Page 66 of My Fallen Saint

I stand there for a moment, a little wobbly. I’d been so sure. “Well, then,” I say. “I guess it must be me.”

A moment passes. Then another.

“I guess it must,” he finally says. “Now go get changed. I don’t want to be late.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time,” Nora Prescott says as Devlin signs for the check. “It’s been wonderful catching up with you, Devlin. And such a pleasure to meet you, Ellie.”

“It was great to meet you, too,” I tell her. “Both of you.” Nora and Franklin Prescott founded The Beyond Project five years ago, and, as I learned today, they were the first organization that received a grant from the then-newly endowed Devlin Saint Foundation. “I appreciate you answering so many of my questions. I’m afraid this wasn’t quite as social an evening as you three may have planned.”

“Nonsense,” Franklin says. “We’re happy to help in any way we can. Knowledge is like sunshine in this world. The more light that shines, the more darkness we conquer. This man knows that,” he adds, pointing to Devlin. “Don’t you?”

“I do my best,” Devlin says now, though he doesn’t look in my direction. I’m not surprised. He’s hardly been shining that light on himself, after all. Not to me. Not to the world.

That fact, however, hasn’t made me any less aware of his presence beside me. If anything, it’s added an extra buzz to the already vibrating air between us. It’s as if now that we’ve acknowledged the desire—now that we’ve opened the tug-of-war—the sparks are going to continue to burn until either he gives in or we return to California.

With any other man, I wouldn’t doubt my odds. But Devlin Saint has lived a lie for over a decade. And I’m not sure that my desire is any match for his determination and willpower.

“Call me for whatever you need,” Nora says. “You have my numbers.”

“Thank you,” I say, patting my phone, which is face-down on the table, no longer recording the conversation. Earlier, she’d texted me her contact information. So even though much of the conversation was chatty and social, I know that I can circle back if I need to know more about the Beyond Project.

We’d met them here just over an hour ago after taking a quick tour of the middle tower where the rescued women and children live, as well as the bustling satellite office for the DSF.

“What about men?” I asked

“We have a separate facility,” he said. “We don’t take their trauma any less seriously, but we do understand that the female victims need the space. We have a converted house just outside of town for the male victims.”

He told me more details as we’d walked through the tower’s public area where mothers and children played, single women read, and small lectures took place in corners, complete with white boards and digital enhancements.

The Beyond Project, I’d learned, brought volunteers in to do the actual teaching and then to help with job placement. “It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Devlin told me as Anna joined us, then led a quick tour through the office space.

I’d been impressed and told him as much before we met Nora and Franklin. Now, walking back to our suite with all the additional information crammed into my head, I’m even more impressed.

“I shouldn’t be,” I say after telling him as much.

“Why not?” he asks as we step onto the elevator. “At the risk of seeming immodest, what we’ve accomplished is damned impressive.”

“I just mean that I know you. What you can accomplish.” I’m showing my heart too much, but I don’t care. I saw a bit of his tonight, albeit reflected through Nora and Franklin. “You’ve done yourself proud.”

He blinks. It’s such a tiny reaction, but it warms me up, like cocoa on a winter’s night. Because it’s the first time I’ve truly disarmed him. And when he smiles and says, “Thank you,” I want to hold the moment close to my heart and cherish it.

“I miss it, you know,” I say softly as the elevator glides to a stop at our floor.

“What’s that?”

“Times like tonight. Our conversations. The way we would spend hours sitting and talking. I used to think I could tell you anything.”

“You could,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “But not now.”

“No,” he agrees. “Not now.”