Faith Leary tapped out a staccato beat with her toe on the dingy linoleum floor. She stretched up and leaned sideways in an attempt to see around the man in front of her. A loud sigh escaped her as the customer at the register pulled out a wad of coupons. With a quick huff to blow the fringe of bangs out of her eyes, she shuffled both cans of cranberry sauce into one hand and dug into her over-sized bag with the other. Two minutes later, she found her phone swimming around amid the debris that lived in her purse.

The line didn’t move an inch.

Faith checked the time on her phone. 2:10. She’d promised Mrs. Marshall she’d arrive no later than 2:30 to pick up her paycheck. If she didn’t make it, she’d have to wait until after the Thanksgiving weekend to get paid for walking Mrs. Marshall’s ancient Lhasa Apsos. She had a few bills to pay, and in another week her rent was due. Her negative bank balance meant she couldn’t afford to wait.

That’s what you get for waiting until the day before Thanksgiving to buy cranberry sauce. Honestly, Faith. She cringed and almost turned to see if her mother stood behind her in the grocery line. She stopped at the last minute. That voice was all in her head.

Decisions, decisions. Stay in line and miss any chance of making rent this month or put down her only contribution to Thanksgiving dinner and risk her mother’s anger? The worst that could happen for being late on rent was eviction. And that was a lengthy process. Her landlord worked with her in the past. Maybe he’d do it again.

There would be no working things out with her mother. For the rest of her life she’d hear about the Thanksgiving she’d completely ruined by waiting until the last minute to get cranberries. Sighing, Faith dialed Mrs. Marshall and told her it didn’t look like she’d make it.

Faith checked her phone again when she reached the head of the checkout line. 2:20. Was it possible only fifteen minutes passed?

“That’s $3.58,” the cashier said around a huge gob of gum.

Faith once again plumbed the depths of her bag, this time in search of her wallet. Opening it, she found two crumpled dollar bills. Wasn’t there a five in there yesterday?

Oh, wait. She gave it to the bartender when she bought a Coke at the place her band played last night. What remained in her wallet was the change he gave her. She offered the cashier a weak smile as she dove back into her bag. Surely she’d stuck a few singles in a pocket here or there.

Dragging her fingers across the crumb-coated bottom, they closed around some change. Snatching it up, she counted out seventy-two cents.

“How much is it again?” She squinted at the price glowing green on top of the cash register, mentally cursing any store for having a cash-only line in this day and age.

“$3.58,” the cashier repeated in a bored tone. Faith went in again, this time coming up empty-handed. She pulled items out, piling her sunglasses, lip-gloss, tissues, and a half-eaten Hershey bar on the conveyor belt. She cringed as the toe of the man in line behind her started tapping.

“Let me get that for you.”

Faith turned toward the end of the checkout lane to find a man standing there holding two crisp dollar bills toward her. A pair of startling blue eyes met hers, their color enhanced by the dark hair dipping over his forehead. Her lips curled into a smile in reaction to his friendly grin. Her gaze skimmed down as she admired his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline and then roamed lower…only to lock on the spot under his chin.

Her mind switched into overdrive as it tried to catch up with what her eyes were telling her. The man she just ogled wore a black shirt and a white tab collar.

She blinked once, then again. The vision in front of her didn’t change.

Holy crap. How fast does a person get sent to hell for checking out a priest?

Faith turned to the cashier again as she forced down all thoughts of what she had almost done. She had absolutely not been about to start batting her eyelashes at a priest. Nope, not her.

While she was working her way deep into denial, she decided she’d also ignore the long line of people sending death glares her way.

Ha! One good thing about having a priest appear out of thin air—the people behind her would probably refrain from showering her with stinging insults and just settle for dirty looks.

Faith dug in her purse again, telling the priest over her shoulder without making eye contact, “Thanks, but it’s okay. I’m sure I have….”

“Lady,” the man waiting in line behind her said, “take the money so the rest of us have a chance to make it home before Thanksgiving.”

Faith’s shoulders dropped in defeat as she turned back to the priest. “I can pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it my good deed for the day.” He flashed another grin that made her want to melt into a puddle at his feet. You know, before she remembered the whole priest thing. He handed her the two dollars and she paid for her cranberries and stuffed her belongings back in her purse.

She turned back toward the priest to offer her thanks, but he’d already disappeared.

She grabbed her bag and hurried outside before the other patrons had a chance to grab their torches and pitchforks.

Holidays sure did seem to bring out the best in people.

Out in the parking lot, Faith braced herself against the cold November chill, pulling her black pea coat tight around her body. Just a few yards away, her Good Samaritan leaned against a car, talking on his phone.

There was something bizarre about a priest talking on a cell phone. Like the time she’d driven through Pennsylvania and snapped a picture of an Amish woman filling the gas tank of a ginormous SUV. In this case, she decided to refrain from taking advantage of the photo op. She’d already ogled the guy. Taking a picture might elevate her to stalker status. She was pretty sure nothing good could come from stalking a priest.

He hung up the phone before she had a chance to escape the parking lot, and her shoulders sagged. She might not want to be accused of stalking, but she should go give him a real thank you for helping her out. He had saved her from the unruly masses in the grocery store.

“Excuse me,” she called before he could get into his car, a sensible looking Ford. “I just wanted to thank you again. I think you may have saved my life back there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the store.

“My pleasure.”

“Is there somewhere I can send the money? I thought I had a little more cash in my wallet….” She trailed off as he waved her offer away.

“Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.”

Faith bit her bottom lip, trying to imagine the handsome, clean-cut man in front of her digging in his pockets for spare change.

As if he could read her mind, he laughed. “Even me. Once I was late for an appointment and didn’t have money for the parking meter. I asked a lady passing by if she had any change. I even told her I was a priest. She hit me with her purse and told me I should be ashamed of myself for impersonating a man of the cloth.”

Faith laughed at the picture he painted, but cut it off with a choking wheeze when his eyes dipped down for an instant.

Holy crap. Was it her imagination or had the priest just checked her out? She hopped backward a step and stuttered out another quick thanks before scurrying away. Must be her imagination. Or maybe he was one of those pervy priests.

As she made the trek to the train platform, half her brain dwelled with disgust on the idea of him checking her out. The other half was happy she’d taken the extra few minutes to do her hair and put on some makeup this morning.

* * *

Michael stood in the parking lot, leaning against the car door after the young woman took off. She’d caught his attention when she’d whizzed down the canned food aisle, scanning shelves, her long hair flying out behind her. He’d almost laughed out loud when she breezed past him muttering under her breath about cranberry sauce.

When he saw her struggling at the checkout counter, he couldn’t have asked for a better opening. His gut had tightened when she turned and smiled at him. There was no mistaking the interest lighting her eyes.

Right up until she noticed his collar.

He raised his hand to his throat, fingering the white tab. He didn’t wear it often, his church wasn’t known for being strict on the dress code, but he’d been visiting an elderly member of his congregation this afternoon. He’d learned early that when people were sick, they took comfort in seeing the collar.

He shook his head and took one more look over his shoulder at the spot where the woman stood just a few moments ago. He couldn’t help the rueful chuckle that escaped him.

Some of his congregation might find comfort in the collar, but damn if the thing wasn’t hell on his love life.