by Autumn Grey
Oh my God. How sexy is that!
“We’re cool,” he mumbles, probably not aware of his thumb brushing my knuckles, his touch feather soft.
I gasp and try to cover it by biting the inside of my cheek, but the goosebumps on my arms betray me.
He jerks upright, taking his hand with him. He blinks several times as though he’s coming out of a haze. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
His leg bounces faster, the air between us suddenly crackling with tension. The kind of tension that has my stomach dipping deliciously and my thighs tingling.
One week ago, I was certain no one had the ability to make my blood sing. To make goosebumps rise on my skin with just a smile. Then Sol came along and proved me wrong. When he walked up to my booth, offering his friendship, he shattered parts of my resistance.
He clears his throat and asks, “You’re going to Brown in the fall, right? I overheard your mom talking to my uncle about it.”
“Yes?” I say it like it’s a question, then quickly cover it with, “And you’re going to Saint Bernard’s Seminary in Boston.”
“Yes, I am.” He sounds so sure of his decision.
A feeling I know far too well stabs my chest. I’ve always had a hard time being around people like Sol. People who seem so sure of who they are and what they want. That’s never been me. I’ve been lost for as long as I can remember.
“You’re frowning,” Sol says. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No!” I blurt out, then clear my throat and glance back at him. “It’s just that . . .” I bite my lip, wondering if I’ll sound too whiny. I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Are you excited about the seminary?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, looking peaceful and content. “I’ve been looking forward to this since I knew I wanted to be a priest.”
I’m trying not to feel like a loser here, but to be honest, it’s getting more difficult by the second.
“You don’t seem too enthused about Brown,” he muses. “You can talk to me, Gracie.”
Gracie.
Gracie.
He called me Gracie. My name on his lips sounds like a melody.
In his eyes, I see sincerity and patience. He’s completely focused on me, and it makes me feel like I’m the center of his universe.
“You’re going to make a good priest, Sol. There’s just this vibe about you. People won’t hesitate to pour their hearts out to you and confess their sins,” I say teasingly, enjoying the subtle flush that appears on his cheeks. “No wonder Seth looks at you like you hung the moon.”
I remember last winter when he took over the youth group at church. The way he spoke and his actions commanded everyone’s attention in the room.
He doesn’t realize it; that much is clear.
Sol shifts on his seat as if my words make him uncomfortable. “He’s a great kid.”
“Aw. You’re blushing. It’s adorable.”
He rolls his eyes and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Can we not focus on me?”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I tease, nudging his leg with the tip of my peep-toe heel.
“Would you stop if I said yes?”
I push my lip in a pretend pout. “But teasing you has just become my favorite thing to do.”
Sol laughs, the sound deep, warm, and joyful. So alive and unguarded. “I’m glad you’re having so much fun at my expense. Change of topic. Let’s talk about your sins, or whatever it is that’s bothering you.” The mood shifts from playful to serious. I blow out a breath, pondering if I should tell him. Maybe telling someone will help untangle my thoughts.
“I’m not sure of who I am. Who I want to become. What I really want to do at Brown. Some days, I think I’ve figured it out, then the next, doubt creeps in, and I’m back to square one. That’s why I want to take a year off. Take time off to think about what I really want to do in college for the next four years of my life. For the rest of my life, really. But so far, I’m still just as clueless. And now in a few weeks, I’ll be heading to Brown, and I’m . . . scared.”
“I think it’s normal for you to feel that way. We’re all a little lost, Grace.”
“I’m eighteen. I should have figured this out by now.” I bite my lip, twisting my fingers as the familiar worries and nervousness creep inside me. “Did you always know you wanted to be a priest?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I wanted to be a magician.”
I sit up straight and lean forward. “Really? Can you do tricks or something?”
“A few, yes. Like this one.” He reaches his hand behind my ear, and when he pulls back his hand, he’s holding a penny between his index and middle finger.
I press my lips, fighting a smile. “A penny? I could have sworn there’s a twenty back there.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “Looks like my tricks need a little brushing up.”
His eyes narrow into slits as if he’s trying to remember something. “It started out when my teacher in middle school asked the class what everyone wanted to be when we grew up. I just knew, I guess. It’s like there’s this pull in me. Like God was speaking to me. Then Seth came along. He was really messed up in the head over some stuff that happened at his church back in Baltimore. Thinking about anyone else going through what he did . . . I was even more determined about the path I’d chosen.
“Every time when I hear about some of the negative stuff happening in the Catholic Church nowadays, I feel even more certain this is who I’m meant to be. People have lost faith in the church and forgotten the good things, and I want to change that. I know I’m just one person, and I’m probably being foolishly optimistic, but I believe it takes faith, no matter how small, to move a mountain. Last summer, I traveled to Peru with a few guys from church for a home building mission sponsored by the diocese. It was a life-changing experience.” He pauses, determination and passion shining a bright fire in his eyes.
I nod, remembering his uncle talking about it during Mass.
“That trip reaffirmed my sole purpose for the path I’d chosen. Dedicating my life to being God’s instrument in spreading hope and faith.” Then his expression turns somber.
“After my mom and dad passed away, I was a wreck. I carried so much hate in me. Luke was . . . he was just amazing.”
“I’m so sorry about your parents, Sol,” I whisper, leaning forward and placing my hand over his, hoping to comfort him.
“Thank you.” His gaze drops to our hands, but not before I see a slight shimmer in his eyes. He clears his throat, but his voice cracks a little when he says, “I’m better now. Really, I am.” He sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Besides, you told me everything would be okay, and it was.”
Wow. “You believed me?”
“How could I not?”
I’m elated by his words, but at the same time, my heart hurts for him. I feel selfish and ungrateful. This boy lost his parents, but he survived and managed to sort out his life.
I sigh and run the tip of my finger around the rim of my glass.
“Isn’t it weird that we never really talked after that day in your uncle’s office?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “I wasn’t brave enough to approach you.”
“You talked to other people, though.”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye, then looks forward. “They weren’t you.”
What does that even mean?
A hand touches my shoulder, interrupting my thoughts, and I turn around to find Mom. She splits a glance between Sol and me, and her eyes light up. It’s so weird to see her responding to Sol that way even though she’s spent most of my teenage years protecting me. She warned me about boys and their ability to break hearts. I’m grateful she had Beverly’s wedding to keep her mind off things. She looks relaxed, like she’s enjoying herself. But I know from experience that even though she seems happy now, it won’t last. The next few days are still goi
ng to be rough on her.
“Looking really handsome, Sol. Doesn’t he, Gracie?” Mom says, and I force a grin on my face.
Sol smiles up at my mom. “Thank you, Ms. Miller.”
Then he aims his infamous half-smile at me, and I feel it everywhere.
What’s wrong with me?
His smile shouldn’t affect me like this. Clearly, the wedding atmosphere has gone to my head. Everything seems magnified and romantic.
I force my mind back to my surroundings just as Sol says, “I love what you did with the wedding, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you.” She squeezes his shoulder, then faces me with her eyebrows raised even though her twitching lips make it clear she’s fighting a smile. “At least someone noticed.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “He’s right; it’s perfect. But you know that already.”
She huffs and shakes her head. “Have either of you seen Collins?” Lines of worry etch on her forehead. “He’s supposed to be out here taking pictures of Bev and Mark.”
I stand. “I can help you find him if you want.”
“I’ll help, too.” Sol’s on his feet with his hands in his pants pockets. And with that, the two of us start our search.
“Oh, hey, listen. I’ve been meaning to ask you if you want to go to the concert with me. MJ told me she invited you, but I wanted to ask you if you want to go with me, um . . . us? Unless you have other pl—”
“Yes. I mean, no. I don’t have other plans.” I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Yes, I’d love to go to the concert with you, Sol.” With a soft smile, I add, “It’s a date,” surprising myself. I haven’t gone on a date since I broke up with Gavin.
His eyes widen slightly. “A date, huh?”
I laugh nervously. “It doesn’t have to be. I just thought you meant, um, do you? Want it to be a date, that is?”
“I guess, yeah. I’ve never been on a date before.”
No way. “How is that even possible? You’re hot and—”
His brows shoot up. “You’ve called me ‘cute’ and ‘hot’ in the span of one evening. You’re doing wonders for my ego, Gracie.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way he says Gracie.
I laugh. “Don’t let it go to your head. Okay, we need to split up to find Collins faster before my mom goes into full-on panic mode.”
“Good idea.”
I start to walk away but stop when Sol’s strong, warm fingers wrap around my wrist, turning me around to face him.
His eyes roam over my face for a few seconds before he lifts a hand and tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear. My gaze falls to the onyx rosary beads of the bracelet around his wrist. Before he has a chance to pull his hand away, I reach up and run a finger across the bronze cross pendant pressing gently on the veins of his inner wrist. It seems to sparkle and shine with life.
Unable to hold back, I trace a finger along one vein. He sucks in a breath and goosebumps spread up his arm.
“Gracie.” He breathes my name hoarsely. He sounds like he’s in pain. I lift my gaze to his, and what I see there makes me lose my breath.
Blue fire burning in those gorgeous wide eyes, mouth slightly parted on an exhale.
Heat crawls up my cheeks, responding to the way he’s looking at me. “Um.” I take a step back, out of his reach. “Sorry.”
He steps closer, eyes looking even more fiery than before. “Don’t be. It felt nice.”
The tips of his ears redden at his admission, but it doesn’t diminish his looks. Instead, it makes him more human and not the solemn, untouchable boy-angel who sits quietly in the front of church every Sunday during Mass wearing the black and white vestments reserved for altar servers with his hands folded in his lap.
“See you in a bit, Gracie.” He brushes a finger along the back of my hand, then walks away.
I stand there, rooted to the spot, my feet too heavy and my heart beating too fast as I watch him walk away. The spot where the tips of his fingers had lingered for a few seconds burned as though he’d imprinted his very essence onto me.
Who knew quiet Sol had a touch that singed like fire?
I head in the opposite direction, smiling wide.
After we found Collins, Grace and I sat down and chatted for a few minutes before Debra asked Grace to help her. Beverly and Mark left for their honeymoon at the end of the reception, so as much as I enjoyed hanging out with Grace, we had to part ways at some point.
Once I’m back at the apartment, I slump back against the front door and run my fingers through my hair. The confidence and elation I’d felt when I was around Grace is fading fast as nervousness quickly sets in.
I stride into the living room, glancing around the open-floor plan. The apartment is close to the rectory. It’s big enough for two teenage boys learning how to navigate the world—as my uncle put it when he talked me into leaving the rectory.
I duck my head around the door to Ivan’s room. He’s sitting on a bean bag on the floor, his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth and fingers jerking as he presses the buttons on his controller. Beside him, MJ looks determined as she tries to beat him at the race car game they’re playing.
For just a second, I entertain the thought of talking to him about Grace but change my mind, deciding to talk to Luke instead. I need guidance, the kind only he can offer. He always has the right answers.
It’s obvious they haven’t noticed me as they continue to yell at each other, eyes fixed on the TV screen. I head for my room while pulling my phone out from my back pocket and dialing Luke’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“Hey.” He sounds distracted, most likely working on his homily for tomorrow’s Mass. I hear papers shuffling and my uncle muttering under his breath.
“If you’re busy, I can call back later.”
“No, it’s fine. Give me a few minutes. I’m almost done.”
“Yeah. Of course.” I kick off my shoes, climb onto the bed, and prop my head on a pillow. My eyes automatically find the faded pink flower pinned on the corkboard above my desk. I never got rid of it because, for me, it represented hope when I desperately needed it. Plus, it reminded me of Grace.
I stare at the ceiling and start to count the cracks webbing across the white surface while waiting for my uncle to finish whatever he’s working on.
“All done. What’s up?”
“I need some advice, Luke.” After a breath, I add, “It’s about Grace. I asked if she wanted to go with me to a concert, and she said yes. It’s like a date or something.”
I pause once again, waiting for that final piece of information to sink in.
“I see.”
“I’m . . . this is weird. I shouldn’t . . . never mind.” I swing my legs over the side of my bed and blow out a breath.
“Solomon?”
“Yes?”
“Take a deep breath, son.”
I do as I’m told, then blow it out through my mouth. “You’re allowed to have fun and hang out with kids your own age, including girls. Besides, it’s just a show, right?”
“Yes,” I say with conviction. I cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from spilling out what’s bothering me before I’m ready to share.
“Okay. Good.” A pause, then, “Remember what we talked about on the day I rented the apartment for you?”
“Yeah?”
“After living with me and a bunch of old dudes at the rectory since you moved to Portland, I wanted you to be around people your age and explore more options out there.”
“I loved living at the rectory. It was the only home I knew back then. I’m glad Mom and Dad appointed you as my legal guardian.”
Luke lets out a weary sigh and clears his throat. Then he says in that priestly voice of his, soothing and patient and understanding, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to give the other life a chance.”
I swallow the guilt choking me. “Then why do I feel like I’m betraying Him every time I think about Grace?
”
“First and foremost, you need to remember you’re human and feeling guilty is normal. Only you can decide what to do with it. You already know my thoughts about starting the seminary in the fall. You have such a good heart, a heart that is so open to love despite everything that happened in your past. You care too much, and you love too much. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Have I told you about Annabelle?”
“I don’t think so. No. Who’s she?”
“When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a girl,” he says, and I sit up straighter, curious. He hardly ever speaks about his personal life. At some point, I thought he’d been born a priest. “She was new at my school, a quiet little thing.”
“Was she pretty?” I ask, smiling, hungry for more details.
“Very beautiful.” He chuckles. “She had long red hair and this amazing body . . .” He takes in a long, trembling breath. I’ve never heard him sound so unraveled, so passionate, other than when he’s preaching during Mass. “Her eyes held me captive from the second we met. Green and wide, always filled with humor. She and I were crowned king and queen at prom that year. I loved her with everything that I was for as long as I could. But then the time came and . . . I broke up with her after prom.”
I frown. “Why? I mean, you loved her.”
He sighs, sounding exhausted. “I was afraid . . . I don’t know. I was torn between her and what I thought God wanted me to be.”
Silence follows his admission. Does he regret his choice? Does he miss her?
Unable to stop myself, I voice my questions. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. And when he speaks up, it’s with an impassive voice. “I did what I had to do. What was right for me.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Just be sure this is what you want to do, Sol. What was right for me isn’t necessarily right for you. I don’t expect you to do as I did, and no one can force you to make any decisions. Just know that.”
I nod even though he can’t see me, leaning back against my pillows, and stare at the ceiling.
“Solomon?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m very proud of you.”
I grin, basking in his words. Then I remember what I wanted to ask him the second he mentioned his ex-girlfriend. “So did you, like . . . have sex?”
