Page 16 of Property of The Grump

Leanne has disappeared, thankfully. I’m not sure I could take anymore of her right this second. It doesn’t take much to see she has a desperate need for attention, but it’s sad the way she’s focused it all on a priest.

When I step into the rectory in the back of the church, I’m hit with the scent of Father Anderson. It’s a very specific mix of vintage woods and earthy pine that’s permeated into the layers of the church… and his skin. Masculine, yet down to Earth. That’s him in a nutshell.

A nutshell I shouldn’t be smelling.

There’s a solid wood desk in the center of the room, and to the left, two modestly appointed chairs, both wood as well. I couldn’t tell you what kind, but they’re dark and worn like they could use a sander and a clean brush of stain. Then again, the worn look is part of the charm.

I sit in the chair closest to the door and take in the portraits of biblical scenes I don’t understand. The most prominent one is labeled Stations of the Cross, and while I’m sure there’s some grand religious sentiment to this piece of art, it’s also very dark and depressing. I mean, there’s a man with a cross and he’s sort of kneeling down like he’s in pain while a bunch of other holy looking people try to lift him up. It’s not something I’d want to gaze at while having my coffee in the morning.

I’m sure the fact that I even thought that is awful.

Next to the painting is a photo of the church when it was first built. Or rather, that’s what I assume, given that the date beneath the picture is May 5, 1932.

“Wren,” Father Anderson says, stepping into his office. He’s had a wardrobe change since I saw him ten minutes ago. Now he’s wearing jeans and a black button-down with that collar thing around his neck. His sleeves are rolled up slightly, dark ink on his flexing forearms as he leans his massive frame against his desk and stares toward me. “I’m really happy you’re here. I like the idea of gathering folks to help fix the church. We’ve got plenty of people from all walks of life that have varying degrees of expertise. We could—”

I’m sure he’s saying something very important, but I’m finding myself lost in the way his deep voice echoes in this small room. It’s not intentional, and it’s not sexual, but it’s obvious. I’m a married woman, though it’s noticeable the way he commands the space.

“Wren?”

“Oh, sorry. Umm… I have a thousand things on my mind right now. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Does it have anything to do with whatever Leanne was saying to you? I saw her whispering during the hymns. She can be aggressive.”

“You see everything, don’t you?”

Birds chirp outside the window to the hum of folks talking as they prepare for the potluck and the bake sale.

He grins. “Not usually, but I was keeping an eye on you.”

“An eye on me? Why?”

“First time in our church.” He leans up and paces behind his desk, lowering himself into the wooden chair that’s barely big enough for him. “I want to make sure you’re enjoying yourself. Leanne didn’t put a sour taste in your mouth, did she?”

“No,” I grin, “but I totally think she’s into you. She was definitely staking her ground. Apparently, I’m a threat.”

“Are you now?” he groans under his breath as he presses his hands on the top of his desk. “Why’s that?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. Apparently you were looking at me like you were interested.”

He shakes his head deliberately. “Did you feel like I was looking at you like I was interested?” The words come out slowly and deeply, sending a sparkle of energy through my groin I’m not expecting.

I do my best to ignore it, though the masculinity pouring off of this man makes it nearly impossible. He’s so big, strong, and unlike a lot of men, when he opens his mouth, I believe he’s still capable. Like he’s the kind of guy who’d remember a conversation you had about loving strawberry ice cream, then find the best strawberry ice cream in the state and drive you there just for a cone. Like he’s the kind of guy that wouldn’t grab you by the arm so hard he leaves bruises.

Ugh. I hate that I thought that.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t think you were at all. I was surprised when she said it.”

“Good,” he says, glancing away. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” I glance down at the pine wood floor and study the knot at my feet before glancing up again, “that’s good.”

“So you and your husband want publicity, I’m sure,” Father Anderson says, clearing his throat.

“My husband wants publicity. I’m not so good at the showman stuff.”

“Must be hard being married to a mayoral candidate then. Your life must be very public.”

My chest tightens as he talks. “I knew what I was getting into when I married him. I just… I don’t think I really thought it all through. I’m a small-town girl. I like simple things. A wildflower field, Sunday supper, a quiet creek for reflection. My husband likes the fancier things in life… which is great for me.” I grin, suddenly feeling defensive of my own feelings. “I get to seea lot of fancy hotels, and the places I’ve been… I’ve seen the sun rise over the Serengeti. I’m a lucky woman.”