The Saint

“If you insist. But while cleaning the pews, I want you to think about your sins.”

“I will. Especially the ones I plan on committing with you someday.”

“Good girl.”

Eleanor started to turn around, but Søren said her name.

“Yes, your blondness. What?”

“Did you mail off all your applications?”

“I did as ordered, Your Majesty.”

“Are you going to tell me where you applied?”

“University of None Ya. University of Mind Your Own. University of Not-tellin’. Big Secret College. And St. Stay-out-of-it Technical College.”

“Interesting choices.”

“The University of Not-tellin’ is my safety school.”

“Is there any particular reason you’re being so secretive?”

“You got me out of going to prison. You have secret ninjas everywhere who get stuff done for you. I don’t want you making phone calls on my behalf trying to pull strings for me.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“Liar.”

Eleanor loitered in his doorway for the sole purpose of cooling off in the draft. That and staring at Søren, who’d actually stepped foot into Sacred Heart tonight without his collar on. Dual purpose, then.

“Eleanor?”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“You’re gorgeous. Of course I’m staring. How’s the dissertation going?”

“Can’t we discuss more pleasant topics? Like my summers spent in leper colonies?”

“Big baby.”

“Go back to work.”

“Yes, Father Stearns.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t call me that,” he said.

“How about Mother Stearns?”

“How about sir?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. Eleanor’s stomach tightened in a surprisingly pleasant way.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Søren gave her a look that set her fingers to tingling.

“Good girl. Now shoo. I don’t have time for distractions today—even pleasant ones.”

She left him in his office and headed toward the sanctuary. A shadow flickered at the end of the hallway, a shadow in the shape of a person. Had someone been here the whole time listening to her and Søren? In a panic Eleanor raced through the conversation in her mind. Did they say anything that could get them into trouble? Søren flirtatiously complimented her on her kneepads. That wasn’t good but could be explained away as sarcasm. She told him his Lapsang souchong was disgusting, which it was. No one could argue with that. Oh, f**k. She’d asked him why he no longer suffered. Because I found you….

Fuck.

Eleanor half walked, half ran down the hall toward the shadow. But when she reached the end, she saw no one and nothing. Being in love with a priest had made her paranoid. Who would give a damn about her enough to follow her around anyway? No one.

She thought about telling Søren she’d seen a shadow if only for the excuse to talk to him again. Through his office door, she heard his phone ring, heard him answer it. He spoke too quietly for her to make out the words, however, so she returned to the sanctuary.

Eleanor opened the doors and put the stoppers down in the hope that cooler air would start to circulate.

She found her bucket again and got on her knees as she dipped the rag into the pine-scented water. She’d only done about two square feet of cleaning when she heard footsteps echoing off the floor. Søren had apparently not tortured her enough for the day. Fine. Round two.

“If you come in here I’m going to make you clean,” she said, glaring at him. She expected a smile or a laugh but no. Søren wore the strangest expression on his face.

He sat down in the pew behind her and gazed upon the crucifix behind the altar.

“Søren?” Eleanor knelt backward on the pew in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. My father is dead.”

Eleanor’s hands went numb.

“Oh, my God. What happened?”

Søren shook his head. “I don’t know. My sister Elizabeth is coming here tonight to talk.”

“Are you okay?” She wanted to take his hand but although he sat only inches from her, he seemed too far away to reach.

“I am …” He paused for a long time. “I am ashamed of how happy I am that man is dead.”

Eleanor didn’t know what to say so she said the only thing she hadn’t said to him yet.

“I love you.”

Søren tore his gaze from the crucifix to her.

“Thank you,” he said. “I needed to hear that.”

Thank you? Better than “no, you don’t,” but not quite as good as “I love you, too.” Still, she was glad she’d said something right for once.

“There is a visitation Saturday, the funeral on Sunday. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

“I’ll come with you?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him correctly.

“Can you? Please?”

Søren sounded so humble with his quiet “please” that she would have handed him her own heart if he’d asked for it.

“I will. Yes. Definitely.”

“Good. We’ll leave tomorrow evening once you’re out of school. Kingsley can send a car. Pack for two nights.”