Joyfully Yours

by Amy Lamont

  Joyfully Yours

  Amy Lamont

  JOYFULLY YOURS

  Copyright © October 2013 by Amy Bender

  Cover design by Derek Murphy

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For Mike, Sarah, and Meredith, the best part of every day

  Chapter One

  Faith Leary had kicked off the holiday season the same way every year since she’d reached adulthood—standing in the express checkout line at Carlucci’s Market the day before Thanksgiving. 'Cause nothing said “Happy Holidays” better than a dented can of cranberry sauce.

  Though this year was a little different. She’d made a major score. Only one of the two cans of cranberry sauce she held was dented. Her mother would have only half as much to complain about.

  And speaking of things to complain about…she tapped out a sharp beat with her toe on the dingy linoleum floor. She stretched up onto her toes and leaned sideways in an attempt to see around the man in front of her. The customer at the register pulled out a wad of coupons and Faith bit back a groan. With a quick huff to blow the fringe of bangs out of her eyes, she shuffled both cans of cranberry sauce into one hand and dug into her over-sized bag with the other. She stirred through the debris living in the bottom of her purse until her fingers wrapped around her phone.

  The line didn’t move an inch.

  Faith checked the time. 2:10. She’d promised Mrs. Marshall she’d arrive no later than 2:30. If she didn’t make it, she’d have to wait until after the Thanksgiving weekend to get paid for walking Mrs. Marshall’s ancient Lhasa Apsos. She had a few bills to pay, and in another week her rent was due. Her negative bank balance meant she couldn’t afford to hold off on getting her paycheck.

  That’s what you get for waiting until the day before Thanksgiving to buy cranberry sauce. Honestly, Faith. She cringed and almost turned to see if her mother stood behind her in the grocery line. She stopped at the last minute. That voice was all in her head.

  Decisions, decisions. Stay in line and miss any chance of making rent on time this month or put down her only contribution to Thanksgiving dinner and risk her mother’s anger? Eviction was the worst that could happen if she paid her rent late. And that was a lengthy process. Her landlord worked with her in the past. Maybe he’d do it again.

  There would be no working things out with her mother. For the rest of her life she’d hear about the Thanksgiving she’d completely ruined by waiting until the last minute to get cranberries. Sighing again, Faith dialed Mrs. Marshall and told her she wouldn’t make it.

  Faith checked her phone again when she reached the head of the checkout line. 2:20. Was it possible only fifteen minutes passed?

  “That’s $3.58,” the cashier said around a huge gob of gum.

  Faith once again plumbed the depths of her bag, this time in search of her wallet. Opening it, she found two crumpled dollar bills. Wasn’t there a five in there yesterday?

  Oh, wait. She gave it to the bartender when she bought a Coke at the place her band played last night. What remained in her wallet was the change he gave her. She offered the cashier a weak smile as she dived back into her bag. Surely she’d stuck a few singles in a pocket here or there.

  Dragging her fingers across the crumb-coated bottom, they closed around some change. Snatching it up, she counted out seventy-two cents.

  She squinted at the price glowing green on top of the cash register, mentally cursing any store for having a cash only line in this day and age. “How much is it again?”

  “$3.58,” the cashier repeated in a bored tone.

  Faith went in once more, this time coming up empty-handed. She pulled items out, piling her sunglasses, lip gloss, tissues, and a half-eaten Hershey bar on the conveyor belt. The toe of the man in line behind her started tapping and she ground her back teeth together.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  Faith turned toward the end of the checkout lane. A pair of sky blue eyes met hers, their color enhanced by the dark hair dipping over his forehead. He offered her a friendly grin and her lips curled in response. Her gaze drifted down, admiring his strong jaw and then roaming even lower…locking on the spot under his chin.

  She blinked once, then again. The vision in front of her didn’t change. His black shirt and white tab collar were still there.

  Holy crap. How fast does a person get sent to hell for checking out a priest?

  Faith turned back to the cashier and forced down all thoughts of what she had almost done. She had absolutely not been about to start batting her eyelashes at a priest. Nope, not her.

  At least there was one good thing about all this—with a priest bearing witness to this whole mess, the people behind her would probably refrain from showering her with stinging insults and settle for dirty looks.

  Faith dug in her purse again, avoiding eye contact with the priest. “Thanks, but it’s okay. I’m sure I have–”

  “Lady,” the man waiting in line behind her said, “take the money so the rest of us have a chance to make it home before Thanksgiving.”

  Faith’s shoulders dropped and she turned to the priest. “I can pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Consider it my good deed for the day.” He flashed another grin that made her want to melt into a puddle at his feet. You know, before she remembered the whole priest thing. He handed her the two dollars and she paid for her cranberries and stuffed her belongings back in her purse.

  She turned back towards the priest to offer her thanks, but he’d already disappeared.

  She grabbed her bag and hurried outside before the other patrons had a chance to grab their torches and pitchforks.

  Holidays sure did seem to bring out the best in people.

  Out in the parking lot, Faith braced herself against the cold November chill, pulling her black pea coat tight around her body. A few yards away, her Good Samaritan leaned against a car, talking on his phone.

  There was something bizarre about a priest talking on a cell phone. Like the time she’d driven through Pennsylvania and snapped a picture of an Amish woman filling the gas tank of a ginormous SUV. In this case, she decided to refrain from taking advantage of the photo op. She’d already ogled the guy. Taking a picture might elevate her to stalker status. She was pretty sure nothing good could come from stalking a priest.

  He hung up the phone before she had a chance to escape the parking lot and her shoulders sagged. She might not want to be accused of stalking, but she should go give him a real thank you for helping her out. He had saved her from the unruly masses in Carlucci’s Market.

  “Excuse me,” she called before he could get into his car, a sensible Ford. “I wanted to thank you again. I think you may have saved my life back there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the store.

  “My pleasure.”

  “Is there somewhere I can send the money? I thought I had a little more cash in my wallet….”

  He waved her offer away. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.”

  Faith bit her bottom lip, trying to imagine the handsome, clean-cut man in front of her digging in his pockets for spare change.

  As if he could read her mind, he nodded. “Even me. Once I was late for an appointment and didn’t have money f
or the parking meter. I asked a lady passing by if she had any change. I even told her I was a priest. She hit me with her purse and told me I should be ashamed of myself for impersonating a man of the cloth.”

  Faith laughed at the picture he painted. His eyes dipped down for an instant and her laughter cut off on a choking wheeze.

  Yikes. Was it her imagination or had the priest just checked her out? She hopped backwards a step and stuttered out another quick thanks before scurrying away. Must be her imagination. Or maybe he was one of those pervy priests.

  As she made the trek to the train platform, half her brain dwelled with disgust on the idea of him checking her out. The other half was happy she’d taken the extra few minutes to do her hair and put on some makeup this morning.

  Chapter Two

  Faith trudged up the walkway of her mother’s duplex clutching her two cans of cranberries to her chest. Looking up at the house, her steps slowed. The faded brick and white awnings were exactly the same as when she was a kid. Warmth seeped slowly into her chest, but she couldn’t help but shake her head.

  Distance-wise she was only a few miles or so from her own apartment. But her neighborhood, with its mixture of industrial buildings, artists’ studios, and funky little shops, was a long way from the tree-lined streets and neat rows of duplexes that marked the Brooklyn neighborhood she’d grown up in.

  She clutched the wrought iron railing separating her mother’s stoop from the neighbor’s, ready to navigate the too-steep concrete steps in order to get to the welcoming warmth of her family home.

  Definitely too steep. Faith tottered up on her slim heels, wishing her feet were snug inside a toasty pair of Uggs instead of the heels that were sure to be the death of her. But there was no way she could arrive at her mother’s house for a holiday in comfortable clothing. Her mother would have her head if she showed up in the jeans and boots she wanted to wear. She’d opted instead for a little black dress and the silver heels of death. She might still catch hell for not being more festive, but for some reason she had no sweater sets featuring pumpkins and fall leaves. She rolled her eyes as she remembered the outfit her sister Maddie wore to Thanksgiving last year.

  Faith raised a hand to knock, but the door burst open. She tripped over the threshold and fell into her brother’s arms.

  He snatched her into the house and shoved her into the powder room just inside the front door before she could so much as blink. “Faith, thank God you’re here.”

  She gave him the stink eye. “What the heck, Frank?”

  He took her by the shoulders. “Just wait. Wait until you see the yummy morsel Mom invited to dinner.”

  She scrunched her nose at him. Frank didn’t usually have such a flare for the dramatic, but they did seem to share the same taste in men. A fact their mother tried to ignore, often inviting a “nice girl” over for dinner in an attempt to convince Frank that being gay was just a phase. His excitement over his mother’s guest definitely raised her curiosity.

  Frank slid her coat off her shoulders and opened the bathroom door enough to slip an arm out and hang it on the hall coat rack. He cracked the door a bit wider and poked his head out, ensuring the coast was clear before tugging her by the hand to the living room doorway. With a finger to his lips, he motioned for her to take a peek around the corner while he moved stealthily to the other side to get his own gander at their guest.

  Faith’s gaze immediately fell on the man standing in front of the fireplace admiring the considerable display of family photos. With only a view of his back, she scrutinized what she could make out—dark hair falling just over his collar, starched blue oxford shirt tucked into khaki pants.

  The outfit was a little conservative for her taste, but those broad shoulders, long legs, and tight buns could make up for a plethora of fashion faux pas. A thought began to tickle at the back of her mind and she narrowed her eyes. The tickle became a smack upside the head as the man turned from the mantle. They jumped back, each hiding on their respective sides of the doorframe.

  “Dibs,” Frank whispered.

  Faith smirked and shook her head. She didn’t need to see full frontal, so to speak, to know who her mother’s guest was. “He’s taken.”

  “What? By who?”

  “God.”

  “What?”

  “He’s taken by God.” She kept her voice low to ensure the room’s occupant couldn’t hear her. “He’s a priest.”

  “No way!” Frank mouthed at her, his mouth dropping open.

  “What are you two doing skulking around out here?”

  They jumped as if on cue. Faith rolled her eyes. Talk about skulking. Of course they hadn’t heard their mother come down the hall from the kitchen. Stealth was one of their mother’s greatest gifts. Right up there with giving guilt and matching her shoes and purse to her lipstick.

  “Faith, don’t roll your eyes. Come in and greet our guest.”

  Great. Back home for less than five minutes and already feeling like a ten-year-old. She leaned over and pecked her mother’s powdered cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

  Her mother gave her an affectionate, if absent-minded, pat on the shoulder and immediately homed in on Faith’s hands. Faith’s empty hands. “You forgot the cranberries.”

  Faith knew she made the right decision forgoing her paycheck in favor of getting those cranberries. The horror in her mother’s voice made it sound like forgetting the cranberries was a sin akin to selling herself on the street. Now if only she could remember where she left those cans.

  “Oh!” She scooted back into the powder room. There were the cranberries, perched exactly where she left them on the edge of the sink. She emerged from the bathroom holding a can up high in each hand just as their guest appeared from the living room. Their gazes met and a slow grin spread across his face.

  God had an interesting sense of humor.

  Before either of them could say a word, Faith’s mother swooped down, rolling her eyes—Faith came by that talent naturally—and taking the cans. She placed them on the hall table and ushered all of them into the living room.

  “Faith, Frank, this is Father Michael Flannery. Father Michael, this is Faith and Frank.”

  Frank reached a hand out towards Father Michael and the two men shook hands. Faith hid her smirk when Frank held on a moment after Father Michael was ready to let go. She didn’t miss the quick up-down Frank gave the other man or the small headshake and sigh before he smiled.

  “Nice to meet you,” Frank said.

  “You, too.” Father Michael smiled, then turned and held a hand out to Faith.

  His gaze landed on her and she swallowed hard. She hadn’t imagined the intense blue. She pulled in a deep breath and offered her hand. His hand was big and warm, and the warmth spread from her palm and right up her arm. She bit her bottom lip and stood absolutely still until he let go.

  Priest, priest, priest. She needed the reminder that while this man may dress like any other guy, he was anything but. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “off limits.”

  “He’s from over at St. David’s,” her mother explained before Faith or Father Michael admitted to having met already.

  Not that they really needed an explanation. Faith and Frank were used to various priests, rabbis, reverends and assorted religious figures showing up for dinner at the house. For all her conservative ways, Faith’s mother tended to try on religions the way some women tried on shoes. And when she tried it out, she immersed herself in it, inviting people for dinner, going to services several times each week, and volunteering for whatever event or charity they supported.

  For some reason, none of the religions seemed to take. But it served for some amusing meals at the Leary household. The best was the year her mother invited the rabbi from Temple Beth Torah over for Christmas dinner. The man was polite and had a sense of humor about the whole thing, but suffice it to say there wasn’t much talk from her mom about converting to Judaism after that.

  “So, you
’re really a priest?” Frank again checked out Father Michael, his gaze moving from the top of his head to the tips of his loafers and back up. “How did that happen?”

  “Frank!” Her mother’s voice came out choked and her hands clenched at her side. Faith had no doubt her mother was restraining herself from smacking Frank on the back of the head in front of the guest.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Leary. It’s a question I get a lot.”

  Father Michael smiled again, and Faith held back a sigh like a tween girl fawning over the pages of Tiger Beat. The man was fine. Bet his church was filled to the rafters with women who had to head to confession regularly to atone for their impure thoughts. Before her own impure thoughts could get the better of her, Faith changed the subject.

  “Where are Maddie and Gram and Gramps?”

  “Maddie stopped to pick your grandparents up on her way over,” her mother said. “Knowing your grandmother, she wasn’t ready when your sister got there and now they’re running late.”

  As if talking about the rest of the family conjured them, the front door rattled and was quickly followed by her sister’s cheery voice. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Father Michael, come meet the rest of the family.” Faith’s mother tugged him out towards the entryway while Frank leaned a shoulder against Faith’s. She followed Frank’s gaze and enjoyed the view of Father Michael’s retreating form.

  “Such a shame.” Frank let out a hefty sigh.

  “Uh huh.” Faith patted her chin to make sure she wasn’t drooling and followed the others out to greet the rest of the family.

  Maddie did not disappoint. She was dressed to perfection in a cranberry sweater set with fall leaves embroidered around the edges of the cardigan. And in case Faith may have missed her sister’s perfection, her mother pointed it out as she herded everyone into the dining room after introductions were made. “Oh, Maddie, you look just perfect. I love that sweater. Oh, and you brought your pies…”