Page 49 of Holly Jolly Heresy
Jamie pushed back from the table, leading the way into his kitchen. “Calm down. I’ll let you borrow an apron.”
Chapter nineteen
December 25th
The wrong woman opened the window.
“What the fuck?” Jo stuck her head out the window of the second-floor apartment she shared with Molly,. She scanned the street below, her eyes finally landing on Caleb where he stood guiltily holding a handful of pebbles, his mouth hanging open. “Well, if it isn’t Father West,” she said, leaning her forearms on the windowsill. “Why are you throwing rocks at my window, Father West?”
“I was trying to hit Molly’s window,” he said with a frown, dropping the few pebbles left in his palm.
“Molly’s the next window over.” Jo tilted her head in that direction. “But don’t bother. She isn’t there.”
Caleb’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
Jo grinned. Caleb had come to fear that grin, as any sane man would. Nothing good came from Jo Baker grinning like that.
“She had some urgent business over at the school,” Jo said. “She wanted to be sure her resignation letter didn’t get lost in No-Balls Bruce’s spam filter. I told her to wait until after Christmas, but you know Molly, once she’s made up her mind about something…”
Caleb stumbled back a step, his shoes sliding in the early morning frost. “What are you talking about?”
Jo pretended to examine her fingernails. “Turns out you’re not the only one who can quit their job.”
The blood drained from his face, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.
Jo rolled her eyes as though he were the most slow-witted person she’d ever spoken to. “Come on, Father, did you really think she was going to keep working there? Actually, I’m mad at you,” she said, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. “You’ve just cost me the best roommate I’ve ever had.”
Everything in him went cold. “What are you talking about? Where is she going?”
Jo shrugged.
He dug into his pocket for his cell phone. The endless ringing on the other end scraped at his nerves. Why wasn’t she answering her phone? When it went to voicemail—again—he shoved it back into his coat pocket.
“I need to talk to her,” he pleaded with the woman in the window.
“Of course you do,” she said, grinning. Somewhere behind her, there was a bang, and Jo turned over her shoulder. “Looks like it’s your lucky day. She just got home.”
By the time Caleb rounded the building to the front entrance and climbed the two flights of stairs to the door of Molly and Jo’s apartment, the gingerbread house his friends had helped himmake balanced precariously on an oversized sheet pan, Jo was waiting for him. The door to the apartment was open, but she blocked it with her slight body, leaning one hip against the door frame. She watched him, smirking, as she buttoned her peacoat and tugged on a knitted hat.
“Molly! You’ve got company!” she shouted before pushing off from the door frame and moving down the hall. “Merry Christmas, Father West.”
He stepped just inside the apartment. “Molly?”
He was struck by the sudden realization he’d never been in Molly’s apartment before, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the little touches he knew were hers—the poster of Shakespearean insults hanging on the wall over the couch, the perfectly arranged throw pillows, the open bag of gummy bears on the coffee table.
“Caleb? Is that you?” Her voice came from down the hall a moment before she appeared in the living room. She was beautiful. Hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, bags under her eyes like she’d been up all night, and she’d still never been more beautiful because she wasthere.“What are you doing here?”
He started towards her, then realized he was carrying the gingerbread house and set it down on the coffee table. Her eyes moved between him and the confection, confusion furrowing her brows. “I’ve been calling you since last night. You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I dropped it in the sink yesterday. It hasn’t turned on since,” she said slowly. “Are you alright?”
“No, I’m not alright. Jo said you quit your job.” He clenched his hands at his side, wishing he could take her into his arms, but just the night before she’d asked for space and he’d already shown up at her apartment uninvited in the early hours of Christmas Day—so much for space.
“I couldn’t exactly keep working there,” she said.
“She said you’re leaving.” The thought tore at his heart, an open wound in his chest he had no hope of closing.
Her eyes went wide. “What? I’m—”
