Page 21 of Bad Habit
“Let’s say a young parishioner needs my counsel about something that happened on a date,” she said. “How could I answer if I’ve never even been on one?”
I nodded. “Good planning, but you know it’s not possible to experienceeverythingsomeone might come to you about.” I wanted to bite down on my tongue. What if I talked her out of this date before it even started?
“That’s a good point.” Her brow wrinkled, then she took another sip of champagne. “I guess tonight is more about understanding the life I’ll be giving up. Not that I have any doubts.”
“Of course not.” What did it felt like to be that certain about your path in life? “More champagne?”
She drew back into her seat. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”
I chuckled under my breath.
“Don’t make fun of me.” She leaned forward. “Please.”
“I’m not. Honest.” I slid forward and took her hand, and she stared down at our connection. “Is this okay?”
She nodded, then slowly raised her gaze to meet mine. “I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never worn a fancy dress or shoes like these.”
I glanced down at the shiny silver shoes on her feet, very conservative but better than the nun shoes.
“I’ve never—I’ve never held hands with a boy, or danced with or kissed one, or, or anything, so please don’t make me feel—”
“Faith.” I traced my thumb along the top of her hand, a hand so soft it was hard to imagine it ever had been exposed to air, never mind sunlight. “On my honor. I want to show you a good time tonight. And I want to have a good time, too. I’m not out to hurt you or make fun of you or do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for being a pill.”
“You’re not. And I agree with Sister Henry. You shouldn’t become a nun without having a taste of normal life. That said, anytime tonight, if you’re not having fun, if you want to go home, all you have to do is ask.”
“Thank you, Mac.”
“You can trust me.”
“I do.”
* * *
Faith
Itook another sip of the sweet liquid housed in coconut. A drink in a coconut shell. Who could ever imagine something so fancy? Not to mention tasty. “What is this called again?”
“A mai tai,” Mac answered. “And I’d slow down a little, if I were you. They’re stronger than they taste.” He took a sip from his bottle of beer.
I slurped the last of my drink, no longer embarrassed by the sound the straw made as I went for the final few drops. The reward was worth the noise. “Too late!”
Mac grinned at me, and I swore I could feel warmth emanating from across the table—warmth and joy and sincerity. I’d seen how he treated our limo driver, and the man who’d opened the door to the hotel, and the woman who’d sat us here, and the waiter who’d taken care of us for the past few hours—Mac was charming and respectful to everyone.
As far as I could tell, he could make anyone feel comfortable, but the way he looked at me felt different. Special. And I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“You like what?” He leaned toward me.
I raised my hand to my mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
He took my hand away from my lips and lightly kissed the backs of my fingers. “I’m glad you’re having fun. I thought you might like this place.”
“It’s like we’re in the tropics.”
“The Tonga Room’s old school. Built in the 1940s, I think. And to be honest, mostly tourists come here, but I figured if this was your one and only date, we should go somewhere memorable.”
“Thank you.”
