Page 46 of Books and Hookups

“He got his GED in prison. And now he works here.” Barb had let me hire him when no one else would, even after he’d done his time for stealing those cars.

“You should be very proud.” She patted my shoulder. “Of yourself too. Do you manage the bar?”

“More or less. And I’m…” I couldn’t keep it inside. I still wanted to impress my favorite teacher. “I’m buying it later this year.”

“Really? Then my sisters and I will only have our weekly tipple here from now on.” She grinned.

“Tuesday is ladies’ night,” I teased.

“You think men cruising for ladies could handle all this?” Laughing, she gestured at her friends.

“They wouldn’t have a chance, Sister Frances. Can I get you anything…” But a flash of dark, unruly curls had caught my eye.

Lucie paused on the other side of the glass door and waved tentatively. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the last couple of weeks since she and her friends had come to Leo’s pop-up restaurant, but at least she hadn’t seemed to be actively avoiding me. Even though I’d said I genuinely liked her like I was still that fifteen-year-old boy in Sister Frances’s class.

But it gave me an idea. When I beckoned her in, she pulled open the door and strode into the bar. She still looked tired, but her cheeks looked a little fuller and had some color in them.

“Sister Frances, this is Lucie Knox. Lucie is a reporter for the city paper, and she’s writing a book. Lucie, Sister Frances taught me math in high school.”

The women shook hands, though Lucie looked slightly horrified to be meeting a religious sister. She looked at her hand like it might be singed.

“Lucie’s book is about women’s legacies,” I said. “She’s looking for women to interview. Sister Frances, don’t you spend your summers volunteering with an organization that builds schools and clinics all over the world?”

“These days, I spend more time teaching and serving in those schools and clinics than building them, but yes.”

Lucie’s eyes were bright. “Could I interview you, Sister Frances? Not tonight, but sometime? I’d love to hear your story.”

“I’m always happy to talk about the mission,” Sister Frances said.

I grinned, imagining the battle between these two strong women. Sister Frances would want to talk about the aid group and what they did, but Lucie would tease out the personal details. She’d get Sister Frances to admit she had a legacy.

As they exchanged contact information, I headed to the bar. Lucie grabbed my arm and pulled me around the side to the narrow hallway that led to the restrooms.

She stopped and looked up at me. “Thanks, Danny. That was really thoughtful of you. Sister Frances is exactly the type of person I’m looking to interview.”

“Of…of course.” I was standing way too close to her. The light from the exit sign glittered red in her hair, and her dark brown eyes seemed to glow, drawing me in. I could smell the coconut in her curls and under that, the musk of her skin. My gaze dropped to her chest, where her black shirt stretched and parted, revealing the deep valley between her breasts. Had her boobs gotten bigger? I wanted to bury my face in them.

Whoa.

I stepped back and dragged my eyes back to her face.

She smirked. “See you around, Danny.”

As she slipped past me, her boob grazed my arm. I stilled for a minute until I could walk. Then I went straight to the walk-in cooler in the kitchen and stood there shivering until I got my erection under control. There were nuns in the building, for Christ’s sake.

And although my dick was completely on board with Lucie’s neighbors-with-benefits plan, my brain knew it was a bad idea. I’d already fallen too far to survive that.

17

Another Pregnancy Symptom

Our legacy is more than the clinics and schools we built. Personally, I hope I showed these women, all children of God, they were worthy of love and care, even the forgotten ones. I hope I ignited the fire to fight for themselves and their daughters. If even one of them carries that flame forward to build a better world, that’s all the legacy I need.

Sister Frances Pernaska, Catholic Aid Services

LUCIE

Istomped into the office, grumpy and late. Grumpy because none of my pants fit anymore and late because I’d insisted on trying on every pair I owned to confirm it. I’d ended up wearing the same black, stretchy-waist skirt I’d worn every day this week. But the crowning aggravation was that the fitted shirt I’d put on wouldn’t button over my growing belly. I’d had to throw on a sweater to hide the gap. And on the third day of an unseasonable-for-June heat wave, I’d sweated all the way to work.

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