Page 31 of Holly Jolly Heresy
She cocked her head to the side, brows drawn together. “Maybe you’re just not listening.”
“I’m trying! I keep asking for a sign, for something—anything—to show me the path forward. And nothing!”
He scrubbed his hand over his hair, the ache in his chest yawning open as he swallowed the rest of it. He didn’t deserve a sign from God, not when he was actively breaking his vows againand again. Not when he was desperate to end this conversation, not just because he wanted to stuff these feelings back into the little box at the back of his heart, but also because he wanted to kiss her again, to go back to the dream world they’d been living in.
“I’ve given my life to Him and it’s still not enough.” Though whether he meant it wasn’t enough for himself or for God he wasn’t sure.
She exhaled slowly, smoothing her flour-dusted palms over his chest. “You are a very good priest.”
“Not so good,” he said, pressing his mouth to her temple just to feel the warmth of her skin against his lips.
She smiled, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“I didn’t mean… You are not responsible for the faults of your religion.”
He considered her statement, rolling it around his mind. It wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t figure out why. “Religion is not the same thing as faith, and I know you may not believe this, but I’m not interested in perpetuating the religion. I have only ever been interested in the faith.”
“And yet you work for the religion.”
“I do,” he conceded.
But what if he didn’t? What if he chose a different life?
Please, God, send me a sign.
Chapter twelve
“That is not a Christmas movie.” Molly wrestled the remote control out of Caleb’s hands and continued scrolling through the options on the screen mounted above the fireplace. She struggled to contain her laughter at the incredulous look he shot her from his spot on the couch beside her.
“ButMoonstruckis?”
“Absolutely.”
Caleb hooked her knees with his arm and pulled her legs over his lap, settling one hand on her calf and reaching for another gingerbread cookie with his other. Their clothing had finally finished washing and drying after their morning activities under the Christmas tree, but he almost wished they’d forgotten to make use of the appliances in the upstairs hall closet. He’d much rather have her bare legs across his lap than be separated from her by her jeans and his black dress pants. At least he’d left his collar in its place on his nightstand.
He squeezed her calf, tracing the seam of her jeans with his thumb and bit off the head of a particularly obscene gingerbread man. “Bruce Willis literally wears a Santa hat.”
“Die Hardis not a Christmas movie. It is a movie set at Christmas. That’s different.”
“How is that different fromMoonstruck?” he asked around a bite of gingerbread.
“Moonstruckis cozy.”
“Infidelity and missing limbs are cozy?”
“I don’t make the rules. Ooh! What aboutWhile You Were Sleeping?”
“Isn’t that the one where she’s supposed to be engaged to one guy but she falls in love with his brother?”
“Yes, but it’s complicated. And romantic.”
“What is with you and movies where the heroine falls in love with her fiancé's brother?” He tickled her side just so she would squirm in his lap. “Do I need to be worried here, Ms. Proulx?”
“Last I checked, you weren’t my fiancé, Father West.”
He knew she’d meant it as a joke, but the words stung all the same. It wasn’t that she’d said he wasn’t her fiancé—that was objectively true. It was the other truth, the implicit understanding he wouldneverbe her fiancé.
