Me: Where?
My weakness and love for this boy has no bounds.
Sol: Capper’s Harbor Inn at Portsmouth. On Maplewood Ave. The room will be under Thomas Schuster.
Me: What time?
Sol: 2 p.m.
Me: Ok.
Sol: Ok.
I hug my phone to my chest, my eyes closed as I plot how I’ll sneak away to meet him without raising any suspicion. I have a feeling my mom will be busy at the food drive, so everything might just work out to my advantage.
My phone vibrates against my chest. I pull it up to check the screen.
Sol: I can’t wait to see you.
Me: Me either.
And that seals the deal. I turn the lights off and lay my phone on my pillow just in case he texts me again. My heart is so full, and the elation thrumming through my veins softens my body, warming me all over. It’s the sedative I need to calm my chaotic thoughts.
I close my eyes, smiling, and let sleep pull me under.
Tomorrow, I’ll hold Grace in my arms. I just have to be careful with the way I handle myself and not raise suspicion. The thought of someone finding out turns my blood to ice. But the thought of letting Grace go, especially after Thanksgiving, makes my stomach clench painfully.
I shift on the bed and lie flat on my back, my gaze trained on the ceiling. It’s after eleven. It’s dark, and everyone has already gone to sleep.
I’ve barely been holding on by a thread since Thanksgiving.
Why am I still struggling? Should I be pushing Grace away?
I keep asking myself these questions over and over, every single day. I wish I could talk to my uncle about it, but I’m scared of what he will think of me. Especially after the talk he and I had before I left for Boston.
I told him I had made my choice.
He doubted me. I could see it in his face, which only made me more adamant about it. Plus, I’d just left Grace on her bed, looking brokenhearted and so lost. I have never felt so confused in my life. If I was meant to be with her, then why had I felt so miserable at the thought of not serving God?
The past few weeks, I tried my best to hide the state of my mind. Classes went well, and I made sure to interact and participate in class, but I hardly ever hung out with the other guys during our free time. If anyone noticed how much of a wreck I had become, no one mentioned it. And I knew if the rector knew everything I’ve been up to since I started the seminary, I would be liable for disciplinary action. Even suspension.
I wonder what she’s doing right now.
What if one day she meets someone who can give her everything I can’t? A family, children . . .
Jealousy burns through my veins at the thought of a faceless dude touching her like I want to, like I’ve done. Kissing her, making love to her. Then guilt pours through me, dousing the fire in my veins, leaving me cold. I mutter an apology to God and ask for guidance.
I don’t know what kind of answer I’m expecting from Him because nothing happens. No illuminations as to which path I should follow or voice in my head telling me to obey the vows I made, only the sound of blood rushing in my ears and the feel of elation at the thought of seeing her tomorrow.
And I need to see her. I need to feel like I’m flying and soaring and whole, just like I did two weeks ago.
I have no idea when my thoughts stop taunting and torturing me, but when I wake up at seven o’clock the next morning, I realize I fell asleep somewhere between midnight and three o’clock.
Just one hour until Mass begins.
I leap out of bed and dash to the bathroom, glad to have it all to myself. I wouldn’t want anyone getting nosy and asking me about the tattoo above my heart because it only belongs to me and Grace.
Lunch is served in the main dining room at twelve. I’m so nervous, wondering if my fellow seminarians can read what I’m planning by just looking at my face. I force myself to eat my food, then excuse myself and tell Gerry—one of the guys I’ve gotten close to the past couple of weeks—that I’m heading out for my pastoral assignment at the local children’s hospital.
Sitting inside the Toyota I rented for this purpose, I tug the white collar from around my neck and shrug the black shirt off. It’s a warm, sunny autumn day outside, so I choose to leave my jacket in the car.
Dressed in the customary black pants, a white T-shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low on my forehead, I stroll inside Capper’s Harbor Inn.
Is she already here?
What if she doesn’t show up?
My heart is in my throat as I head for the reception, tugging my cap much lower to partly cover my eyes. My body is on high alert. Whenever someone stares in my direction for longer than three seconds, I break into a sweat, feeling as if they know me and what I’m doing here.
The receptionist looks up and smiles. “Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”
I clear my throat and smile at her, throwing a little charm in that smile. She practically melts, blinking several times before looking down at the keyboard in front of her.
“I booked a king yesterday under Mr. Thomas Schuster.” The lie comes out so easily, it startles and worries me.
Her fingers fly on the keyboard as she checks my details. “Yes, Mr. Schuster.”
She looks up, her cheeks red as her eyes wander down my chest and over the span of my shoulders. I’ve been working out at the gym at school, mostly to purge out my frustration, and my body has been filling out quite nicely.
When her gaze meets mine again, she coughs a little, then twists around to grab a key card from a drawer to her left. She hands over the room key and informs me of the room’s whereabouts.
“Have a nice stay, sir. And please let us know if you need anything.” She stresses the last word, then scampers away, rubbing her red cheeks.
I turn and head toward the stairs.
Inside the room, I kick off my shoes and send Grace a text with the room number, then start pacing to ease the nervousness clinging to my body.
Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I practically lunge for it and yank the door open. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the woman standing in front of me.
Lips slightly painted in red lipstick, long lashes made even longer with mascara, her curly hair falling around her shoulders down her back, and a pair of silver hoop earrings in her ears. She’s wearing a knee-length black trench coat, black knee-high boots, and stockings.
Grace.
“Lord help me,” I murmur under my breath just as she steps around me and heads inside. My mind goes wild, imagining what she’s wearing under that coat.
She throws her purse on the nightstand and takes off her black coat, then tosses it on the nearby chair. I’m still standing at the door with my hand around the knob, watching her when she straightens and spins around to face me. She clasps her hands in front of her and shifts on her feet.
“How long do you have?” she asks.
I close the door and look at my watch. “A little over one hour.”
“Good.” She walks toward me, her hips swaying, and good Lord. I feel like I’m about to burst out of my pants. “One hour of you to myself.”
I swallow audibly, my mouth dry, unable to get any words out.
This is what I wanted, yet I’m too distracted by her scent, her effortless beauty, and the sexy way she carries her body.
Tentatively, she puts her palms on my chest, then meets my gaze as if to check I’m okay with what she’s doing.