7. Matteo
SEVEN
MATTEO
“This is really great, Marcy.”
Marcy waves a dismissive hand, but I see the blush on her face. She might not admit it, but she likes the validation and praise, who wouldn’t?
It was an incredible idea to drive to Cheyenne and volunteer at this soup kitchen. I’m surprised by how many parishioners joined us. Earl from the General Store is at the head of the line, happily spooning food to those in need as he jabbers away about the difference between yams and candied yams. Old Man Crafter is by the tables, regaling people with the birth story of his recent calf, Estelle. Other parishioners are here as well, all with smiles on their faces, ready to help in any way they can.
“How often can we do this?” I ask Marcy in between guests, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “Can we come once a week?”
“It’s a four-hour drive, sugar,” she reminds me, patting my arm. “But it’s nice that you’re enjoyin’ it.”
I’m more than enjoying it. Besides hearing the Lord’s call, this is the reason why I became a priest in the first place. I was called to serve, to help those who need me, to be a positive light in an otherwise ugly world.
“Hey? Did I miss it? Am I late?”
We both turn to see a breathless Theo in front of us, his pale freckled face red as he tries to gather his bearings. Marcy and I both chuckle, and I place my hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Just a bit. Did you run here?”
“Funny,” he heaves, hand on his chest as he stands straight. “I woke up late, but I didn’t want to miss this.”
Something funny flutters in my stomach, causing me to wrinkle my brows. I wonder why he seems so panicked, that desperation I’ve seen before sparkling in his blue eyes. I realize I’m still holding onto his shoulder when he turns to look at my hand, and I snatch it away quickly, almost as if I’ve done something wrong.
“Here, have my ladle,” Marcy says, handing it over to Theo. “Take my spot. I gotta make sure Old Man Crafter isn’t goin’ on about the difference between healthy and unhealthy horse manure.”
Both Theo and I laugh as she walks away, rushing toward Old Man Crafter, who’s moved on to the more interesting topic of cow puke. I look over at Theo and see that he’s stirring the chili, almost as if he’s trying to look anywhere but at me. I don’t know why that causes an unpleasant reaction in my now frustrated gut. I nudge him with my shoulder, getting closer to him so he can hear me over the noise in the kitchen. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too, Father—” he shakes his head “—I mean, Matteo.”
My name coming from his lips sends shivers down my back. It’s so personal. The only person who’s ever called me that in ten years is Jarred. I can’t at all discern why I told Theo he could use my name last night, but I felt overcome with the urge to blur the line between priest and friend.
Maybe because he was so easy to talk to. Because he was funny in a dry sort of way. Last night I felt a connection with him like I could spend hours figuring out what’s going on inside his head. The man, who seems so average, whose expressive eyes scream that there’s more under the surface. The man with the picture-perfect life who’s calling out for help. So, my name on his tongue?—
I don’t hate it.
“But don’t you love me, Matteo?”
That snaps me out of it. I blurred lines before, thinking that Jacob was just a friend, and allowing it to turn into more. Jacob was special, but the feelings I had for him drove me to madness and nearly steered me away from God. This isn’t the same situation, for obvious reasons, but I’m reminded of why there always needs to be a degree of separation between a priest and his flock.
No matter how captivating I find Theo or how curious I am to know the things he hides.
“Maybe Father Matteo when we’re in public,” I rush out quickly, knowing there likely won’t be another time when we’re alone together. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was playing favorites.”
Despite my half-hearted attempt at a recovery joke, Theo flushes, but this time it’s akin to embarrassment. He nods, fumbling with his ladle. “Sorry, Father.”
I gulp, teetering on my heels as I stare at his profile. Why can’t I just… What is it about this man? What exactly is making me act like a fool? Like an unsure stag looking for shelter? I’m gravitating toward Theo for some unknown reason while I should be engaging in my priestly duties.
But getting to know my congregation is just that, isn’t it?
“You never told me where you work,” I blurt out gracelessly, pausing for only a minute to serve a scoop of chili to a guest. “Is it in Smallville?”
Somehow it seems like he lets out a loud breath, a sweet smile on his lips as he nods. “Um, yeah. It’s a local insurance firm. It’s not that interesting.”
There he goes again. In the two conversations we’ve had, Theo always finds a way to demean himself. I cock my head to the side, uncaring that it’s probably a little awkward to be looking at him like a lab specimen, but I’m just so curious. “Do you do that a lot?”
“What?” he asks, not looking at me as he spoons some chili in a bowl.
“Talk yourself down.”
He drops the ladle, chili splattering between us, and whips his head at me. He opens and closes his mouth, pale freckled face growing red. “I—You can’t know that.”
“But I do, Theo. I know more than you think,” I say, and the words carry a weight I didn’t intend. I realize that too quickly and clear my throat, fumbling beside me for a napkin. “I mean, it’s just an observation. If I offended you?—”
His hand atop of mine stops me in my tracks. I look up at his face hesitantly, unsure of what I’ll find, almost scared that it’ll be anger. But what I’m met with goes far beyond my expectations.
It’s longing.
A longing for someone to understand. A longing for someone to reach into the abyss with a guiding light. A longing for someone to care .
His sky-blue eyes are soft as he shakes his head. “Father?—”
“Matteo,” I insist because I’m not his priest right now. I can’t be. My reluctance to be anything besides his priest, to be his friend, is gone in the wind. “Theo, I?—”
“Are you two workin’ or are you two dickin’ around?”
I didn’t notice how close Theo and I had gotten until we were jumping apart, heads swiveling in the direction of an amused Marcy with her hands on her hips. She wags her fingers at us as she clicks her tongue. “Men. I swear it. Can’t leave you lot unattended for even a second before you go blabberin’ away like two grannies.”
I open my mouth, ready to defend myself. “I?—”
“Nope, you boys had your chance,” she says, rounding the table and hip-checking me out of the way as she shoos me away with her hands. “Go mingle, Father. Theo and I got this. Right, sugar?”
I look at Theo and there’s disappointment laced with frustration in his expression. It’s like he wants to argue but he doesn’t. He takes in a deep breath, the appearance of his true feelings fleeting before he turns to Marcy with a wink. “So, I get you all to myself?”
“You charmer,” she teases, batting his arm. She turns to me and raises a brow. “You’re still here?”
I have to chuckle at that. I raise my hands in surrender as I walk backward away from them. “I see where I’m not wanted. You tell me where to go and where to be right?”
She nods, haughty almost, but in an endearing sort of way. “Absolutely.”
With just a little reluctance, I turn away from them and head toward the dining hall. I spend time talking with various unique people, hearing their stories, and offering them any comfort I can. I love this part of my job. Interacting with people, aiding them in their darkest times, being a presence to guide them—It’s everything God planned for me.
The rest of the day passes quickly, and before I know it, it’s time to pack up. Marcy calls me over, and all the volunteers head to the kitchen to wash the tubs and dishes. I don’t mind the hard work, not in the slightest because work like this keeps me grounded. Humility is an essential quality in a servant of the Lord, and I hope I possess it in spades.
Theo walks up to me with a few more dishes to do but instead of dropping them off, he takes some cleaning gloves off the hook in front of us and puts them on. I raise my brow at him and he just shrugs, reaching into the sink to help me.
“Thank you,” I say, soaping a particularly difficult dish.
He shrugs again, demure in his movement, and doesn’t look at me as he answers. “No problem, Matteo.”
I can’t help the smile that splits my face. I try to hide it by ducking my head, but I’m sure it’s obvious to anyone who’s looking. I hold back the words that are trying to escape me, thoughts that seem vaguely familiar but bring a sense of foreboding with them.
I just want to keep hearing him say my name.
“What are you doing after this?”
He knocks me out of my daze, and I glance down to see that all the dishes are done while I’ve been washing just one. I shake my head and rinse the excessively soapy dish. “I suppose Marcy and I are riding back to Smallville.”
“Do you…” I quirk a brow when he trails off, eyes laser-focused on the way he nibbles on his bottom lip, almost like he’s also trying to keep something in. After a moment, resolution shines through him as he squares his shoulders and holds his chin high. “Do you want to get lunch?—”
“Yes,” I rush out before he can even finish his sentence. I try to cover it up because what the actual fuck just happened? “It’d be a shame to drive back home without seeing the city.”
He smiles like he caught my slip but doesn’t mention it. “Yeah, Cheyenne’s nice. If you’re okay with Indian food, there’s this really good restaurant just a couple of blocks from here. I could give you a lift home after. I mean, do you want to?”
Why is he still asking like I’m going to say no? This makes a furious rush of unseemly anger course through me. It’s like he’s trained to believe that his presence is inherently dull and unwanted. I fight through my irritation—not at him—and smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
The way he brightens would be enough reason to accept his offer. It’s like his entire face transforms, a man I’ve never met before unfolding in front of me.
But, in a deep recess within my mind, I can’t fight the nagging feeling that I should have said no.