he wondered whether she knew everyone. Then he remembered that Sasha had planned Carlos’s wedding reception.
She took a beat to introduce herself to Maria and cooed over the baby. Patrick could picture her with a baby so easily, and he wondered what kinds of people she’d been dating who didn’t want to give that to her. If things were different—if he was different—he would be jumping at the chance.
Once they were done with pictures and everyone—including Hannah—had left, Sasha was waiting for him, sitting on the steps leading to the sanctuary.
“Do you need more measurements for the bake sale?” He wondered why she’d lingered. More irritated with his reaction to her presence than her presence itself. “Or do you need something else?”
He didn’t know if he could give her any more sage advice about her love life. Every time he thought about her dating someone, kissing them, or more, he got ideas about her doing those things with him. It was totally inappropriate, and no amount of prayer and contemplation stopped the thoughts from coming.
It reminded him of when he’d had his first inklings of joining the priesthood. It had always been his mother’s hope for one of her sons. But he hadn’t considered it seriously until he’d started seeing signs—his mother’s favorite flowers in the patch in front of the seminary offices on campus, someone calling his attachment to routine monk-like—and then Ashley had dumped him. Apparently, his grief was boring, and she thought it was a “bummer” that he had to get up early every morning and go to Mass. His explanation that his mom had asked him to on her literal deathbed hadn’t been enough for her. That had been the last straw.
When he’d gone to Mass after she left his apartment, he’d felt an inner lightness. A sense that he was where he belonged.
He’d been starting to doubt that he was called to the priesthood before he’d started spending more time with Sasha. Being around her intensified those doubts. He hadn’t realized that he’d been missing that sense of lightness and belonging from his work until she’d brought it back.
He still derived satisfaction from baptizing babies, marrying couples, and helping people. But the routine that had saved him from his grief at his mother’s death didn’t make him feel settled to his bones anymore.
At times, the collar was too tight. It was ironic that it loosened when he was around Sasha and feeling his attraction to her. Maybe that was why he’d fought getting to know her for so long.
Sasha flushed. “I came back to look at the tables and see if I needed to rent some.”
“One thing we have are plenty of tables.” He motioned for her to walk around the building. It was a beautiful spring day, and it would be a shame to waste the time indoors.
Her soft steps in pristine white sneakers followed him. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her dressed casually before. He hadn’t even noticed that she was more dressed down than anyone else at the ceremony. She looked younger, somehow, in a T-shirt and dark jeans, with her glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail tied with a scarf. But she didn’t look any less put together.
He felt like he was falling apart a little bit and hoped that her overly observant eyes weren’t seeing it. That was the thing about her that got to him. Even though she was scrupulously kind to everyone, he could tell when she didn’t like someone. It wouldn’t be obvious to someone who wasn’t looking carefully. But then, he’d always looked at her closely. He just hadn’t let himself think about it too much, because they’d never spent as much time alone before.
They got to the shed adjacent to the courtyard and he opened it up. “Behold the bounty of tables.”
Sasha gave him a crooked grin. “Good. I’ll just bring some tablecloths.”
“Perfect. We usually have plastic.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’ll class up the place.”
He was about to ask her if she needed anything else so that he could leave, but then his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was his dad. He normally wouldn’t answer the phone when he was with a parishioner, but Sasha wasn’t a parishioner, and his dad never called without a good reason.
“Hold on, it’s my dad.”
“Of course.”
He picked up the phone and without preliminaries, his father said, “Patrick.”
His father hadn’t exactly seen eye to