7. Chapter 7
Harley
Of course Craig had to flex his muscles by having us pulled over and Kingsley searched in the most inappropriate manner.
That female officer had taken her darn time.
I had no idea my ex could be so primitive and childish.
I was more than ready to let my friends choose a guy for me, because I obviously hadn’t learned anything from the last five times.
Maybe the next man would be the right one.
Hopefully. I was getting tired of falling for the wrong ones.
I lifted my gaze from my shepherd’s pie and glanced at Kingsley sitting across the table, Brother Lucien on his left, Brother Matthew on his right.
Sharing a meal with monks and priests felt like journeying back to medieval times, especially in this dining room with stone walls and domed ceilings, a sturdy wooden table, and a rustic iron chandelier with candles hanging over our heads.
Just like this morning, we ate in silence.
Which gave my thoughts a lot of room to rampage.
I’d never liked silence much. Probably because I’d grown up as an only child. My parents were amazing—I still facetimed them once a week—but I had always longed for a home that was alive. Instead, loneliness had been my constant companion.
I forced another bite down. Not even twenty-four hours had passed, and I’d already expanded Kingsley’s horizon in the worst way possible. He’d squared off with a corrupt detective, almost been stabbed by the son of an Italian Mafia don, and groped by a female officer.
But the way he’d handled everything . . . This man was built differently. He defied everything I’d thought a monk was. His quiet courage and honor intrigued me in a way that felt too forbidden to dwell on it.
We finished lunch, then Brother Aurelius read from the Rule of St. Benedict—whatever that was. He read about how the first degree of humility was obedience without delay. Had I been obedient to God? Especially without delay?
Not really. More than once I’d felt convicted about my lifestyle. About being intimate with men outside of marriage. Craig hadn’t been the only one.
And about reading books with smut in them.
The fact that still some of those sat on the shelf in my living room was proof of my disobedience to God.
Smut was porn, just in written form rather than imagery.
But it was all the same. It produced lustful pictures in my head and brought back memories of the things I’d done.
And made me crave things God had meant for marriage.
The problem ran deeper, though. That kind of behavior was born of something. Loneliness was my guess, but there had to be more. I was around people all the time, so maybe it was a sense of connection I missed?
“Can I have a word with you in the rectory?”
Father Cruz’s question broke into my musing, and for a second, I feared my thoughts were written all over my face.
“Don’t worry, I just want to make sure you feel comfortable while you’re staying with us.” He smiled, displaying a row of pearly whites.
I huffed a laugh that oozed relief. “I’d be honored to talk to the abbot himself.”
Chuckling, he pointed at the door. “Then let’s go.”
The rectory, a squat two-story stone structure with a slanted roof, sat right behind the main building. Father Cruz invited me into a spartan study with low ceilings. Shelves stuffed with thick books lined the walls, more books and papers stacked on the wooden desk.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He pointed at two armchairs facing each other by an open window.
I crossed the worn carpet and lowered myself into one.
Instead of relaxing into it, I crossed my legs and straightened my spine.
Father Cruz exuded something that made me want to display my best behavior.
Or maybe it was because being surrounded by priests and monks made me painfully aware of my sins.
Of my constant inappropriate thoughts, especially towards a certain monk.
“Did Brother Samuel inform you about the policies we have for our guests?” Father Cruz sat opposite of me. Outside, Brother Lucien was hanging up linens on a clothesline in the beautiful sunshine. A soft breeze rustled the candle nut trees and hibiscus.
Maybe being here would do me some good. Allow me to find rest and peace and connect more with God.
I felt distant from Him. Being lonely had caused me to make a lot of wrong decisions, so the distance I felt obviously resulted from my own sin.
But it was like I couldn’t help it. I told myself not to sin anymore, but then my resolve was so frustratingly weak.
“He did. I have to attend all services and apart from those times am not allowed to wander outside the guest area. No tight clothing, and my skin has to be covered at all times.”
Father Cruz nodded. “I hope you understand that asking you to stay in the guest area is because we value our privacy.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to attend all services if you don’t want to. We have a lot going on.”
I brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “I want to. My goal is to strengthen my relationship with God while I’m here, and I find attending your prayer meetings and services helps.”
The corners of Father Cruz’s mouth lifted. “Do you feel safe in the guesthouse?”
“I do. In here in general. I don’t think anyone can get over these walls.”
“You did.”
I laughed. “Yes, but I was full of adrenaline and practiced parkour in the past.”
“It would be a lie to say I wasn’t impressed.”
“Can I do anything while I’m here?” Safer to get off topic before he could ask why I had climbed the walls. “I’d love to help with chores.”
Leaning back in his seat, Father Cruz ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “Brother Aurelius and Brother Matthew can always use an extra hand in the kitchen. If they don’t need assistance, you can help Brother Lucien with laundry.”
My heart sank. I wanted to do yard work with Kingsley.
I nodded nonetheless. “Okay, thank you.”
“Thank you . Allow me the odd question—was your name giver a Harley-Davidson fan?”
That made me grin. “Yes, my dad. He still is.”
“He has great taste.” Father Cruz pulled up the sleeve of his black shirt, revealing a Harley-Davidson tattoo on his right forearm. “I’m a fan, too.”
Wow! That came unexpected. And the Harley wasn’t the only tattoo. He had a lot more. Some of them looked gang related.
Father Cruz pulled the sleeve back down. “Everyone here has a story, Harley. Whatever yours is—you’re welcome here.”
His words seeped into my soul, warm and comforting. Something about Father Cruz reminded me of Dad. They exuded the same calmness. Didn’t judge.
Which, shockingly, seemed to be rare among Christians these days.
The amount of times I’d heard people say behind my back, or even to my face, that working in a club wasn’t biblical was ridiculous.
These places were exactly where Christians were needed the most. Four party goers had already joined my church after I invited them.
Where else would they have heard about the Gospel if they never frequented Christian gatherings?
I’d also been called a harlot for having sex outside of marriage.
Harley the Harlot. How about you walk in my shoes for a couple of weeks, Karen, and we’ll see how long you last?
I was all for keeping each other accountable, but to tear someone down for their problems was a whole other story.
The energy those people wasted on throwing rocks at others would better be invested in spreading love.
“Is there anything else you need?” Father Cruz asked, once again yanking me out of my thoughts.
I shook my head. “Nope, I’m all set.”
Fifteen minutes later I was in the old kitchen, chopping potatoes for a soup we would cook on the hearth later this afternoon.
Brother Aurelius, probably in his forties and a very quiet individual, kneaded dough for bread.
My mouth watered at the thought of how delicious it’d soon smell in this kitchen.
“One time we kept a couple of cows here so we had our own milk.” Cutting chicken into bite-sized pieces, Brother Matthew had been rattling away since I’d arrived.
Most of his stories revolved around Kingsley.
“One of them, Mathilda, loved bedsheets. She would eat them off the clothesline like it was grass. I had the brilliant idea to send Mathilda into Brother Samuel’s cell while he was asleep. ”
I grinned. Oh, this was going to be good.
“Picture this.” Brother Matthew waved his butcher knife in the air as he spoke. “She goes straight for his bed, chomps into the mattress, and jerks so hard that Brother Samuel falls to the floor. You should’ve seen his face.” He mimicked a mask of shock—mouth agape, eyes wide.
Something akin to a cackle broke out of Brother Aurelius, and I cracked up, too. My weird snort-laugh made both monks guffaw even harder.
“I did not make that face.”
My stomach did a little flip at Kingsley’s baritone. He came into the kitchen, sweat running down his temples into his beard. Grinning, he headed for the wooden cupboards over the sink, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water.
I couldn’t stop staring at his Adam’s apple bobbing with every gulp. Good Lord, since when was a man drinking water attractive?
“Yes, you did.” Brother Matthew stabbed his knife in Kingsley’s direction. “And you rearranged my bookmarks in my Bible so I read from Song of Songs instead of the Psalms. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon looking toward Damascus. Do you even know how embarrassing that was?”
Kingsley’s grin widened. I’d thought the man couldn’t get any more handsome, but oh, I’d been very wrong. “That was just in front of us. Imagine if I would’ve made you do that in front of the whole congregation.”
“Who cares about the congregation? Father Cruz was there!”
“He laughed the hardest.”
I could see that. He was very laid-back.