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Aside from my apartment, the rooftop of my building is something of a second sanctuary. For whatever reason, no one else comes up here, maybe because of the plethora of flowers and vining plants I’ve cultivated, along with a cute little table and chairs I bought from a secondhand shop that make it look occupied. As though they’re intruding on someone else’s space, though it belongs to all the apartment tenants. Not that I’m complaining. Makes it another peaceful spot for me to unwind after work.
I took the evening off, since it’s Mamie’s funeral, but part of me wishes I’d just gone in, to keep from sitting here and thinking all night. My phone tells me it’s ten to six. Dusk has settled over the city, burning up the sky in shades of orange and red.
Mamie loved sunsets. She called it a heavenly fire, nature’s passion, and tonight, the embers burn in her memory.
When warmth swaddles my shoulders, I twist to see Damon wrapping his coat around me.
“You’re early.”
“A man can only stare at a clock for so long. Besides, I want to see the pussy.”
I smile at that, wrapping myself in his coat, which smells of spice and delicious masculinity. “Obviously, you’re talking about Philippe. And I have to say, for a holy man, you do quite a bit of creeping around at night.”
He stares off toward the sky that has slowly dissolved into darkness.
“One luminary clock against the sky. Proclaimed the sky was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.”
I study his profile, the contemplative look on his face, which I find most attractive about Father Damon. I used to think this expression was disdain for all the sinners’ paths he crossed. Now I know it’s a man divided by his thoughts. “A verse from the Bible?”
A quick glance in my direction, and his brows soften with a smile. “Robert Frost.”
I reach for his hand as I push to my feet. Something hard hits my thigh from inside his coat, but I ignore it for the urgency to get inside, and hands entwined, I lead him back through the door, and two floors down to the door of my apartment.
“Iby, is dat you?” Mrs. Garcia calls from inside her apartment.
“Yeah, just me!” I call out over my shoulder, hiding a smile.
“No handsome priest?”
I grin back at Damon, who shakes his head, urging me to lie. “Yeah, he’s with me, too.”
The door swings open, revealing my neighbor chewing on something, her brow cocked in suspicion. “You know I met da Pope once.”
“That must’ve been an incredible experience,” Damon answers, while I unlock the door, inwardly chuckling at her obvious flirtations. “Life changing, I’d imagine.”
“It was. I’ll tell you ‘bout it sometime.”
“I’d like that very much.”
She makes a sound of approval in her throat. “Me, too,” she says, before slipping back into her apartment.
Damon follows me into mine, and the moment he closes the door, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in for the kiss I’ve been craving all week. “She has the hots for you, in case it’s not as obvious as it looks.”
“Must be some strange forbidden fantasy.”
“It’s not that strange. You’re a hot priest. I’m sure half the congregation only goes to church to see you.”
“Slightly more than half, surely.”
Laughter fills my chest—it’s the first time I’ve felt the urge to smile in a week. “If they knew how dirty you were outside of church, I’m certain you’d double the parish.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be overwhelmed with a crowd of women trying to get into my pants.”
“How about one?”
“One is plenty.” The soft stroke of his hand down my face draws my attention to his stern eyes. Always so serious, so troubled. Admittedly, it’s taken some time to get used to Damon’s gentle touch after dealing with a ruthless asshole for so many years. “What if I don’t go back.”
“To New York? Well, I’d be glad about that.”
