Chapter Six #2
“I like your idea about asking the congregation to help. We have people from all walks of life that would be useful. However, we’ll still need materials.
I don’t want your money, but I would like your time.
Running this little church is three full-time jobs.
Maybe four. If you’d be willing, I’d love to have you step in as my volunteer coordinator. ”
Silence fills the room. Well, silence and the birds that won’t stop singing outside of his window.
Also, I hear Leanne laughing way too hard at someone’s joke.
She has a very specific laugh, and even though I’ve only heard it a couple of times now, I could identify it in a lineup.
It’s a cackling sort of overture that reeks of desperation.
“Oh,” I say, my stomach tightening as I think about spending my days here at the church. “I, ugh, yeah. I could do that, actually. I’ve been looking for a reason to get out of the house more, but he’ll want photographs.”
“That’s fine, as long as we can schedule everything in advance. I don’t want the church to become a circus, that’s all. My congregation deserves peace when they’re here.”
“Got it.” I jot the rule down, though I know I won’t forget. “I’ll make sure and schedule specific times to have them stop by.”
He stares toward me a beat too long, his broad chest rising and falling. “And if you’d like to stop by tomorrow, I can—”
“Father Anderson,” Leanne’s voice echoes in from behind. “Everyone is looking for you. There’s some photographer guy that’s here to take pictures. It’s disgusting! We’re trying to enjoy the potluck.”
“Oh no,” I groan and turn toward Leanne. “I’m so sorry. I forgot he said there were photographers following me today. My husband…” I stand from my chair and turn back toward Father Anderson. “He’s… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know.” Father Anderson’s deep voice cuts straight through me. “Leanne, thank you. Please let us finish our private chat.”
“Father,” Leanne presses, “there’s going to be a fight. You know the—”
“Leave us be,” he presses, voice deeper than before.
She scoffs and steps back, mumbling something under her breath. I’m sure it’s some kind of ancient curse that renders me mute for eternity or something, but I figure I’ll find the cure later. Right now, I have damage control to do with the priest.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my hand rubbing up and down my arm nervously. “I don’t know how I forgot they were coming.”
“It’s okay, really. We hadn’t made our deal yet.”
“Well, technically,” I grin, “we made our deal like twenty seconds beforehand, so I should be punished.”
His eyes darken and his shoulders roll back. “And what should the punishment be for inviting photographers to my Sunday mass without my permission?”
“Umm,” I grin, “is there some kind of holy paddle you can spank me with or something?”
He tilts his head to the side. “I couldn’t paddle you. You’re too sweet. I think the punishment would have to be in service to me.”
My brows raise as he guides me out of the rectory. “In service to you? How would I be in service to you?”
Why is my brain going to sexual favors? Clearly, that’s not what he means.
His big hand lands on the small of my back, his calluses snagging against the fabric of my dress.
“I have plenty of things I need serviced.” He clears his throat.
“We’ll have to discuss that after the potluck.
I need to announce you as the new volunteer coordinator and get photos for the website anyhow. This is perfect timing.”
He holds his hand steady on my back as he opens the door to the back steps of the church where the small congregation is laying out the food.
Why is he still touching me? Isn’t that weird?
Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s totally normal.
Some people show their care through touch.
I should notice how much he touches everyone else.
Maybe it’s not weird at all, and it feels so good to be touched with kindness and soft intent that I’m overthinking the whole thing. I’m sure that’s the one.
The scent of pine, damp leaves, and someone’s smoked barbeque hits me as the wind picks up.
A few folks are already eating my cupcakes, which makes me happy to see, though the photographer my husband sent is already snapping photos of Father Anderson and I which sucks the happiness right out of me again.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax my stiffening body. I should be used to all this hoopla by now. The photographs, the hate, the people that approach you on the street, but I’m not. I never will be.
“You’re okay,” Father Anderson says low and warm against the lobe of my ear. “I’ve got you.”
A rush of something hot and comforting washes over me as I stay tucked against his frame. I should’ve come to church sooner. I had no idea it would feel this soothing, that I would feel this seen. It’s been so reassuring to talk to a priest and be part of a community.
“I have an announcement,” Father Anderson says louder now, addressing the group as his big, warm hand still lies on the small of my back, my body perfectly molded into the corner of his chest. “Starting today, we have some big changes coming to Grace Valley Church. As I’m sure many of you have noticed, the church is in need of repairs small and large.
We’ve got the roof, the doors, and too many other things to count.
As one person, it would take me the rest of my days to finish the work here, and I believe you all deserve better.
So, Wren here has been kind enough to offer her time and expertise to the community.
She will be our new volunteer coordinator.
If you or anyone you know has any skill set or materials that they’d be willing to share with the church, please give Wren here your information and she’ll be in contact with you soon. ”
He glances toward me as though I may have something to say, and though it’s been ages since I’ve spoken to a large group like this, I feel safe with him next to me.
“Oh, and for those that I didn’t get a chance to meet today, my name is Wren Harlow.
My husband, Zane, is running for mayor in the Springs.
” I nod toward the round man with the baseball cap holding the camera with a lens the size of a telescope.
“That man with the camera is Joey. He won’t be here all the time, but he will be documenting the work that we’re doing.
I’ll make sure that he respects your privacy. ”
“So, you’re doing this for publicity?” Leanne shouts, her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders red from the wind biting against them. “You don’t really care about us or the church?”
“That’s not true,” Father Anderson presses. “Wren could’ve chosen any church, any organization to help. She chose our parish and we should be thankful.”
The crowd seems fine with this. In fact, they seem more interested in my cupcakes than they do the photographer snapping photos, though Leanne is still stewing in the back. I have a feeling she’s going to be trouble.
Father Anderson guides me off the steps, his hand never leaving my orbit as we tuck against a heavy hanging oak at the back of the property in front of the church, Joey snapping photo after photo of the priest and I, his arm around me, a smile on my face, my heart racing.
A cool breeze catches my hair and sends a cascade of strands across his face. He blinks through the curtain of locks then brushes them aside with amusement, our gaze catching as an impulsive warmth spreads through me like a fire caught wild, leaving me wondering why my heart is beating so hard.