Page 90 of Of Vows and Betrayal

So instead of “hi,” the first words that come out of my mouth are, “I didn’t mean for him to leave like that, you know.”

He nods and jerks his head toward the elevator. “Come on,let’s go.” Derek is a man of few words, which is usually peaceful but sometimes cranks up my anxiety.

We take the elevator down to the parking garage and get into his car.

As he starts the engine, he continues, “We need to stop at Milo’s. I placed an order, but there’s no parking there. Do you mind picking it up?”

“Oh, sure. We’re coming back here for brunch?” It makes so much more sense.

He shakes his head as we pull out of the garage. “No, we’ll go to see Tiago.” He winks. “Brunch with the local priest.”

I smile, but I feel apprehensive. I’m not sure why, but it seems like involving a churchman in my pathetic drama is a waste of his valuable time.

I think Derek sees that because he squeezes my shoulder. “Tiago needs to be here for this story. It’s not only mine.”

“What about Javier?”

Derek remains silent for a few minutes as we drive, then he sighs. “You don’t listen to Javier, and I’m not blaming you. Contrary to what you may think, he’s not inclined to manipulate you, and he probably thinks this story will influence your judgment.”

“Will it?”

He stops the car, double-parking outside Milo’s. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

I don’t have time to answer, but I keep pondering while picking up the enormous amount of food and joining him back in the car.

“Isn’t it a little much for the three of us?”

“Tiago has a rule. If we come and bother him for anything, we need to bring food for ten so he can share with the homeless around the church.”

“I love that.”

He gives me a half smile. “I know you do. You’re one of us.”

I’m not sure what he means by that exactly, but I feel it just the same, and I smile, feeling warmth in my chest for the first time in weeks.

We park at the back of the church, and Father Hernandez comes to join us. Dressed in a pair of black jeans and a Henley, he looks nothing like a priest, especially with the tattoos peeking out of the collar.

God, I’m going to end up in hell because my appreciation of the man’s physique is anything but holy.

“Nice to see you again, Ophelia,” Father Hernandez says as he reaches for the bags in my hands.

“Thank you, Father. Our last meeting wasn’t the most glorious. I apologize.”

“Don’t we all have bad days? And please call me Tiago,” he adds over his shoulder as he makes his way back to what I assume is his place. What do you even call a priest’s house?

The place is small and sparse, but it’s not very far off from the apartment I used to share with my mom. The simplicity of the space makes me more comfortable almost immediately.

“Please, take a seat,” he offers, pointing at the square wooden table in the middle of the room. He rests the bags on the counter. “Did you ask for the bacon to be extra crispy?” he asks, rummaging through them.

Derekrolls his eyes, taking the seat across from mine. “Yes,” he says, placing the cup holder on the table.

“French toast?”

“Yes.”

“Date syrup instead of maple?”

“Y—actually, I forgot.”

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