaced by a serious look. “It’s not like talking to her will alter the path you’ve set to follow.”
He’s right.
I remove my baseball cap, smoothing my fingers through my disheveled hair before pushing my cap back onto my head.
“Jeez, you’re like a dog with a bone. I’ll go talk to her just to shut you up. Happy?”
“Tickled pink.” He grins. “Remember what I said. Eye contact is key. And smile. Don’t forget to smile. That frown of yours makes you look closed-off and shy.”
I am closed-off and shy.
“Eye contact and smile. Gotcha,” I mumble.
“All right. Break a leg. It’s your time to shine, man.” He sits back and stretches his arms, draping them over the edge of the booth.
I stand and take a deep breath before walking in her direction.
Within seconds, I’m standing next to Grace, watching her anxiously. I shove a hand inside my pocket, my fingers curling around the rosary and rubbing the smooth surface of the beads. If she senses I’m there, she doesn’t bother to look up.
Shit.
Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.
I glance over my shoulder and see Ivan leaning out of our booth.
His eyes widen, and he jerks his chin in Grace’s direction and mouths, “Talk to her.”
I clear my throat and—
“Do you plan to cast a shadow over me for a while or . . .?”
My heart stops beating for a second, then jump-starts painfully the next. With only her voice, she has managed to knock the wind out of my lungs. I open my mouth and close it, repeating the action a second time as I try to come up with words.
It’s as if I’ve lost them all. Instead, I settle for a laugh followed by a croaky, “A shadow?”
“Can I help you with something?” She lifts her head, brows raised, but her mouth quickly forms an O when her gaze meets mine. She quickly recovers from the shock. “Oh, hey, Solomon. I’m starting to think you enjoy hovering a lot.”
When I don’t answer immediately, she sits up and squares her shoulders. Her mouth tightens in a scowl, but I know what she’s doing. She’s reinforcing the wall she’s built around herself to keep people away, just as she’s been doing since the incident in high school.
Honestly, this girl makes me nervous, and she’s a distraction. One I can’t afford to have right now. Or ever.
Yet, here I am, standing next to her anyway.
I had a plan. It was simple—graduate high school, attend the seminary, and become a priest.
Thinking about Grace always made me feel a bit guilty. During one of our talks, I’d told Luke about the situation.
His smile had been warm and endearing as he’d told me I needed to experience the world outside the rectory. He’d said I should spend my teenage years being a teenager. That I should figure out who Solomon Callan truly was before making any big decisions about my future. Know my options. Last winter, I moved into the apartment owned by the diocese two blocks away from the rectory. And after a long talk with Ivan’s parents and Luke’s reassurance he’d keep an eye on us, they agreed to let their son move in with me.
Grace and I live in the same town, so I can’t avoid her forever. Once I’m ordained as a priest, I’ll return to Portland. We’ll most likely meet and interact—if she doesn’t move away. I need to get used to talking to her without feeling as if my heart will burst through my chest and land at her feet. I need to get rid of this curiosity that has had me in its talons since the day we met.
“I saw you sitting here and thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
Seriously? Did those words come out of my mouth?
So. Lame.
“Uh-huh,” she murmurs and returns her focus to whatever she’s doing. This is a dismissal if I ever saw one. Regardless, I forge on. I’ve no idea where all this courage is coming from, but all of a sudden, I find myself determined to crack her cool façade.
I take advantage of our proximity and drink her in. Her features have matured with age. Her cheekbones are more defined, her nose turned up at the tip. Her full lips turned upward at the corners as if she’s holding back a secret smile, a contrast to the frown bunching her eyebrows. She bites her bottom lip between her teeth and huffs a frustrated breath.
Wondering what’s made her so angry, I lean forward and catch a glimpse of a spreadsheet filled with numbers on the laptop screen.
Her head snaps back, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Need help?” I ask even though math makes me want to rip my eyes out. Her brows dip even further.
She ducks her head, b
ut not before I see her lips twitch. “Oh, puh-leeze. We both know math isn’t your strong suit, Solomon.”
Seeing that small smile she’s trying to hide fuels me forward. With my gaze fixed on hers, I slide onto the seat opposite her, leaning forward to prop my elbows on the table.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, sounding panicked and no longer pretending to be detached.
At that moment, I see fear in her wide eyes before irritation takes over, but it’s enough for me to realize that the need to ward off people with her attitude might actually be due to fear and anxiety. Apparently, she’s more like me than I realized.
Suddenly, I don’t feel as nervous around her as I was before.
Her lips form a thin line, and she exhales a frustrated breath. “Don’t you have a gazebo to finish repairing?” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the square.
I press my lips together to stop from grinning. She probably doesn’t realize that she just unknowingly let it slip that she knew my whereabouts even though she’s trying really hard to send me running from the booth.
Has she been watching me?
I sit back and watch her as she squirms under my gaze.
“I don’t have time for this.” She pulls the laptop forward and starts to type, dismissing me for the second time.
“I’m really trying here, Grace.” Why the heck am I bothering anyway if she’s just going to bite my head off?
“Trying to do what, Sol?” One brow goes up in question, her eyes still on the screen.
I rub the nape of my neck with a hand. “Look, can we start over?”
Her fingers freeze in the air on top of the keyboard, and she looks at me. “You don’t want to do this.” All of a sudden her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Did someone put you up to this?”
Good God. Why does she have to make it so hard for someone to talk to her? I can see why people choose to keep a safe distance.“Wow, Grace. Your reputation precedes you,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her head jerks up, her eyes wide in panic. The look vanishes as soon as it appeared.