I watched the priest carry the drunk guy outside. He’d left me a pretty good tip.

Wonder what the story was behind all that. It was weird. We didn’t get a lot of priests in Lulu’s. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever seeing one in a titty bar, and I certainly couldn’t remember seeing one that good-looking anywhere ever.

Not that priests couldn’t be hot, but that one seemed to ooze sex appeal with his scruffy beard and stylishly cut hair. He looked more like a movie star than a man of the cloth.

Oh well, I’d probably never learn the story behind that whole situation. I didn’t expect to run into him again, seeing as I hadn’t been to church since I was a little girl when my grandmother used to take me.

Careful the club owner and the bouncer didn’t see me, I checked my phone. Only another couple hours left on my shift. The crowd was dying down, and I went to the back for a break.

The new girl, Tawny, called to me, “Hey Vixen.”

“Chloe,” I corrected. There was no need for her to use my “stage name” when it was just us.

“Chloe, do you think I could crash at your place for a couple of weeks? Just ’til I get my next paycheck?”

I didn’t like the sound of this. I relished my privacy and my apartment was already the size of a closet.

“Um, I don’t really have an extra bedroom,” I hedged.

“That’s okay. I can sleep on the couch.” The desperation in Tawny’s eyes made it hard for me to turn her down. I was afraid if I said no she’d wind up having to stay with one of the bouncers or with the owner Vince, and I knew how he’d want her to pay for the privilege.

“Only if it’s for a short time,” I warned.

She clapped her hands. “It will be. I promise. I’ve got a place all lined up. I just need to save up enough for first and last month’s rent, ya know?”

I nodded. Oh boy, did I know. Money, or lack thereof, was the theme of my life. It was the reason I worked two jobs, ran a tiny business on the side, and struggled every day. I was saving up to open my own bakery, and I only needed about two thousand more before I could afford the lease and have several months operation expenses on reserve.

I was tired of working for other people, and I was sick to death of working in this seedy strip club where people treated you like a piece of meat and customers threw up on you.

Recently I’d made the jump from dancer to cocktail waitress. The money wasn’t as good, but it made working there more palatable. Now I was ready for an even bigger change. I couldn’t wait to be my own boss. I knew running my own shop would take a ton of work, but I wanted it so bad that it consumed me.

The rest of the night was slow, and even though I left Lulu’s on time, I got stuck behind a wreck on the way to my next job and I arrived late.

“What time is it, Chloe?” persnickety old Mrs. Bain asked as the doorbell jingled when I came into the bake shop.

I winced. “Four fifteen. I’m sorry. There was an accident. The streets are slick . . .”

“Hungry customers don’t care about that. They will want their bread at the usual time.”

My feet were already aching after being on them for the last eight hours, and I really wanted to snap back at Mrs. Bain, but I knew it would only make things worse so I bit my tongue. “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled and tucked my hair into my hairnet and tied an apron over the jeans and T-shirt I’d changed into before I left Lulu’s.

The next few hours were my favorite. The time I spent quietly making bread. Mixing the ingredients and kneading the dough was my therapy. My friends found that yoga centered them, but for me it was baking that kept me sane.

After high school, I’d gone to California and attended culinary school to become a pastry chef. I loved the creativity of it, and I discovered meaning in feeding others. For me, baking was the ultimate joy.

I adored the process of it—the feel of the cool, wet dough in my hands, the satisfaction of watching it rise, the smell of warm golden cakes baking in the oven. It spoke to my soul, and it never failed to thrill me each time a customer smiled after taking a bite of something I’d created.

Each time I baked, it felt like watching a miracle, and every batch was as satisfying as the last. There weren’t many things you could say that about in life.

By the end of my shift I’d made scores of rolls, brownies, cakes, baguettes, scones, muffins, and cupcakes. As I was preparing to go home, Mrs. Bain came into the back and said, “Chloe, I am going to have to cut back your hours next week.”

“What? Why?” My heart sank like a stone. Just when I was getting so close to my goal!

“I have a cousin who needs work. You’ll have to split the job with him. I’m sorry but family comes first. You’re lucky I’m not letting you go altogether.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She was right. She owned the place. She could do what she liked, which was exactly why I wanted my own shop. So I didn’t have to depend on others for my livelihood. I wanted to do it myself.

When I wandered out to my car, it was already daylight and the rest of the world was heading to work. Exhausted, I wondered what the hell I was going to do now.

* * *

A week later, I drove over to St. John’s gymnasium to meet my friend Pepper Thibodaux for her nephew’s basketball game. We’d been trying to get together for weeks, but our schedules were so different we kept missing each other. My only day off coincided with Lance’s game, and since I was a basketball fan and I’d known the kid since he was a baby, I was glad to come support him. I could catch up with Pepper at the same time.

Pepper and I had been friends since we were in grade school together. We’d graduated from the same high school, and I’d known everyone in her family forever. It never failed to impress me the way her big family stuck together and even with their busy schedules, made time for things like a seventh grader’s basketball game.

The Thibodaux family owned several of the finest dining establishments in New Orleans and I’d gotten my first job waiting tables in one of her parents’ seafood restaurants. Pepper was currently serving as manager of their flagship restaurant, Evangeline, but she was preparing for a special culinary school abroad that her parents were paying for to get her ready to open her own restaurant when she returned.

I wasn’t exactly covetous of the opportunity that lay before my friend, but I would have killed to have someone backing me like that. Instead, I expected to have to go back to dancing soon to be able to stay on track saving for my own shop. Mrs. Bain cutting my hours was going to hurt.

As I pulled in to the parking lot, I saw Pepper getting out of her car. You couldn’t miss her fiery red curls flying everywhere. Her father had always joked that she’d been named for the spicy red cayenne pepper, and nobody doubted it.

Putting my broken-down old hoopty into park, I tried not to compare my ride to Pepper’s white Mercedes, which had been a graduation present from her parents.

I got out of the car and before I could take two steps, Pepper was right there, enveloping me in a bear hug. The Thibodaux were a demonstrative bunch.

“Hey, girl!” Pepper enthused. “How’ve you been? Omigod, I love your hair!”

A couple of days ago, I’d gone a little nuts with the scissors and chopped my hair all off. The end result had been tragic so I’d gone to a friend of a friend’s who happened to be a hairdresser and she turned it into a pixie cut. Now it looked like I meant to do it.

“Thanks. I thought Vince was going to fire me over it.”

Pepper frowned. “Screw him.”

“No thanks.”

We both laughed.

“It looks adorable. What’s his problem?” she asked.

“He thinks dancers should have long hair.” I shrugged. “Says that’s what men find attractive.”

Pepper made a face. “But I thought you were waitressing now.”

I sighed, not wanting to get into my latest backslide. “It’s fine.”

“Better than fine. You look like a million bucks. It brings out your pretty brown eyes. I love it.”

“Thanks. So, who are we playing?” I hooked my arm through hers as we walked towards the gym entrance.

“The Scarlet Knights of St. Paul’s. They’re over from Placquemine parish.”

“Nice. How is Lance’s season going?”

“Pretty good,” Pepper said and launched into a detailed account of all her nephew’s challenges and successes over the past several games. The way I knew she would.

Just listening to her chatter on about things so removed from my own trials and tribulations calmed my nerves. Being around Pepper’s big family always made me feel a part of something wonderful, even if I was relegated to the periphery. They were as warm and lively as a roaring fire, and I was content to sit alongside and warm my hands next to them.

We walked inside and Pepper snagged us a couple of seats in front of the dozen or so Thibodaux who’d gathered to cheer on the St. John’s Hurricanes.

“What number is Lance?” I asked.

“Thirty. He thinks he’s Steph Curry,” Pepper’s brother Stirling teased, leaning over my shoulder. “Hey, Chloe. How’ve you been?” Stirling and I had worked together in the Thibodaux kitchens. He’d always been a cut up.

I laughed. “Got it. I’m fine, Stirling. How’re you?”

“Can’t complain,” he said before settling back in his seat.

The players from both teams made their way onto the court and started warm ups.

“So how is everything going?” Pepper asked.

This was exactly what I didn’t want to talk about. But Pepper was the closest person to me. The only one I could talk to about most stuff, so I told her. “Mrs. Bain is cutting my hours back starting next week.”

“Oh crap. What are you going to do?”

“I hate to say it but I’m going to have to go back to dancing, at least for a few shifts a week.”

“Oh, that sucks.” Pepper knew how much I hated the dancing, especially the lap dancing, which made me feel dirtier than a hooker who hadn’t bathed in a week.

“Tell me about it, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Come work for Mom and Pop again. I’m sure they could give you something.”

“Yeah, but it won’t be enough money, hon. You know I appreciate the opportunity. I just have to suck it up and deal with it. It won’t be for much longer anyway. I’ve only got a few months left, then I’ll have enough for my own shop.”

“Really? That’s exciting then.”

Crossing my fingers, I said, “Yeah, I found a great location. I just hope it will still be available when I have the money.” I knew it was unlikely the way New Orleans economy was growing, but I couldn’t help but be optimistic.

Across the basketball court, a handsome man came out from behind a door and walked purposely toward the sideline. Something about him looked familiar. “Hey, Pepper?”

“Hmm?”

“Who’s that man?”

“Which one?”

“The one wearing the collar.” The instant the words left my mouth, I realized where I’d seen him. He was the priest who’d helped the drunk man who vomited all over Lulu’s. What the hell was he doing here, at this kids’ basketball game?

“Oh, that’s Lance’s coach. Bishop Soto, I think is his name. I think they call him Coach Soto though, except at church.”

“So he’s a priest and a basketball coach?”

“Yep. He might teach a class or two at Lance’s school as well. I’m not sure. Why?”

“Nothing. I just feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“Have you ever been to St. John’s on Sunday?”

“Nope.”

“I have. He’s kinda hot. Might be worth a trip to church.” Pepper nudged me with her knee, giggling.

“I’m not really the church going type, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Pepper threw an arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “I know. Things will turn around for you soon, Chloe. I just know it.”

The boys on the court lined up for the tip-off.

“Here they go,” I said, but my eyes were glued to Reverend Soto rather than on the game. I watched him pace up and down the sidelines as if he were the only show in town. He kept his cool. Even when his boys screwed up. Even when the ref blew a call. He offered his players advice and encouragement with just the right amount of authority and leadership. His above average height and the graceful way he moved told me he’d probably been a basketball player himself back in the day. I guessed his age to be about thirty, but it was hard to tell. The scruffy beard might make him look older than he was.

With the game tied at halftime, the players and coaches headed off into the locker rooms. Nature was calling, so I excused myself. On the way back from the restroom, I almost bumped into Bishop Soto, who stood at the water fountain filling up his water bottle.

The minute I saw him I felt my cheeks warm. He was intently focused on his task and I intended to walk right past him, but that plan flew out the window when he looked up and saw me.

He furrowed his brow and I could see he was trying to place me the way I’d tried to recall him earlier. Silently I prayed he wouldn’t remember, but I couldn’t be that lucky.

Other people were starting to mill around us, and when he pointed at me and asked, “Vixen, right?” I wanted to crawl under the floorboards.

“Actually, it’s Chloe. Chloe Thomas.” I stuck my hand out awkwardly, and he saved me by taking it and shaking it with what I considered to be the perfect amount of firmness. It could have been my imagination, but it felt like he had held on for a bit longer than necessary.

“Oh. Well, hi Chloe. I’m Eduardo Soto. Do you have a friend or relative playing or are you just a fan of middle school basketball?” His smile pierced my heart, and I wished he was still holding my hand.

“A friend of mine is on your team. Lance Thibodaux. I mean, I’m a friend of the family’s. The Thibodaux that is.” Why did I keep babbling? It’s not like I needed to justify my being here.

“Lance. He’s a good kid. One of my best players.”

I leaned in. “Are you supposed to say that?”

He bent his head to mine. “Probably not. Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered conspiratorially.

I felt a silly grin spread across my face. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He took a sip of his water then said, “Well, I’ve got to get back to my team, but it was nice to see you again, Vix—I mean Chloe.”

“You too,” I said and watched him disappear though the door to the gym. I felt only a little guilty for thinking he had a nice, tight ass underneath those khaki pants of his.

Episcopal priests didn’t have to be celibate, did they?

With a sigh, I remembered they did, however, have to be married to fornicate.

I couldn’t tell you anything else that happened during that basketball game other than that Lance’s team won, and that the more I watched Coach Soto, the more infatuated I became. The man was hot, pure and simple. And the calm, self-assured way he coached those boys only made him more attractive.

After the game was over I made a hasty retreat, desperate not to run the risk of seeing him again. My mind had already started thinking the sorts of lustful thoughts one should never have about a priest, and besides, the opposite sex was the last thing I needed to be thinking about.

As difficult as it might be, I was going to have to vanquish Bishop Hottie from my thoughts and focus my energy on saving for my own bakery and the work it would take to get me there.