Patrick was confused by his friend. Jack had always been sentimental when it came to love. Even before he’d met his wife, he’d been a relationship guy. He’d never gone more than a few months between serious girlfriends and had always seemed to be happy to arrange his whole life around a ladylove.
The one time Patrick had tried his best friend’s tack, everything had gone disastrously and he’d ended up swearing off relationships for good, with emphasis. Patrick couldn’t even pretend to understand the depth of love that Jack had for his wife. It was really quite something to see how they revolved around each other—as if each were a planet and the other was the sun.
He didn’t think about it very often because it made him feel weird. He liked Hannah, but she also scared him—partially because of how twisted up his best friend was over her after years together and partially because Hannah was very formidable. “She’s okay, though?”
Jack shrugged, a little bit of concern clouding his sunny disposition. “I hate that she feels miserable, but it’s supposed to pass in a couple of months.”
“And then you’re going to be a dad.” Patrick had baptized babies for people that he and Jack had gone to school with for years. But this was the first time that one of their core group was going to become a parent.
Patrick had never thought much past making sure that he was never in the position to become a dad. He’d never thought past the practice portion of the program. And thinking about that now made him think of Sasha—again—and blood rushed to his pelvis—again.
She was five-foot-six and weighed about sixty pounds less than him, but she was breaking him in pieces all the same.
“Good thing I have such an awesome one to live up to,” Jack said. And it was true. Sean Nolan was a lion among men. Patrick’s dad was cool and laid-back but had always left the mushy stuff to his wife. Mr. Nolan had always been dialed in—especially after his rocky divorce.
Patrick put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re going to be just fine, man.”
“Put in a good word with the big guy, won’t you?” Jack cast his eyes to the sky. His best friend had never been particularly religious. His church attendance was sparse, but Patrick wasn’t going to point out that he could stand to chat up “the big guy” one-on-one. It just wasn’t his place.
But then Sasha walked in, trailed by five people in white chef’s jackets, and Patrick forgot all about ministering to his friend through sarcasm. He had been about to say that he wasn’t sure if the big guy was listening, but that statement was no longer accurate at all.
Looking at Sasha, he knew that God had forsaken him for sure. She was just wearing another of her prim, pastel dresses, and yet he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Were the dresses getting tighter? Or was he just more in tune with the way her curves filled them out? Was the architecture of the way she moved that much more ingrained in his spirit?
He had to turn away. Just his luck, he looked right at his best friend smirking at him.
“Wow,” Jack said.
“Shut up.” Patrick meant it as a warning. He could not, would not, go there with Jack. Even though they’d been friends since they’d both been wearing diapers, he had an image to uphold. Even if the image didn’t seem to have the vocation attached to it that it used to, he would not let it slip. At least not more than it already had.
He fixed what he hoped was a neutral look on his face. Just a hint of a smile that hopefully would bely the turmoil inside. “Sasha.”
Her face lit from within, and he started saying prayers in Latin in his brain—the intellectual equivalent of a cold shower in his world. She introduced all the pastry chefs. He smiled and shook their hands, thanking them. He wouldn’t remember any of their names. Sasha was too close.
His gratitude when she led the chefs to where their goods were displayed knew no bounds. He didn’t want her away from him for even one second, but she had to get away from him. He was never going to last through the afternoon with her this close. He felt as though he’d either combust or lose control or do something unforgivable like take her hand and lead her around the corner, press her against a wall, and tug that pretty yellow dress up around her waist.
“Dude.” One word from Jack and he felt a flush creeping up his neck. He’d been busted. “Are you okay?”
Patrick grabbed the back of his neck, and his palm came away damp with sweat. “I’m fine. I just really want the bake sale to work, you know?”
What he wasn’t saying was that he really hoped that Sasha and Hannah’s suggestion that they start with a bake sale was actually a promise. He didn’t like the idea of only seeing Sasha from across a crowded room when they were hanging out with their friends.
“Sure.” Jack gave him a jerk of his chin, telling him that his friend was going to leave his obvious thing with Sasha alone for now, but would revisit the increasingly problematic problem later.
They’d developed a shorthand through the years of their friendship, and the whole thing sort of operated like the suspension of a car. They’d never actually gotten into a fight because whenever either one of them tiptoed to a boundary, the other compensated for it. It had always worked perfectly, but Patrick hadn’t felt this kind of turmoil in a decade. And, even then, he hadn’t allowed his friend to see how he was feeling. So used to being the solid center of their crew of friends, he was not about to throw anyone else off-balance with his agitation. That wasn’t part of the bargain of their friendship.
As he’d accustomed himself to doing over the past few years, he pivoted in his mind and put his attention on the parishioners who’d come to support the bake sale as well as the new faces he assumed came as a result of Sasha’s publicity campaign.
He managed a middling amount of success; his gaze only caught with hers three times. For the rest of the two-hour ordeal, he was able to focus and place his attention on the people he spoke with, sharing the success stories about the pre-K program with the surprisingly eclectic crowd in hopes that the Catholics would feel guilty enough to be generous, and the non-Catholics would catch some of that emotion in the air and open their wallets as well.
He hadn’t prepared himself for when it was all over and he was alone with Sasha again. He could never prepare himself for that.
Even though she’d been running around for hours, he still caught a whiff of her fresh scent. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her dress. She smiled at him, and it didn’t have the same strain that her smile of greeting had had earlier in the day.
It was like having sunlight hit him for the first time in the spring, but just as quickly it was gone. She went back to counting what looked like a large pile of cash.
He wanted to flee, but he couldn’t just leave her here. Without anyone else there, he had no reasonable excuse to avoid Sasha. Sister Cortona had gone out with Mrs. O’Toole and few other parishioners for supper after the event. Usually they would have invited him, but they hadn’t bothered for some reason.