Adam smiled when he saw that the box was full of homemade butter cookies. “That is very kind. I’m starting to understand that weight gain during my time here is inevitable.”
“Everyone is very friendly here in Dybukowo. You’ll see,” Mrs. Stępień said and helped herself to the tea.
Adam smiled, and Emil’s face emerged from the back of his mind and into the spotlight. He swallowed. “I noticed. So far I’ve only met a couple of the parishioners, but they’ve all been very kind,” with the exception of the grumpy shop owner, “One man even gave me a ride here on his horse, even though it was pouring down last night.”
Mrs. Stępień’s face froze. “A black horse? That had to be Emil Słowik, Father. That man is no good. He’s Old Słowikowa’s grandson, may God rest her soul. She’d be turning in her grave if she saw what he’s grown into.”
Mrs. Janina nodded. “True, true. Rotten boy. Didn’t accept a pastoral visit last Christmas.”
Adam exhaled with relief. So he didn’t have to worry about Emil watching him with that insistent gaze during mass. That was something.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Mrs. Stępień said. “My son’s friend said he saw him with a man. You know what I mean,” she said, lowering her voice.
Adam was going to be sick. So it hadn’t just been his own thoughts tainting an innocent invitation from a stranger. Emil had really meant what Adam had suspected. And the worst thing was that deep down it annoyed him. Emil likely propositioned many people, casting his net wide to see what got caught in it.
Mrs. Janina nodded. “Nowak should make sure he keeps an eye on his son. Emil and Radek seem far too close, if you ask me. Mrs. Golonko told me Emil gave him a lift to the bus stop this morning.”
Adam’s head spun from all the names of people involved in the gossip, but since he had no idea who the women were talking about, he chose to stay quiet and stuff his face.
Mrs. Stępień cleared her throat. “We better not speak of such depravity in front of Father Adam.”
The worst of phrases pushed at Adam’s lips. Hate the sin, love the sinner was terrible, but We all sin might be even worse, because it might make people suspicious of him. So he got up with a smile. “I think I need to familiarize myself with my new church. Please, carry on. Thank you again for the cookies, Mrs. Stępień.”
Adam needed to clear his mind of filth, but since he wasn’t dressed for jogging, he walked into the hallway and picked up a besom tucked into the corner, intent on sweeping the dust and fallen leaves from the church yard. He was at the door when he noticed a small bowl, which had previously been hidden behind the natural broom. Filled with carefully sliced radishes and pickles, it had no place on the floor, but he decided not to point it out to Mrs. Janina while she was chatting to a friend.
His mouth watered as if he were staring at a juicy steak served on a silver platter.
He shook his head at the dusty vegetables and stepped into the sunshine. Bits of mud between the cobbles were the only trace left of last night’s storm, and as he looked up at the tall poplar trees surrounding the church, their silent whisper made him close his eyes and relax.
He had nothing to fear here, other than nosy villagers and an awful lot of crows. What he needed to do was take the pastor’s advice to heart and relax. He’d considered paying for Internet access, if no one else at the parsonage had need for it, but maybe a digital detox would be beneficial. He was already low-key addicted to Facebook and gossip sites, which he relentlessly read while on public transport, hoping strangers assumed he was reading the lives of saints. He just needed to stay positive and let the countryside atmosphere take over.
The Church would take care even of a black sheep like him. All would be well.
Since the single mass that day wasn’t until evening, there was no one around, and he enjoyed the silence as he made his way to the front of the church and eyed the mess of leaves and broken branchlets scattered all over the yard.
There was that smell again. Wood thrown into a fire, cedar, addictive like nicotine supposedly was. Adam had never tried smoking, too afraid he’d get hooked in an instant.
A sharp grunt tore through the silence, followed by a whinny that expressed such excitement Adam’s mind pushed him back in time, to that moment on the muddy road when the huge stallion emerged from the night and dashed straight at him.
His chest went rigid until he couldn’t breathe as deeply as needed, but before he could have fled back to the parsonage, avoiding a confrontation he wasn’t ready for, Emil emerged from the church. The breeze combed its fingers through the hair at the top of his head, and when his gaze met Adam’s in the bright light of the late morning, a sly smile pulled at his sinful mouth.
He stepped toward Adam, without even a trace of embarrassment over last night. Adam felt as if a big boa constrictor slithered his way instead of a man—as hypnotizing as it was deadly.
Dressed in jeans tight enough to stir Adam’s imagination, calf-high combat boots and a dark-brown pilot’s jacket with a fur trim, he looked like the embodiment of casual sex-appeal. A James Dean for the modern age.
Adam’s heart bled when he realized the long black hair was tied back and couldn’t be swept by the breeze, but when the wind blew Emil’s scent straight at Adam, the realization that it was the same aroma he’d been sensing all along made Adam step back.
Last night came upon him in a flashback, and for a split second, he was back on the huge draft horse, his hands touching Emil’s firm chest, and his knees digging into the backs of Emil’s thighs. He never much liked wearing a cassock, but maybe the iconic priest’s garment could be his armor.
He’d become a priest because he couldn’t possibly lead an honest life at a woman’s side. He’d given his life to God, aware of everything that entailed, so why was Lord tempting him so? Was this a test, like the one unleashed on Job, and Adam would have to suffer greatly to prove his commitment?
His mouth dampened, as if he were smelling butter cookies in the oven, not a man who’d propositioned him last night, but by the time Emil got close, there was nowhere left to run. A voice at the back of his head told him something was off. How could he have smelled Emil back in the kitchen? The stupid part of his brain suggested the smell of roses and Father Pio, but Emil was hardly a saint.
“Hey there, Father Adam. Why didn’t you make a peep about this yesterday? Afraid I wouldn’t bite if I knew you were a priest?”
Even his voice was sweet. And interesting. And tempting. Like smooth dark chocolate infused with orange liquor.
Adam put the besom between them, in case Emil wanted to overstep the boundaries of personal space. “It wasn’t relevant. I asked for help, and you helped me. It had nothing to do with my priesthood.”
The harsh light had to be playing tricks on Adam, because he could swear that Emil’s fangs glinted in the sun. “I know how to keep secrets, Adam, and you’ll get bored here sooner or later.”
Fire burned at the pit of Adam’s stomach, heating his blood and sending it through his body. But he wasn’t an animal. He wouldn’t just follow his whims when they went against all reason and moral codes. “I try not to judge people who don’t share my beliefs, but this is not acceptable. I advise you to follow my example. And for the record, your jeans are far too tight to be appropriate in the house of God,” he said, though his palms sweated around the wooden handle.