Reluctantly, I set the book back on the little table next to the toilet. I’d always been a reader, and now my life was so busy that the only way I’d found time to read was a chapter here and there when I stopped long enough to relieve myself.

Pulling up my pants, I leaned over the sink and turned on the tap to wash my hands. My bathroom was tiny. There was barely enough room to take two steps in there.

Now that Tami was sleeping on the couch and we had to share it, I felt an almost constant sense of claustrophobia. Even when she wasn’t home. Fortunately, she’d taken up with a bartender and only slept at my place a few nights a week. I was crossing my fingers they hit it off and he asked her to move in with him.

Maybe I should make a point to put in a good word for her. Might not exactly move things along between them, but it couldn’t hurt.

I stared at my reflection for a brief moment, applied some under-eye concealer to cover the telltale dark circles that came with my no-sleep lifestyle and added some lip gloss. That was all I could bring myself to do. I wore so much makeup at Lulu’s that I relished going without while I worked at the bakery or had a day off.

Satisfied, I darted through living room/kitchen, grabbed my bag, and set off to meet Revered Soto.

Today I was having coffee with a priest.

My life was so fucking weird.

I couldn’t get a date with a normal guy. Nope, I had to get an admirer with a savior complex or some kinky fetish that sent him out crawling in seedy nightclubs when he should be kneeling beside his bed chastely saying his prayers.

Why couldn’t I meet a billionaire like the girl in my book? She’d been a hooker before she’d met her Daddy Morebucks. Sure, he was a bit kinky, but with a sugar daddy like that, I’d be willing to do some weird shit.

Money and love—that would be the ultimate. I practically sailed down the steps daydreaming about it.

But when I hit the ground floor, the stained yellow-brown carpet in the hallway brought me back to reality. I was meeting a priest. He probably wasn’t kinky, and I’d bet a chicken dinner he didn’t have any money.

I sighed.

At least he was interested in adult women rather than the choir boys and girls at his church like some fucked-up priests. I shuddered. At least I hoped he wasn’t. I’d learned not to underestimate the depravity of men.

Pushing the door to the outside open, I felt a gust of moist air hit me in the face. I smelled rain; the air was even wetter than the usual humidity. Yet it was warm outside. I wriggled out of my sweater now that I realized I didn’t need it.

I preferred winter, and after we hit November I was always optimistic about cooler weather. Mother Nature often had a different idea about how it should go in South Louisiana. She liked it warm, with only a handful of chilly days, while I could use a snow day every so often.

After walking a few blocks I started sweating, and I was really regretting my choice of long sleeves. But if I turned around and went home to change, I’d be late.

A pang of guilt twinged in my chest. I couldn’t do that to the guy. I was already being too hard on him. If you took away the whole halo thing, he was quite attractive. I recalled the way his dark eyes sparkled as he watched me dance. It seemed like there had been something there besides lust. It felt like he was really seeing me. Probably a priest thing, like he had a gift for finding the good in people.

Whatever it was, it made me feel good for a man to look beyond the T&A, if he’d even done that. It might have been my wishful thinking.

But that was why I’d agreed to the date.

Plus, it was only coffee. How bad could it be? I wondered as I pushed open the door to Kraven’s Diner.

I scanned the room for the reverend but, according to plan, I was the first one here.

I liked to be the first one there when I was meeting someone I didn’t know that well. It gave me the opportunity to scout out the exit doors and get settled. Not that I was a control freak or anything, but I didn’t like to be the one being seen for the first time. I preferred to be the one waiting for someone to arrive.

I was like that about airports too. I would much rather be the person waiting to greet an arriving passenger than to be the person getting off the plane and not knowing where the person meeting you was going to be. That always made me anxious.

The rev. must have a thing for promptness because he arrived at exactly the time we’d agreed upon. He wore that damn collar with an ease that was almost irritating. On him the dark shirt and collar along with his slim-cut jeans looked almost sinful. But it was his killer smile that really had me breathing a sigh of relief. I’d worried this was going to be awkward, but something about his presence just put me at ease.

“Hey,” he called, sliding into the booth across from me.

“Hey.”

“I know I said coffee, but I hope you don’t mind if I get some food too. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m starving.”

I laughed. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing.”

“That you are starving?”

I nodded my head. “What’s good here, do you know?”

“They have a great sub sandwich, and I also like the chicken fried steak if you want to be daring.”

“Sounds good.” I pulled one of the laminated menus from behind the napkin dispenser and perused it. Focusing on my food choices proved difficult because my eyes kept being drawn to him.

“Have you ordered anything to drink yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

As if on cue, our waitress came over to take our drink order.

I ordered a soda and the bishop requested water.

“Y’all ready to order or you need a minute?”

He nodded to me, indicating I should go first.

I was kinda digging his old-fashioned manners. Guys these days were not usually so chivalrous.

“I’ll have the chicken fried steak,” I said raising an eyebrow at him.

“Make that two,” he said.

“All righty then. I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drinks.” The waitress tucked her pen behind her ear and her pad into her apron pocket and scurried towards the kitchen.

“So, you went for the chicken fried? I like a girl who is willing to take a risk.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem like a priest kind of thing to say.”

He nodded. “Don’t tell me that you think that just because I am a priest I would only like boring women.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what the life of a priest is like. Or what sorts of things would interest a guy like you.”

“First of all, I don’t think you can really generalize about priests any more than you can generalize about doctors or mechanics. All sorts of people do the same job I do.”

“That’s a good point.” The waitress set our drinks down in front of us and I took a sip of mine. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Most people don’t. But back to the risk thing, most people don’t expect a priest to be asking out a stripper either.”

Usually my hackles went up when someone called me a stripper. I preferred the word dancer even though I knew the distinction was negligible. But instead of calling him to task over it I said, “Yeah. It was kind of a surprise. I guess there’s a lot more to you than Bible verses and preaching sermons.”

He grinned. “Exactly. Just like I’m sure there’s a lot more to you than dancing at Lulu’s.”

“You can say that again.”

“So, what do you do besides that? I mean, what is your passion?” Then he looked embarrassed and tried to backpedal. “I mean unless dancing is your passion. You’re very good at it so that would make sense.”

I touched his hand. “No, no. It’s not that. Actually, my passion is baking.”

“Like, making bread and cakes and stuff?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I work another job at a bakery after I get finished with Lulu’s. But what I’d really love to do is to have my own bake shop.”

“That sounds awesome, but I guess you’ve got to get up pretty early for that.”

I shrugged. “I guess. But comfortable hours have never really been in the cards for me.”

He nodded.

“My mom got sick when I was finishing up culinary school, and I’ve been having to send money to her for a while.” I wasn’t sure where that came from. I didn’t tell anyone about my mom, but there was something about this guy that had me babbling like crazy.

“I’m sorry. What’s the matter with your mom?”

“She has early-onset Alzheimer’s. She lives in Phoenix with my aunt.”

“That’s terrible. I will pray for her, and your family if that’s all right with you.”

Normally I didn’t put much stock in religion, but when he said it, I believed his prayers could only help. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

About that time the waitress brought our food to the table. I must have looked at it like it was poisonous or something because after the waitress left he whispered, “It tastes better than it looks. I promise.”

I cut my meat with my knife and fork meticulously and before I put the first bite to my mouth I noticed he had almost finished his. That was a good sign.

As soon as I put the first bite in my mouth my taste buds exploded. This had to be one of the tastiest chicken fried steaks I’d ever eaten.

“How is it?” he asked.

When I finished swallowing I answered. “Oh, my God, this is delicious.” As soon as the word God left my lips I wondered if he would be upset. I mean technically I had just taken the Lord’s name in vain, which I knew from my limited religious training was a sin.

“I promised you it was good. Stick with me, Chloe. I won’t steer you wrong.” The earnest way he looked at me told me he was talking about more than simply what to order off the menu.

After we were finished eating I asked him the thing I was most curious about. “So how did you become a priest?”

“I guess it started with me going to an Episcopalian boarding school when I was young.”

“Boarding school?” You must have been one of those rich kids.”

“Far from it. My mother worked on a ranch in Southern California where we lived, but as I got older she sent me away to school telling me I would get a better education that way. She did what she thought was best.”

“How did she afford that?”

“I had some sort of benefactor. Someone paid for my education. I always assumed it was the ranchers she worked for. They had a ton of money, and they were very kind that way.”

“Lucky boy.”

“True. Then my mother passed away while I was away at school and there was a couple there—he was the head of the school and he and his wife had never had any children. They kind of took me under their wing. I ate dinner with them, spent a lot of weekends with them, and stayed at their house during the summers. You might say they kind of became an unofficial adoptive family for me, more or less.”

I smiled. I liked stories like that, those about people who made their own family when something happened to disrupt their original biological family.

“And so you became a priest . . . ? ’Cause your surrogate father was one?”

“Yeah. At first I wanted to be a basketball player, but I don’t think that’s what God wanted me to do because he stopped me growing at about six foot one. I was a bit directionless for a while. Went to college, had some fun, but when life got serious I decided to go into the seminary. And so that’s how I got here.”

It felt like he had skipped over some important parts but I didn’t want to sound like I was giving him the third degree. “And so what’s it like, being a priest? I mean what do you do when you’re not preaching on Sundays?”

“Well, we actually have services on Saturday late afternoon and on Wednesday morning. So sometimes I preside over those. But you’re right. Sunday is our big day.”

The way his eyes crinkled up at their corners when he smiled made me feel warm inside.

“Right, but what do you do on a Monday or Thursday?”

He seemed pleased that I was interested in the mundane daily duties of a priest, and I was curious.

“Well, I do coach a basketball team for the school, and I do a lot of paperwork, and of course I have to prepare my sermons. I run several Bible study groups during the week so I prepare for those as well, we have a thrift store, as well as a gift shop that I oversee. I also find that social media takes up a good bit of my time.”

I almost choked on my food, and had to take several sips of soda to wash it down. After I stopped coughing, I asked, “Social media? You mean like Instagram?”

“Yeah, that’s one of my worst ones. I’m not a very good photographer and I don’t understand all the filters and things you have to do to edit and add captions. But we have a Facebook page and a Twitter. I’m better at those.”

“You really do all that?”

“Of course. In this day and age that’s part of what you gotta do if you want people to come to your church.”

“I never thought about that, but it probably is a good way to connect with people.”

“Yeah, it’s not something they covered in seminary, but also I find that I connect with a lot of our parishioners that way and they like to know what’s going on. They want to know when the thrift store’s having a sale or when the basketball teams are playing, or the other sports that are happening for the kids. I give updates on our planning for mission trips and things like that.”

“That’s so interesting,” I said, and I meant it.

There was a comfortable silence between us and then a text went off on my phone.

I intended to ignore it, but he said, “You can get that.”

“No, it’s okay. But thank you. I’ve had a nice time, Reverend.”

“Call me Eduardo,” he corrected me. “I’m glad you were willing to stay for dinner. I was so hungry, but I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to manipulate you into a longer date.”

I shook my head. “No worries. Now I have a new favorite place to get chicken fried steak.”

“Good. I really enjoyed this . . .”

“Me too,” I said and hopped up out of my seat. Before he could ask me out again, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks a bunch, but I gotta run.”

He looked surprised and a little disappointed, which told me my instincts were right that I probably stopped him from inviting me on another date.

He was cute, and the date had been fun, but I didn’t have time for socializing. I had things to do and I didn’t need to be distracted by a guy. If I kept seeing him, he’d get his feelings hurt that I didn’t have time for him. That always happened with guys when I had to work and couldn’t hang out.

I hurried to the door and made my escape into the sticky New Orleans night.