Faith trudged up the walkway of her mother’s duplex clutching her two cans of cranberries to her chest. Looking up at the house, she couldn’t help but shake her head in wonder. Distance-wise she was only a few miles or so from her own apartment. But her neighborhood, with its mixture of industrial buildings, artists’ studios, and funky little shops, was a long way from the tree-lined streets and neat rows of duplexes that marked the Brooklyn neighborhood where she’d grown up. The house looked exactly the same as when she was a kid—faded brick with white awnings, wrought iron railing dividing the steps up to the door to each home, too-steep concrete steps.

Definitely too steep. Faith tottered up the front stoop on her slim heels, wishing her feet were snug inside a toasty pair of Uggs instead of the heels that were sure to be the death of her. But there was no way she could arrive at her mother’s house for a holiday in comfortable clothing. Her mother would have her head if she showed up in the jeans and boots she wanted to wear. She’d opted instead for a little black dress and the silver heels of death. She might still catch hell for not being more festive, but for some reason—Faith rolled her eyes as she remembered the outfit her sister Maddie wore to Thanksgiving last year—she had no sweater sets featuring pumpkins and fall leaves.

Raising a hand, Faith almost tripped into the entryway as the door burst open.

“Faith, thank God.”

She found herself snatched into the house and shoved into the powder room just inside the front door before she could so much as blink.

“Frank, what the heck?” She gave her brother the stink eye as he took her by the shoulders.

“Wait. Just wait. Wait until you see the yummy morsel Mom invited to dinner.” Frank didn’t usually have such a flair for the dramatic, but they did seem to share the same taste in men. A fact their mother tried to ignore, often inviting a “nice girl” over for dinner in an attempt to convince Frank that being gay was just a phase. His excitement over their mother’s guest definitely raised her curiosity.

Frank slid her coat off her shoulders and opened the bathroom door just enough to slip an arm out and hang it on the hall coatrack. He cracked the door a bit wider, poking his head out to make sure the coast was clear before tugging her by the hand to the living room doorway. With a finger to his lips, he motioned for her to take a peek around the corner while he moved stealthily to the other side to get his own gander at their guest.

Faith’s gaze immediately fell on the man standing in front of the fireplace admiring the considerable display of family photos. With only a view of his back, she contemplated what she could make out—dark hair falling just over his collar, starched blue oxford shirt tucked into khaki pants.

The outfit was a little conservative for her taste, but those broad shoulders, long legs, and tight buns could make up for a plethora of fashion faux pas. She narrowed her eyes as a thought began to tickle at the back of her mind. The tickle became a smack upside the head as the man turned from the mantel. Brother and sister jumped back, each hiding on their respective sides of the doorframe.

“Dibs,” Frank whispered.

Faith smirked and shook her head. She didn’t need to see full frontal, so to speak, to know who her mother’s guest was. “He’s taken.”

“What? By who?”

“God.”

“What?”

“He’s taken by God, Frank. He’s a priest,” she informed him, voice low enough to ensure the room’s occupant couldn’t hear her.

“No way!” Frank whispered, his mouth dropping open.

“What are you two doing skulking around out here?”

Faith and Frank jumped as if on cue. Talk about skulking. Faith rolled her eyes. Of course they hadn’t heard their mother come down the hall from the kitchen. Stealth was one of their mother’s greatest gifts. Right up there with giving guilt and matching her shoes and purse to her lipstick. “Faith don’t roll your eyes. Come in and greet our guest.”

Great. Back home for less than five minutes and already feeling like a ten-year-old. She figured just like back then, a little kissing up couldn’t hurt. She leaned over and pecked her mother’s powdered cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

Her mother gave her an affectionate, if absent-minded, pat on the shoulder and immediately homed in on Faith’s hands. Faith’s empty hands. “You forgot the cranberries.”

Faith knew she made the right decision forgoing her paycheck in favor of getting those cranberries. The horror in her mother’s voice made it sound like forgetting the cranberries was a sin akin to selling herself on the street. Now if only she could remember where she left those cans.

“Oh!” Faith scooted back into the powder room. There were the cranberries, perched exactly where she left them on the edge of the sink. She emerged from the bathroom holding up a can in each hand just as their guest appeared from the living room. Their eyes met and a slow grin spread across his face as he caught sight of her standing there holding her cranberries aloft.

God had an interesting sense of humor.

Before either of them could say a word, Faith’s mother swooped down, rolling her eyes—Faith came by that talent naturally—and taking the cans. She placed them on the hall table and ushered all of them into the living room.

“Faith, Frank, this is Father Michael Flannery. Father Michael, these are my youngest, Faith and Frank.”

Frank reached over to shake Father Michael’s hand. Faith didn’t miss the quick up-down Frank gave the other man or the small headshake and sigh before he smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” Frank said.

“You, too.” Father Michael smiled before turning and holding a hand out to Faith. She swallowed hard as his gaze landed on her. She hadn’t imagined the intense blue of his eyes. She pulled in a deep breath and offered her hand, biting her bottom lip at the tingle that came with the contact.

Priest, priest, priest. She repeated the litany in her head. She needed the reminder that the man in front of her dressed just like any other guy was anything but. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “off limits.”

“He’s from over at St. David’s,” her mother explained before Faith or Father Michael admitted to having met already.

Not that they really needed an explanation. Faith and Frank were used to various priests, rabbis, reverends and assorted religious figures showing up for dinner at the house. For all her conservative ways, Faith’s mother tended to try on religions the way some women tried on shoes. And when she tried it out, she immersed herself in it, inviting people for dinner, going to services several times each week, and volunteering for whatever event or charity they supported.

For some reason, none of the religions seemed to take. But it served for some amusing meals at the Leary household. The best was the year her mother invited the rabbi from Temple Beth Torah over for Easter dinner. The man was polite and had a sense of humor about the whole thing, but suffice it to say there wasn’t much talk from her mom about converting to Judaism after that.

“So, you’re really a priest?” When Faith tuned back into the conversation, her brother was already busy quizzing Father Michael. “How did that happen?”

“Frank!” Faith could tell her mother wanted to give him a good smack on the back of the head but managed to control herself in front of the guest.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Leary. It’s a question I get a lot.”

Father Michael smiled again, and Faith felt herself holding back a sigh like a tween girl fawning over the pages of Tiger Beat. The man was fine. Bet his church was filled to the rafters with women who had to head to confession regularly to atone for their impure thoughts. Before her own impure thoughts could get the better of her, Faith changed the subject.

“Where are Maddie and Gram and Gramps?”

“Your sister stopped to pick your grandparents up on her way over,” her mother said. “Knowing your grandmother, she wasn’t ready when your sister got there and now they’re running late.”

As if talking about the rest of the family conjured them, the front door rattled and was quickly followed by her sister’s cheery voice. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Father Michael, come meet the rest of the family.” Faith’s mother tugged the man out toward the entryway while Frank came to lean a shoulder against Faith’s. The two enjoyed the view of Father Michael’s retreating form.

“Such a shame,” Frank said with a hefty sigh.

“Uh huh.” Faith patted her chin to make sure she wasn’t drooling before they followed the two out to greet the rest of the family.

Maddie did not disappoint. She was dressed to perfection in a cranberry sweater set with fall leaves embroidered around the edges of the cardigan. And in case Faith may have missed her sister’s perfection, her mother pointed it out as she herded everyone into the dining room after introductions were made. “Oh, Maddie, you look just perfect. I love that sweater. Oh, and you brought your pies…”

Bringing up the rear, Faith mimicked her mother in her head and pulled a face. Only she wasn’t as discreet as she thought. She looked up to find Father Michael only half a step in front of her looking back over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

“I know how you feel. My older brother is the favorite.”

Faith’s jaw dropped. Apparently the guy was a mind reader. But seriously? He was a priest. Didn’t get much better than that in a mother’s mind. “What the heck does your brother do that you being a priest isn’t good enough?”

“I know, right?” They lingered in the doorway of the dining room. “I mean growing up it made sense. He had the grades, quarterback of the football team, president of the student council. But when I decided to pledge my life to God, I thought I’d have the favorite son thing locked in. But no. He decided to go to medical school. He’s a surgeon now. He mostly does the Doctors Without Borders thing. You know, heading to third-world countries offering aid to poverty-stricken children. Being a priest at a parish in Brooklyn is small potatoes.”

“Damn.” Faith looked up guiltily as soon as the swear word left her mouth. “I mean, um, just that I can sympathize.”

“Totally appropriate response,” he assured her as they found their seats around the dining room table. “I think a lot worse every time I stop by my mom’s and hear her singing my brother’s praises.”

Faith looked at him and they shared a smile. Double damn! It should be illegal for a priest to look so good. What was that line? Lead me not into temptation…..

Faith’s mother had made place cards so no one got confused about where to sit. Translation: she didn’t want her parents sitting anywhere near each other. One of Faith and her brother’s favorite things in the world was watching their mother’s mortification over their grandparent’s canoodling. Having both passed the big 7-0 a few years ago didn’t stop them from showing their affection. Last Christmas her mom had made the mistake of forgoing the place cards and halfway through dinner Grandma and Grandpa Banks had been necking like a couple of sixteen-year-olds in the back of a Chevy. Right in front of Reverend Grey from the First Baptist Church, too. Faith held back a giggle just thinking of it.

Not taking any chances, Faith’s mother placed herself at the head of the table with her parents across from each other on either side of her. Faith and Frank were next to each other, and Father Michael sat next to Maddie with Faith across from him. The chair with the place setting at the end opposite her mother remained empty.

“Will Mr. Leary be joining us?” Father Michael asked as Frank and Maddie excused themselves to help their mother in the kitchen. He gestured to the empty seat.

“Wouldn’t that be something to see?” Grandpa asked.

Grandma nodded enthusiastically.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Father Michael raised an eyebrow at Faith.

“My dad passed away…,” she saw his mouth open, ostensibly to apologize, and rushed on, “…sixteen years ago.”

Father Michael opened his mouth. Closed it again. An adorable furrow appeared between his eyebrows as he looked hard at the place setting at the end of the table, for all intents and purposes ready and waiting for heaping helpings of Thanksgiving dinner. He looked back at Faith. She just shrugged.

After her dad was killed in a car accident when Faith was ten, her mother continued to set a place for him at dinner every night, like he was about to walk through the door any minute after a long day at the office. Faith, Frank, and Maddie had long since stopped questioning it.

Somewhere way down deep, Faith got the warm fuzzies over the idea her mom loved her dad so much, even sixteen years later, she couldn’t let him go. Her mom confided once that at night sometimes, after a particularly rough day—and there were many of those for a suddenly single mother of three young children—she would sit in bed, close her eyes, and pretend to lay her head on Faith’s father’s shoulder as she told him about her day. Even thinking of it gave Faith a squishy feeling in her stomach and made her long for something she didn’t think she’d ever be lucky enough to find.

“Who’s hungry?” Faith’s mother’s voice interrupted her unexpectedly mushy pondering, and Faith raised a startled gaze up only to meet the eyes of their dinner guest. His look spoke of compassion. Funny how they’d exchanged so few words, but she was left with the sense that he really understood how she was feeling. Was that a priest thing? Or something unique to Father Michael?

“Mrs. Leary,” Father Michael said, breaking the spell Faith had fallen under, “can I help with anything?”

“No, no, you just sit. You’re our guest. Frank and Maddie and I have everything under control. You can start serving yourselves.” Faith’s mom and siblings covered the table in platters laden with juicy turkey, steaming, buttery mashed potatoes, and what looked in Faith’s estimation to be forty-seven different kinds of vegetables. Her stomach growled, but she couldn’t help but look up with a sly grin.

“How about me, Mom? Would you like me to help?”

“No!” Her mom’s voice was just slightly too loud, and she shot Father Michael a quick look and regulated her volume. “I mean, no thank you, Faith. We have everything under control.”

“She means she wants all this food to make it to our plates,” Grandma chimed in.

“Yeesh, you drop a few things….” Faith pretended to be offended at their lack of confidence in her abilities to do anything related to food—from cooking to serving it. The truth was it suited her just fine. She was never asked to step foot in the kitchen, but she still got to partake in all the yummy goodness her mother cooked. Of course, that usually meant she got to cover for her slack after the meal was over. No one seemed to have a problem with her taking care of all the dirty dishes once they’d had their fill.

“Make sure you get some of Maddie’s stuffing and her green bean casserole, Father. My Maddie is an amazing cook.”

Of course she was a fabulous cook. Maddie did everything perfectly.

As they filled their plates and her mother sang the praises of Maddie’s dishes, Faith couldn’t help but notice there were no cranberries on the table.