“Did you go out with him again?”
Sasha grimaced and nodded.
“How did the date go?”
“It was fine.” Her tone sounded bright—overly so.
“Fine?”
“Yeah. I mean, if you’ve been on one second date, you’ve been on them all.” She paused and scrunched up her nose in a way that was so cute he wanted to reach out and flatten that patch of skin with his thumb. Again. He just wanted his hands on her. “I guess you wouldn’t know.”
Instead of throwing his whole life away for a woman who thought of him as a friendly acquaintance, he laughed. “I went on a few dates.” He winked, even though he shouldn’t. The only thing he wouldn’t do was end this conversation right here and right now, before he found any more things to like about Sasha Finerghty.
“Listen, you go out for drinks with one guy, and maybe he calls you, maybe he doesn’t. As long as he doesn’t do anything terribly offensive, you go on another date. And maybe things escalate until you decide you can’t kiss him for the rest of your life, or he decides that he wants someone else. It’s not interesting. It’s not special.”
That’s not what Sasha deserved. It was decidedly less than what he would give her if he were a different man who had made better decisions a decade ago. But even though he was in so deep with her without even trying, he wasn’t going to dig himself any deeper. “I think maybe you’re a little cynical.”
“It’s just the way it is.” Sasha sounded so defeated that he wanted to give her something.
“Maybe give this guy another shot, and he might not do what you think.” He took a deep breath and decided to risk following up that statement that he knew was a lie with one thing that he knew was very, very true. “You’re special, and you deserve someone who makes you feel that way.”
He couldn’t help but look away from her then. It was as honest as he could possibly be about how he felt about her without going too far. “Now, I understand that you brought me cake to try?”
* * *
—
YOU’RE SPECIAL, AND YOU deserve someone who makes you feel that way.
And then he just moved on to what Sasha had actually come over to the church for. He couldn’t do things like that and expect her not to continue to crush on him—hard. It wasn’t fair. Her mother’s voice popped into her head. Life isn’t fair, Sasha. If it was, pantyhose would feel like sweatpants.
She crossed her legs and sent a silent prayer of thanks that no one but her mother even wore pantyhose anymore.
“Yes, I do have cake for you to try.” She’d tapped most of her favorite bakers in the city, and they had all agreed that they would donate products for the bake sale. “This isn’t a full representation of the selection, but it’s a good start.”
Even though Patrick’s words hung over the room, his focus seemed to be entirely on the task at hand as Sasha pulled out the brown butter vanilla birthday cake with French buttercream, the pistachio honey sponge cake with Italian buttercream, and the blueberry yogurt cake with American buttercream.
“I didn’t even know that these were cakes that actually existed.” Sasha laughed a little at his childlike wonder. “I’m a Costco cake guy, usually.”
“Costco cake is delicious.” Sasha pulled out the last one. “This one, however, is orange chocolate buttermilk cake.”
Patrick’s face scrunched up. “Chocolate and orange together is a no from me.” When Sasha started to put the cake away, he added, “But Sister Cortona loves it. Maybe we can save that one for her?”
Sasha smiled at him, but he couldn’t see her because he dove right into the other selections.
“This is delicious,” he said about the Italian buttercream–topped cake with sliced strawberries in between the layers. “I hadn’t realized there were regional differences between buttercreams.”
He was usually so stoic and laid back. Seeing him excited about something was novel and made him more compelling. He was actually kind of adorable.
She tried to refocus and concentrate on getting approval for the list of chefs she’d lined up for the bake sale. It took a herculean effort not to preen under Patrick’s utterances of approval. She knew better, and he’d just told her to go out with Nathan again. He clearly didn’t think of her in a romantic way. He probably wouldn’t even if he wasn’t bound by his vows.
If Patrick wasn’t a priest, he would have so many options. Sasha might be able to sustain his interest for a few dates, but according to Jack, he was sort of a genius—had a photographic memory for literature. He was also devastatingly handsome. With an expensive haircut and even one tailored suit, he would be a certified lady-killer.
Once they were done with their work, she stood to leave. He stood with her and surprised her by taking her elbow and leading her out of his office. The shock of his touch reverberated through her, and she felt it like a brand on her skin. She knew she would look down and touch her elbow later to memorialize the feel of his callused fingers on her exfoliated skin.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t.”
He stopped and smiled down at her. He was close enough that if she rose on her tiptoes, she could put her lips against his. The fact that she couldn’t do it only made her want it more. Everything he did made her want him more, and she’d never felt more right about the fact that her every impulse was bad—evil, even. He didn’t know it, but her cynicism about relationships was the only thing that kept him safe from her. If she was even a little bit more romantic, she would throw all caution to the wind. Nothing would matter—not the Church, not what her family or friends would think. She would do her best to lead him into temptation.
Not that she would succeed, but she would try.
Something about that seemed to hang in the air between them. Like a promise and a warning.
“I might be a priest, but I can still be a gentleman and walk you to your car.”
The last thing she wanted was for him to be a gentleman, but she didn’t say that. Only the sliver of self-restraint left inside her made her stop. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
She dipped her head, and they walked toward where she’d parked in silence. Her senses filled with the sound of Patrick’s dress shoes slapping against the pavement in rhythm with the clack of her heels. She was so absorbed in the scant heat coming off him and the shame she felt from drinking in that heat as he walked beside her that she would not have noticed if the ground opened up underneath them.
That’s probably why she didn’t hear the screech of rubber against pavement from the car careening into the church’s parking lot.