Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
“That is not a Christmas movie.” Molly wrestled the remote control out of Caleb’s hands and continued scrolling through the options on the screen mounted above the fireplace. She struggled to contain her laughter at the incredulous look he shot her from his spot on the couch beside her.
“But Moonstruck is?”
“Absolutely.”
Caleb hooked her knees with his arm and pulled her legs over his lap, settling one hand on her calf and reaching for another gingerbread cookie with his other.
Their clothing had finally finished washing and drying after their morning activities under the Christmas tree, but he almost wished they’d forgotten to make use of the appliances in the upstairs hall closet.
He’d much rather have her bare legs across his lap than be separated from her by her jeans and his black dress pants.
At least he’d left his collar in its place on his nightstand.
He squeezed her calf, tracing the seam of her jeans with his thumb and bit off the head of a particularly obscene gingerbread man. “Bruce Willis literally wears a Santa hat.”
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. It is a movie set at Christmas. That’s different.”
“How is that different from Moonstruck?” he asked around a bite of gingerbread.
“Moonstruck is cozy.”
“Infidelity and missing limbs are cozy?”
“I don’t make the rules. Ooh! What about While You Were Sleeping?”
“Isn’t that the one where she’s supposed to be engaged to one guy but she falls in love with his brother?”
“Yes, but it’s complicated. And romantic.”
“What is with you and movies where the heroine falls in love with her fiancé's brother?” He tickled her side just so she would squirm in his lap. “Do I need to be worried here, Ms. Proulx?”
“Last I checked, you weren’t my fiancé, Father West.”
He knew she’d meant it as a joke, but the words stung all the same. It wasn’t that she’d said he wasn’t her fiancé—that was objectively true. It was the other truth, the implicit understanding he would never be her fiancé.
He loved this little bubble they were in, but it was littered with landmines.
How was he meant to navigate this in between where they kissed and touched and acted like a couple and also keep himself from wanting all the things he’d vowed never to have?
When they returned to Aster Bay in the morning, he would go back to being a priest and she would go back to being the schoolteacher he couldn’t stop thinking about.
He’d always known that was the only way this could end, so why did the reminder sour in his stomach?
Molly leaned forward and cupped his jaw with her palm. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid joke.”
“Except it’s not a joke. I’m not your fiancé. I’m not your anything.”
Determination sparked in her eyes and she scratched lightly at his stubble with her nails. “Right now, you are. Here, you are.”
His hand curled around her ankle, his thumb gliding over her skin in slow strokes.
Here and now. That’s all they had promised to each other, all he could offer, a brief intermission from real life.
He’d spend the rest of his days trying to learn how to atone for a sin he couldn’t regret.
They hadn’t taught him what kind of penance to assign for that during his formation.
“How about Elf?” she asked. “No brothers involved.”
He nodded, allowing her to navigate the conversation back to safer territory. As she selected the movie he tugged her against his side, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I’m pretty sure there’s a brother in Elf.”
“Half-brother. And he’s a child. Doesn’t count.”
His lips brushed against her hair, and he breathed in her scent. “You have a lot of rules for Christmas movies.”
“Shhh. It’s starting.”
She snuggled against his chest. If he hadn’t known such a thing was biologically impossible, he would have sworn his heart grew three sizes, just like the Grinch she’d once claimed to be.
He hardly watched the movie, reveling in the weight of her curled against him, legs draped over his lap, hands and face on his chest, the tips of her middle and index fingers slipping through the holes between the buttons on his shirt.
He wanted her there always, warm and sleepy, a tangle of limbs.
He kissed her forehead and she tilted her chin up to him, a small, secret smile on her lips. A smile just for him. She pressed that smile against his mouth, a quick brush of lips before she turned back to the movie, as he struggled to place the emotion suffusing every part of him.
Happiness, yes, but not only that. Or maybe it was more about what he wasn’t feeling—doubt, shame.
Somehow their absence was so much louder than the emotions themselves had been when they howled in his chest. Because how could he doubt he was meant to hold this woman?
How could he be ashamed of caring for her, of—
Careful, Caleb.
It took Molly exactly thirty-seven minutes to fall asleep curled up in his lap, her cheek resting against his heart.
Thirty-seven minutes for him to picture what life could be like—the little condo they would rent near his brother’s house in Aster Bay so they could be close to family and friends, the evening walks through town to get ice cream, the way he’d hold her hand as they strolled the farmers’ market.
Falling asleep in her arms, reaching for her in the night, making love to her for the rest of his days.
Her belly growing round with his child, the family they could build…
She nuzzled closer, rubbing her cheek and nose against his chest like a contented kitten.
They’d both need new jobs. He would never be welcome in a Catholic church again and she wouldn’t be able to keep working at St. Anthony’s, not after having an affair with a disgraced priest. Then there were the townspeople—his parishioners, most likely—who would talk. ..
But you’d have her.
In his pocket, his phone dinged and he moved to retrieve it without jostling her too much. The dings continued rapid fire, as his brother and their friends shot off message after message in the group chat.
Gavin: How’re you guys holding up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.
Jamie: They’re fine. It's just Maine.
Gavin: They’re snowed in!
Baz: In a massive cabin.
Ethan: Jo told Hannah she heard from Molly this morning.
Gavin: Send proof of life!
He grinned to himself and held out his phone, angling the camera carefully to make sure none of Molly’s hair was in the frame, the tips of her fingers just beyond the edge of the image. He snapped a shot and sent it back.
Caleb: We're fine. Watching Christmas movies. Hopefully we’ll be headed home tomorrow.
Baz: Where’s your collar?
Shit. He traced the space at the base of his throat where his clerical collar usually sat, but his fingers only met bare skin. How could he have been so careless to forget he wasn’t wearing it before he sent that picture?
Ethan: You won’t even take that thing off for family dinner, but you take it off to watch a movie?
Caleb: It’s not a big deal. I’m allowed to take it off.
Jamie: But you never do.
There are a lot of things I never do that I’ve done in the last twenty-four hours.
His phone burst to life, vibrating and ringing in his grip, the sound far too loud.
On his chest, Molly stirred and grumbled little noises of protest against his shirt.
He fumbled to turn down the volume, pressing buttons too quickly, too haphazardly.
The screen lit up, his brother’s concerned face filling the screen.
“Shit,” Caleb swore, the phone slipping in his grasp as his own image filled the box in the corner of the screen—an image that included a clear shot of Molly sleeping in his lap.
“What’s going on? Is that Molly?” Gavin asked, his eyes going wide.
Caleb panicked, hanging up the call just before he dropped his phone. It landed with a thud on Molly’s knee.
She groaned, lifting her face up to his. “Why is your phone attacking me?”
In her lap, the phone started ringing again.
Caleb snatched it up and got to his feet, unceremoniously dislodging her in the process as he bolted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time and shouting an apology over his shoulder as he went.
He didn’t answer the call until he was safely behind the door of his bedroom—not that he’d slept in it the night before.
Shit!
“What’s going on?” Gavin asked again when Caleb answered.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you out of breath? And why aren’t you wearing your collar?”
“It’s not—You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Am I? Why was Molly in your lap?”
“She—”
“Lying is a sin, Father West.” Gavin arched an expectant eyebrow at his brother through the phone.
Caleb scraped his hand over his face as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“I do, in fact. Now tell me what’s going on.”
He shook his head, glancing away. “You’re not my confessor.”
“No, I’m your brother. And you’re avoiding the question.” When he didn’t answer, Gavin released a long-suffering sigh. “Did you lose your collar?”
“Of course not.” Caleb grabbed the plastic tab off his nightstand and held it up for the camera.
“Why are you so defensive? Caleb—” Gavin’s forehead wrinkled, his eyes flashing with a curiosity that reminded Caleb of days spent trying to figure out what creature was eating all the sugar snap peas growing in their mother’s backyard, the determined interest with which his little brother would stake out the raised beds for hours on end in hopes of catching a glimpse of the culprit. “You look different.”
Caleb blanched. “You’re imagining things.”
“I don’t think so.”
With a frustrated harumph, Caleb slid the tabs of the clerical collar into place. “There? Is that better?” The collar chafed, the rigid plastic too restrictive, suffocating, even without buttoning the top button of his shirt.
“Worse.” The curiosity in Gavin’s eyes melted into something like hurt. “It’s just me, man. What’s going on?”