The Saint(73)
“I didn’t want you getting chilly.”
“You turned it up to ninety.”
Søren looked up from his notes.
“Did I? My apologies.”
“That was the least sincere apology in the history of the universe.”
“Possibly.”
“I’m working my ass off in the sanctuary scrubbing two hundreds years of farts off the pews and you’re sitting in your seventy-degree office drinking tea and writing homilies. It’s hot as Satan’s balls in there, and I’m sweating like a whore in church. Do you have anything to say to that?”
Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest and stared daggers into the office.
Søren looked her up and down before turning his attention back to his Bible.
“I like the kneepads.”
“I hate you.”
“Forty-two,” he said, as he pulled a file folder from his desk drawer.
“Forty-two what?”
“I’ve been keeping track of how many times you’ve declared your hatred of me. That was forty-two.” He opened the file folder and scanned something inside. “No, forty-three.”
He make a tick mark on the page.
“Forty-four. I hate you. Why the fuck did you turn the heat up to ninety?”
“You stole five cars. Instead of going into prison or juvenile detention, you endured nothing more than volunteer work. Now that you are paying back your legal fees, which were not inconsiderable, perhaps you need to suffer more in your service. It’s good for the soul.”
“Suffering is good for the soul? You’re sitting in your cute little office drinking your gross-ass tea that smells like bacon—”
“It’s Lapsang souchong.”
“It’s disgusting. You’re drinking disgusting tea and writing homilies in your room-temperature office while I’m dying in there. I don’t see you suffering.”
“I have suffered. My suffering has ended.”
“Did you find Jesus?”
“No, I found you.” Søren closed his file folder and slipped it back into the drawer. He sipped his tea again, sat the cup down and returned to his work.
Eleanor pressed her hand into her fluttering stomach.
“How would you feel if I stood on top of your desk and screamed my head off?” she asked.
“To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.”
To be perfectly honest, it surprised her, too.
“Now that I’ve suffered, can I turn the heat back down to a low boil? More first circle of hell than eighth circle?”
“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, fuck. She’d asked him why he no longer suffered. Because I found you….