“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession.”

My voice broke as I knelt in the confessional, and my heart hammered in my chest. It had been five months since I’d arrived in Pace, and I was beginning to miss my mother more than ever. When we spoke, or I spoke, I explained to her that she was safe and that I was getting closer to finding Jack. At the mention of his name, my mother always released a deep sigh of relief.

I still couldn’t believe that my mother had been born in the same town Mateo Cortez once occupied. The man I’d stolen from, and whose multimillion dollar operations I’d destroyed one of, could return to Pace any moment.

Father John answered in his non-judgmental voice, “Speak louder, child. I can barely hear you.”

I hadn’t realized that my voice had lowered to a whisper. It was the same tone I used when I confessed to Father Cameron. God could still hear me, though, couldn’t He?

“It’s been two weeks since my last confession,” I repeated, going over my sins in my mind. The only picture that appeared was one of a shirtless Father Cameron; and just like that, my naughty thoughts returned. Would Father John think less of me if I told him it was his apprentice whom I lusted after?

Grateful that it wasn’t Father Cameron on the other side of the confessional, I cleared my throat.

“These are my sins…”

I’m confessing to God, not Father John or Father Cameron, I reminded myself, and then proceeded to admit my wrong doings. All the sins about Father Cameron I’d manifested in my head flooded to the fore and spilled out of my mouth like dirty little secrets.

Since that morning I woke up to Father Cameron sitting in my room, our relationship had changed. He took care of me. Father Cameron had quickly become someone I could count on for both spiritual guidance and friendship. I was becoming a different woman around him, and my vulnerability scared me. We’d been organizing the attic with minimal progress, but at least it was progress.

Father John coughed into his tissue, and I wondered if his cold would return. He had finally managed to cure his three-month illness overnight and joined us for the retreat. It truly was a miracle that he was feeling better and a good lesson of faith for the kids, who had been praying for his recovery. As many wrongs as I’d done in my life, I was beginning to feel like the scale was tilting the other way. Maybe there was hope for me after all? Feeling ready to clear my heart, I smiled.

“These are all the sins I remember. I am truly sorry for all my sins, and I ask for the Lord’s forgiveness.”

I bowed my head, the way my mother taught me, and waited for my penance. That tight fear in my chest wouldn’t ease until I heard the Father’s absolution.

“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

I made the sign of the cross.

“Amen,” I breathed out in relief, and proceeded on to my act of contrition. If Father John had caught on to the vagueness of my sins, then he wasn’t saying anything. But neither did Father Cameron when I’d confessed to him two weeks ago. Did they mind that my sins became more obscure each time, or were they just pretending that they’d heard them? If they did hear them, then neither priest had ever let it be known.

Over the past couple of months, it had become more difficult to think of Father Cameron as a priest. How could I, when he looked like he breathed and slept on an aphrodisiac? Because I swear I could feel the sexual frustration floating around him. The long cloak he wore didn’t help; in fact, it made things worse, as my imagination took over. I mean, how hot could it get under one of those things? And heat meant a lot of sweat, which then meant a nice cool shower. Yeah, fantasizing about Father Cameron underneath a stream of water was definitely making me sin all over again. The line between his holy duties and those of a man’s blurred each time I wondered how he managed not to get sexually frustrated.

I was hot for a hot priest, and my symptoms of crazy were only getting worse.

“Go in peace.” Free of any emotion, his voice held an even tone, the way it always did.

I made the sign of a cross one last time and stepped out of the small wooden confessional in the camp’s chapel when a shocking scream tore through the woods. I ran out the chapel door and across the communal field toward the edge of the forest.

A herd of teenagers stood underneath an old spruce tree, buzzing with excitement.

I ran up to Lola and followed her gaze up.

“What happened?”

Another loud cry of fear echoed from above. Somewhere between all the spruce branches and needles, which were littering the ground from above, I saw a red sweatshirt.

“Oh, my God! How did he get up there?” I covered my mouth with my hand just as Father Cameron pushed past me through the crowd.

“Help me!” Matt yelled out.

“Stand back, everyone. In case… ” he paused, and I shut my eyes.

Please don’t say ‘in case he falls.’

“…in case a branch breaks.”

There were no branches on the lower part of the trunk, and the more I looked at the nearly shaved bottom of the tree, the more I wondered how in the world Matt had climbed up there.

“How and why did he do that?” I asked Lola. She was the other chaperon on our trip.

“He wanted to show off that he could be closer to God than the rest of us. As for how? I guess like that.” She motioned with her head to where Father Cameron had already removed his cassock, then his clerical collar, and unfastened the top three buttons of his black shirt. I rushed toward him and grabbed him by his arm. “Wait, you’re not going to climb up there, are you?”

“How else are we going to get him down? I don’t see a ladder around.”

Ladder – that would be much safer.

I never panicked. Never. But lately my hormones were so all over the place that I surprised even myself. Plus, there was something to be said about being in the wild with a hot priest.

Sinning in nature.

I turned around and ran back to Lola. “Do you have a ladder?”

“Do you see me holding one?”

“How is he going to get back down?”

“I don’t know. But what goes up must come down.”

I growled at her. By the time I turned around again, Father Cameron was already five feet off the ground, climbing the tree like a monkey.

“Holy shit!” Lola pointed to him, and some of the kids turned her way, giggling.

“Shh, don’t swear.”

“‘Shit’ is not a swear word.”

“It is when you use it in that context. Why are you stepping from one foot to the other?” I asked.

“I need to pee.”

“Then go.”

She shook her head. “There’s no way I’m missing this.”

Father Cameron’s foot slipped, and a unanimous gasp echoed. I watched him grip the tree tightly, his arms nearly hugging it and fingers digging into the bark for support, and all I wanted to do was throw up.

What the hell happened to my nerves of steel? If anyone from the precinct saw me this broken up, I could never show my face there again.

“He’s a monkey,” I gasped.

“I’d like to think more… like Spiderman,” Lola sighed, with a somewhat dreamy look in her eyes, and I elbowed her in the side.

The group of kids cheered Father Cameron with encouragement and when he reached the first level of branches, grasping one, the tension in my shoulders somewhat eased.

“That was absolutely sinful.”

Was Lola panting? I elbowed her again, but truthfully, I couldn’t have agreed more. One minute I was in a confessional, telling Father John fragments of my immoral fantasies about Father Cameron, and the next here he was, doing just what I’d imagined a sexy man would do: effortlessly climb a tree.

Like Spiderman.

Actually, scratch that. I was pretty sure I couldn’t have imagined it better.

“You heard it first from me: I’m actually enjoying myself at this retreat.” She had a goofy and satisfied look on her face. “These kids never disappoint, do they?”

All I could do was stare at Father Cameron as one branch at a time, he climbed up the spruce. I pictured his black pants as tight red leotards encasing his thick muscles. Actually, Lola was right: a red unitard with a black web pattern, which came with a face mask, would look quite appealing.

Near the top, a wide gap stood between Father Cameron and Matt. He paused to assess his next few steps. They were having a conversation, too, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. At least Matt had stopped his skin crawling screams.

“Wait. Is he about to do what I think he’s about to do?” I asked with concern, as Father Cameron’s interest shifted to one particular branch in front and above his head. Lola had her legs completely crossed, her thighs squeezing together as she held her bladder shut.

“God, I hope so.” Lola’s eyes opened wide. “I will gladly pee my pants to see this.”

“Don’t say that. What he’s doing is dangerous and brave.”

But somehow the word ‘danger’ and Father Cameron belonged together. He double-checked his weight on the branch where he was standing and focused in on the one above. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t stop staring.

No, no, no.

With a strong push off the supporting branch, he leapt forward and up, extending his arms toward the horizontal limb above before propelling himself onto an even higher branch. At that moment, even I was convinced that he was Spiderman.

I held my breath as he made the transition. Two more jumps and Father Cameron was beside Matt, slowly guiding him down, and I was sure that I held my breath for the full ten minutes it took them to reach the bottom. When both pairs of feet touched the ground, everyone applauded, and I ran to Matt to see whether he was hurt.

“Thank you, Father Cameron,” Matt said bashfully.

“Now, why would you climb up there? That could have ended much worse.”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to be closer to God.”

“I think you need to have a chat with the kids to explain the rules of spirituality,” I whispered from the side.

“Thank you for helping me, Father Cameron. You’re a real hero.” Matt’s voice was still trembling, and his body began shaking from shock. Father Cameron picked up his cassock and draped it over his shoulders. He was much more than a hero. He was an angel.

“Why don’t you go to your cabin and rest? I’ll come see how you’re doing in a moment. Peter, would you help him out?”

“Yes, Father.”

The boys left, and Father Cameron looked up to the crowd of awaiting teenagers. “No more tree climbing for anyone. If you want to be closer to God, the chapel is right there,” he pointed. “And it’s empty.”

“Father John’s there,” I whispered from the side, though I suspected that wasn’t what Father Cameron meant.

With their heads bowed, a couple of seniors slowly walked toward the wooden structure and a few others followed.

“Now I really need to pee.” Lola turned to the outer field.

“Why are you going to the outhouse?” I asked.

“I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we have a working bathroom,” she yelled out, as she tried running backwards while holding her thighs locked. “The bad news is that it’s out there, at least until they fix the washrooms inside.”

Great!

I’d been in worse situations. If I could spend an evening at the Bistro with Lola and still come out alive, then I could surely survive an outhouse. Wanting to check on Father Cameron before he disappeared as well, I turned around quickly and bumped into his hard chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

We both laughed.

“Thank you, Father. I’m not sure what we would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

“I… I guess I just acted on instinct.”

A Spiderman instinct? Those biceps underneath his black shirt looked swollen. Black definitely suited him best.

“Well, wherever you got that strength to climb a hundred-foot tree, thank you. God truly does look out for the faithful.”

“God looks out for all of us, Kate.”

“Of course.” A faint red line crossed his cheek diagonally from the lip to his ear. It couldn’t have been deep, as it wasn’t bleeding. “You cut yourself, Father.”

I automatically reached out with my hand, wanting to touch the wound on his cheek, but stopped myself.

He drew his hand over the cheek, his smudged fingers pulling over the cut. “It’ll heal.”

“Well, now it could get infected. I have antibiotic ointment in my cabin.” I started walking, hoping he’d follow. He walked behind me massaging his left shoulder.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“I grabbed that last branch with my right hand first.”

It never ceased to amaze me how our conversation could so quickly switch from a formal one to one between old friends.

“I think I pulled a muscle. It’ll be fine.” He shook off the pain and caught up me.

“Your father would have been proud of what you did today.”

“Thank you. But I think he would have been more proud if I could have prevented Matt, or anyone else for that matter, from climbing that tree in the first place.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Teenagers can be unpredictable.”

So can be horny women.

Feeling sudden guilt, I bit my lip and pushed the door to my cabin open.

There goes my confession.

I’d just have to try harder to remind myself that Father Cameron was out of the question, but the thought of harder, all I could picture were his hard abs, twisting and tightening as he climbed up that spruce.

Thankfully he was behind me and couldn’t see my face.

Behind me.

Now that conjured a whole new image.

Stop it!

I went to my suitcase to get the ointment.

“I think we all have an ounce of unpredictability inside of us, don’t you?” He gave me a crooked smile, and it took all the strength I had not to swoon in front of him.

He’s a priest.

Why did he make it difficult to look at him as such? It was those tight shirts: black or white, the color was beginning to make less difference to me.

I pointed to the chair and he sat down. I pulled out an antiseptic wipe from a sealed pouch and gently cleaned around the wound on his cheek. I squeezed a drop of the ointment on my finger and drew it across the reddened mark. He sat completely still, without breathing or blinking, until I was done. Only then did he let out a long exhalation.

Our gazes connected, and it seemed like too long before I broke the stare.

I gasped on the inside, wondering what he was thinking. Was he wondering the same? And if so, why? This was wrong. I was crossing that line again, and while it felt good for a moment, afterward it felt wrong. But how could something that felt wrong also feel so right?

Before I pulled away he grasped my wrist with his hand. The hold was strong, too strong for him use as a priest; if I was reading him correctly, right now he was holding me like a man.

“Kate, I need to talk to you.” I waited, not wanting him to let go of my hand.

He didn’t.

“Sometimes when you work close with someone, you develop a relationship that can be somewhat confusing.”

Oh, boy.

I stepped uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and he gently let go of my hand. I didn’t like that part. I didn’t like not touching him.

But he’s a priest. You’re not supposed to like him touching you.

Desperate to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, I asked, “Was one of the kids you spoke to confused?”

“Kate, I’m talking about our friendship. I don’t want you to mistake it for something more.”

“Of course not.”

“Because that could easily happen, and I understand that, but I’m—”

“A priest. A very well-respected priest. I’m so sorry if I did anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”

If my mother knew the hole I had just dug and fallen into, she’d be ashamed of me.

“Believe me, I’m comfortable.”

I stilled. It was times like these, when he spoke as a man and smiled with that extra lift on his right cheek, when I became more confused. Despite all the alarms going off in my head, I wanted the challenge. I wanted to prove to myself that I was a good detective, and that was all. Whether I found Jack or not, I wanted to do so with pride. I wouldn’t cross that line, no matter how much my body wanted to.

“Is the shoulder still bothering you, Father?” I asked.

“Yes, I have a feeling I’ll need to take something for inflammation.” He made a circular movement with the shoulder and winced in pain.

“Here, let me look at it.” I leaned forward and slowly pressed my fingers from the bridge down to the collar bone at the front, then up again to the top and slowly toward the back muscles. They felt firm and nice. I took my time pushing through the tissue, gently massaging the bundles of acidic areas, feeling the change underneath my fingertips.

“There,” I pressed gently around the swelling over his shoulder. “You should ice it.”

“That feels… good.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I hurt mine once in training, and the masseuse did this for me every second morning. I was healed in a week.”

“Training?” he asked.

“For work. And my father was into fitness”

“Well, that’s definitely something I’m grateful for, then. Your touch, I mean, your expert hands…”

Father Cameron’s eyes opened wide as he looked at me in that special way again. He gently removed my hand and stood up.

So here I was, once again testing the boundaries of our friendship and my own faith. Why was I so drawn to him, and why was it so difficult to stay away? Sometimes I found myself fantasizing what it’d be like if he wasn’t a priest, just a very handsome man who took my breath away, the way he had now. Maybe that was my first problem. I had to stop pretending that he wasn’t a priest.

He’s a priest.

“Ahm, if you have ibuprofen, you should take some. And if you don’t, then I have some. I usually come prepared to outings like these.”

What was happening to me? Why was I stuttering?

He gave me one last body-trembling and panty-melting smile before turning toward the door. I met his gaze as he pulled on the doorknob. “Thank you, Kate. For everything.”

I nodded.

As soon as the door closed I pressed my hand to my chest and held down my pounding heart.

This was bad. Very bad. Maybe Father Cameron had the right idea when it seemed like he started avoiding me last month. Maybe our friendship was truly testing its bounds. Perhaps my faith was crumbling. And if I had no faith, how could I hope for tomorrow?