Chapter Seventeen
There was Plum, sitting in her customary pew.Customary as in she’s sat there four times, you lovesick fool,Gideon thought to himself.
He and Plum had been… Was dating the word for what they were doing? They hadn’t discussed it and perhaps they ought to because he was becoming very serious about her very quickly and he couldn’t tell how she felt about him.
Yes, she liked to play and fuck and spend time with him—they saw each other just about every other evening—but that didn’t mean she was interested inmarryinghim. She seemed content with what they had and heaven knew the woman liked her independence.
Meanwhile he was having visions of domestic bliss—white picket fence, Plum’s lovely plump body swelling with their babies, their small children running around church events while she manned the refreshment table and he spoke with congregants, them going to Hive for date night and leaving the little rascals with a sitter for the evening. Perhaps Mrs. Symes—she was always going on about how she couldn’t wait to have grandbabies.
Those were discussions to be had by future Gideon and future Plum, because today they had much more corporeal business to attend to. Business he’d been obsessing about since he’d made the plans and which had blood making a beeline for his cock every time he had even a glancing thought about it. Made everything else rather difficult to concentrate on.
But he muddled through the service, trying not to look at her too much and failing because she was gorgeous and tempting and had on a dark green dress that showed off her creamy decolletage, and a prim little fascinator he wanted to tear out of her hair so he could properly wind his fist into her curls and put her on her pretty knees. Or bend her over the foot of his bed so he could spank her for tempting him like this and then fuck her.
He’d never worried overmuch about the fate of his soul before, believing he was a good person who served God faithfully and did the important things like charity work, being a reliable presence for his congregants, engaging people in the lessons the Bible had to teach. But this woman, Plum Brolingtide barista extraordinaire, may yet send him to hell.
After the service, she waited until everyone had gone. Was it because she felt awkward with the members of the congregation? Because she was here to see him and not actually for worship? She was going to have to get over that. Or not. It was decidedly not up to him to tell Plum what to do in regards to her faith. But even if she didn’t believe in God, she could still believe in community and humanity and all the things that had kept him in the church even when his faith had wavered.
When the last parishioner had departed, he walked over to where she stood.
“How’d I do today? Was it okay or would you have rather slept in?”
“You forget thisissleeping in for me, I’m usually up at three or four. But yes, I enjoyed it. I like listening to you. You’re very engaging. Passionate. Also, who doesn’t like a hot priest?”
He huffed a laugh. “Well, at least people don’t come just for my pretty face.”
“So what if they did?” she retorted, green eyes sparkling mischievously. “Maybe they’d pick up some Jesus by osmosis or something.”
“Perhaps. Will you be joining us for coffee this morning?”
Say yes. I like to see you there.
Plum opened her mouth, looking like she was going to beg off and say she’d meet up with him later. He fought the urge to convince her, wheedle her into staying even though he was sure she had chores and errands to take care of. She worked long hours at the café, and they’d already made arrangements for the afternoon.
“I can. I, um, brought some pastries from the café. But I didn’t want to insult your hostess committee so I left them in the car. I wanted to see what you thought first.”
It was perhaps a foolish thing to be proud of her for, but that’s what suffused him. Pleasure that she would be so considerate, and a deep sense of gratification that she trusted his judgment to guide her behavior. Earning a woman like Plum’s trust and respect was no small thing, and it was moments like this that made the daddy part of him very happy.
“I don’t think they’d be insulted at all, as long as you didn’t bring donuts or coffee. Though you should be careful—they may rope you into being on the committee if you do it more than once.”
And would that be so bad?the voice in his head asked.
“It was very thoughtful of you to ask,” he said, and not totally meaning to, he reached out to finger one of the ringlets in her hair. Wrapped it around his index finger and tugged. Loved the way Plum’s lips parted and her lids sank when he did. Loved even more the little hum of pleasure she made when he said, “Good girl.”