Page 19 of Holly Jolly Heresy
He twisted to face her more fully. “What’s your favorite Christmas tradition?”
“When I was little, every year on Christmas Eve, my dad and I would lie on the floor under the Christmas tree and he would read meSanta Mouse. Do you know it?”
“No, I can’t say I do.”
“It’s a children’s picture book about a mouse who doesn’t have any family or even a name. He puts out a piece of cheese for Santa on Christmas Eve and Santa is so moved by it, he gives the mouse a name and invites him to join him on his journey to deliver presents.” She smiled to herself as she finished her hot cocoa and set the mug down. “Every year, we’d read the book and then we’d put out cookies for Santa and a little piece of cheese for Santa Mouse, but not the slices of American cheese or blocks of cheddar we usually had in the fridge. Dad would go to the store and buy a wedge of brie or gouda or Manchego. Something special. The pine needles would fall into the cheese and we’d steal little slices off the edge while Dad read. But then I got older and we stopped reading and Mom got tired of vacuuming up the pine needles. I don’t think I’ve had a real Christmas tree since I was a teenager.” She paused, and when she spoke again, it was as though she were speaking to herself and not him. “Someday, I’m going to buy fancy cheese and read books to my kids under a real Christmas tree.”
His heart thudded painfully at the idea of Molly with children, with a husband, a family he had no part of. “You’ll be an amazing mom.”
“Did you ever want kids? Before you…” She waved her hand at him as though that completed her sentence.
“I was only twenty when I began my formation.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and glanced away. “Honestly, before that, I was more concerned withnotgetting a girl pregnant.”
She gasped, her eyes widening, and pressed a mock-scandalized hand to her chest. “Father West, are you not a virgin?”
He wanted to press his lips to the hollow of her throat. “I am not, Ms. Proulx.”
“Damn.” She let out a slow breath as she melted back against the couch, leaning her head back even as she kept her eyes on him. “I really wish I didn’t know that.”
His skin buzzed, electrified by her nearness and the distracting sliver of skin at her neckline and the soft sort of longing in her voice—or had he imagined that?
If he were any other man, he would reach across the space between them and trace her smile with his tongue. He’d let the desire and frustration clouding his senses take over. It would be the most natural thing in the world to kiss her, to touch her. Far more so than the immense effort he was expending to stay on his side of the couch. But when she looked at him like that, her eyes warm and a little sad, like sheknewexactly how wonderful they could be together and had already mourned the impossibility of it, when she looked at him like she saw the man beneath the vestments, like she cared for him not because of his vocation but perhaps in spite of it…
If he were any other man, he could make her happy. He was sure of it.
“I guess I always assumed, in order to give something like that up, you must never have experienced it,” she said.
The standard reply was out of his mouth before he’d even really considered it. “Sexuality is such a small part of who we are.”
“But don’t you ever miss it? Sometimes I just need to be touched, to connect with another person.”
“You can have connection without taking your clothes off,” he said, though his skin had heated at her words, desire washing over him.Careful.“We’re connecting right now.”
She shook her head. “That’s different. That’s— Oh.” She broke off, as though she’d solved some hidden puzzle. “I see.”
“What do you see, Ms. Proulx?” he asked, a teasing lilt slipping into his tone.
“Nothing. Forget it,” she said, sitting up straight.
“Say it. Unless you’re choosing dare?” He arched an eyebrow at her expectantly.
“Dare,” she whispered.
“I dare you to tell me.”
He could practically see the wheels turning in her head, the debate she was having with herself. At last, she looked him dead in the eyes, and said, “You may not be a virgin, but you’ve never had good sex.”
“I have had plenty of—”
She barreled on, a lift at the corner of her lips as though she had him all figured out. “Not just sex that feels good, but sex that rewrites your DNA.”
All teasing fell away. “What do you mean?”
She closed her eyes, her hands hovering over her heart, as she spoke. “Being with someone like that, it’s not just because you’re chasing a release. You’re inviting them to become a part of you. When you can’t get close enough, and they become a part of every cell, rewiring every atom. When each touch, each breath,grounds you more in your body. Somehow, being as close to another person as physically possible becomes about so much more than bodies. It’s recognizing the light in another person, understanding that alone we aren’t complete…” She opened her eyes, sighing dreamily. “Sex like that… I can’t imagine giving that up.”
He struggled to swallow, his throat constricted. “And you have had sex like that?”
The sadness in her eyes at whatever memory she was recalling broke his heart and made him unreasonably jealous all at the same time. “Almost. Once. But I believe I’ll find it again, and this time I’ll get to keep it.”
