9. Tea and Temptation
Chapter nine
Tea and Temptation
Celeste
Once I slung the knife on my bed, I flipped on my bedroom light, rushed over to my closet, yanked out a robe, and quickly put it on.
Next, I yanked off my bonnet.
Alright. Let’s find out what happened with Mom and then keep it cool.
When I returned to the hallway, Father Cassian was still there, looking slightly flustered but composed. His eyes quickly flicked over me before meeting my gaze again with a hint of relief in them.
It was so odd having him here.
I know priests made house calls but this felt like special attention. Surely, he could have had one of the sisters come and give me the news. I was just glad that he didn’t. This new was much better coming from him, than them.
I feel a bit lucky too.
Hadn’t other women in the congregation whispered about him?
The quiet glances, the hushed remarks all hinting at the fact that if he was in their hallway at this time of night. . .they might’ve been offering him a blow job?
God, he looks good in regular clothes too. This man is fine.
Father Cassian was here, in my hallway, and for some reason, it felt like I’d won something I wasn’t even competing for.
Then, I thought of something. “Uh. . .how did you get inside of the house?”
“Unfortunately, the door was wide open.”
“Oh no.”
“I knocked on the door several times, but that didn’t wake you so. . .I came into the house, saw your mother’s bedroom was open, and then assumed this one was yours.”
“Thank God you came and no one else walked in.” I shivered in fear.
“God is good.”
“He sure is.” I gave him a weak smile. “I definitely need to know more about what happened to my mother.”
“I will tell you everything.”
“Perfect. Would you like some coffee or tea?”
He hesitated for a few seconds and then nodded. “Tea would be fine.”
I headed off, still feeling his gaze on me. “And so my mother crashed into the sign and that was when you found her?”
“Actually, she was in the Cathedral playing the organ when I got to her.”
I tensed. “Oh no. How did she even get inside?”
“Apparently, she still had spare keys for the Cathedral. No one knew—”
“I’m so sorry—”
“I’m actually the one that is sorry. She played so well; I stood there and watched her for a while. I forgot how talented she was. Our cathedral was always blessed to have your mother.”
His words hung in the air for a moment.
My heart ached because those words made me think of a time when my mother was more than just the troubled woman she had become.
A lump formed in my throat.
I padded into the kitchen and turned on the light.
A soft, golden glow spread through the space, illuminating the dark wooden cabinets, creamy marble countertops, and the small vase of wilting lilies that I’d forgotten to replace.
Outside, the crickets sang their nocturnal song.
Father Cassian followed me in and stopped at the dining table.
Instantly, his presence filled the space even without him saying a word.
He pulled out a chair and sat down. That large frame made the modest wooden seat look too small for him. “Thank you for the tea.”
“Thank you for saving my mother and saving me by waking me up.”
“Perhaps, she saved me.” His gaze followed me with a quiet intensity.
“How?”
"Your mother," He placed his hands on the table and threaded them together, "Well. . .she has a way with the organ. Her music is hypnotic. It's like nothing I've ever heard before. Sometimes. . .it feels like she's channeling something divine, and. . .I’d been struggling with something that she made somewhat clear tonight."
Father Cassian's gaze held mine, and it was the kind of look that stripped away the layers I wore to keep myself composed. I could feel my pulse quicken into an erratic drumbeat that thrummed louder with each passing second.
There was something about the way he was looking at me—like he wasn’t just seeing me, but truly seeing me.
And not as the frazzled woman who had just been woken up in a panic over her mother, but as. . .something else.
Something more.
I tried to tell myself I was imagining it.
Stress could do that to a person, twist harmless interactions into something they weren’t.
But then his gaze flickered downward, just for a moment, and there it lingered on my lips.
Oh. I’m not. . .imagining this. . .right?
The air thickened.
I swallowed hard and forced my hands to busy themselves with making tea.
This whole night is insane. Mom went on a wild ride and then held a performance in the middle of the night. And now Father Cassian is in my kitchen. What the hell will this day bring next?
Even more, I felt like a horrible person because it was difficult to keep my mind on my mother because I was too busy checking him out.
I’d only ever seen him in his priestly robes. At least with that, every fold and seam of the fabric served as a reminder of the boundaries between us.
But tonight, he looked like he’d just stepped out of some athletic photo shoot for the title of Sexiest Bodybuilder of the Year .
It was hard to concentrate on the emergency at hand with him looking like that, radiating a raw, masculine energy that made my stomach twist into knots and my pulse thundering in my ears.
"So uh. . .” I moved toward the cabinet where I kept the tea, acutely aware of his eyes tracing my every step. “You saw her in the Cathedral and then what happened?”
“She played three songs tonight.”
“What?” With my hand resting on the cabinet door, I turned slightly and met his gaze. “Are you serious?”
“I am.” His dark eyes held a mixture of reverence and something deeper, something that stirred an unnamable feeling in me.
“The first song was Ave Maria .” He leaned back in the chair. “Her fingers glided across the keys with a precision that was. . .breathtaking. The melody filled the cathedral, resonating through the stained glass like a prayer made of music.”
I parted my lips.
“Then she played Clair de Lune . It was haunting, like she was painting memories into the air. I could not even walk over to her. I was just. . .stunned. Her playing was so beautiful. So breathtaking. . .”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. “What was the third song?”
“ Amazing Grace .”
“Wow.” I returned to my task and grabbed the tin of tea. “I cannot believe all of this.”
“Guess what else.”
“What?”
“She sang the song too.”
I took the tea out and turned to him. “She sang?”
“She did.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Her voice was shaky at first, but by the second verse, it steadied. She sounded so good that I walked in, sat down next to her on the bench, and when I did, she smiled at me as she sang and played.”
“I haven’t heard her sing in. . .years. . .”
His eyes flickered with a touch of wonder. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed hearing her sing.”
I blinked back the sudden sting of tears and turned back to the counter to grab the kettle. “She used to sing all the time when I was growing up. Hymns, lullabies, show tunes. She had a beautiful voice. . .before. . .”
“She still does.”
But. . .she’s getting worse. Putting herself and possibly others in danger. What will I do?
I filled the kettle with water, placed it on the stove, and turned the burner on.
Father Cassian continued, “When your mother finished singing, she looked at me and said, ‘The Lord has a message for you.’”
I left the stove. “A message?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say what it was?”
“She said, ‘You must take care of my Celeste now, Father. I can’t anymore. It’s too much trouble.’”
“I’m the one that’s too much trouble.” A startled laugh bubbled out of me. “She told you that? Funny, since I’ve been the one taking care of her this whole time.”
He didn’t laugh with me. His expression turned serious. “Yet. . .the message is still important.”
“That you need to take care of me?”
“Yes.”
I grinned.
He kept that serious expression— unsmiling with his eyes focused intently on me. I could see the slight furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. "She asked me to take care of you, Celeste, and she said that God told her to do it."
“Yeah, but. . .she also has dementia so—”
“Not in that moment. Not when she was playing and singing—”
“Father, she probably thought I was eight years old or something, when she said it.”
“She didn’t.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because I was there, and I felt the power of that moment.”
I pursed my lips.
What is going on? Me? Why would he need to take care of me?
I didn't need any help; I was doing just fine on my own.
Silence stretched between us.
I turned back to the stove, busying myself with the tea.
The burner’s low flame flickered beneath the kettle. It was easier to focus on the motions of brewing tea than Father Cassian’s gaze and the seriousness in his words.
What does that mean?
I grabbed my favorite tin of loose-leaf tea and packed two infusers. It was my favorite blend, a mix of vanilla, jasmine, and Earl Grey.
A tea that had always brought me comfort.
I packed the two infusers with the loose-leaf tea.
How would you even take care of me?
My mind latched onto the question, turning it over and over.
Honestly, the only thing you can do for me right now is give me some dick.
The thought hit me like a truck, and I nearly dropped the spoon I was holding. Heat rushed to my face, and I busied myself with rearranging the already neatly organized tea tins on the counter.
What the hell is wrong with me?
But no matter how much I tried to bury it, the thought grew, expanding, taking shape. I couldn’t stop the flood of images that came next, vivid and unrelenting.
I imagined him standing behind me, his hands once again on my waist, firm and grounding but sliding lower this time, skimming over the thin fabric of my robe. His breath warm against my neck as he whispered something I couldn’t make out, his voice low and rough with something I didn’t dare name.
What would it feel like to have him lose that carefully cultivated control, to let himself want me as much as I secretly wanted him?
My pulse thundered.
I gripped the edge of the counter, trying to steady myself.
The kitchen around me blurred.
In my mind, he turned me around, his dark eyes no longer hiding the intensity behind them. There would be no more restraint, no more hesitation. He’d back me against the counter and give me a hot, demanding kiss that would taste like sin and salvation all at once.
Stop it.
I bit my lip, but it only made the images more vivid. His fingers tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp. The feel of his body pressing into mine, all that strength and warmth enveloping me, erasing the chaos of the night and replacing it with something even more consuming.
My mother was wrong because I didn’t need him to take care of me.
I needed him to ruin me.
I yearned to feel his hands on me again, not to comfort but to claim.
“Celeste?” His voice snapped me back to reality.
“Uh, yes?” My voice came out higher than I intended, and I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, totally fine. Just. . .thinking.” I went back to preparing the tea. “So. . .uh. . .when will I be able to bring my mother home?”
“I don’t think you should. I have another idea.”
What?