Page 11 of Sins of the Flesh
Well, now I feel dumb, but even worse, my face is on fire.I stare down at my plate, hoping to hide my reddened cheeks."Wow, that's a lot.I had no idea that being a Priest involved so much."I mumble.
"Most people don't.But I love what I do.Every day brings new challenges and opportunities to help people."
We continue to eat in comfortable silence, and I covertly glance at Caleb's Adam's apple as it bobs in his throat with every swallow."Cole, something on your mind?"He asks as I take a bite, and I nearly choke.Just fantasizing about the hot Priest sitting next to me?
"Uh, well," I stammer, trying to think of something - anything - to say.The first thing I can think of comes out in a rush: "So, why didn't you hire someone else to finish the kitchen renovation?"
Caleb's response is tinged with sadness as he says, "William was a friend, and initially it felt a little too painful to watch his vision just go down the drain.Over time, I just forgot about it."He trails off and covers my hand with his on the table; in that moment, it occurs to me that my eyes are burning as a tear drips from my chin to Caleb's hand.
Six
Caleb
1 month later
Rain - Sleeptoken
T
he house is quiet when I step inside, tossing my keys into the ceramic bowl by the door.The emptiness greets me like an old friend, familiar yet somehow more noticeable tonight.I flick on the kitchen light, finding Ally's note on the fridge held by a magnet shaped like Kansas: "Book club running late.Leftovers in fridge.xo."My fingers trace the neat curves of her handwriting, and I sigh, feeling an unusual restlessness settle in my bones.
I check the clock, 7:35pm.Too early for bed, too late to start anything substantial.The TV remote sits untouched on the coffee table, but nothing there appeals to me.Instead, I find myself standing in the kitchen again, opening cabinets, my mind drifting to conversations from earlier today.
"My Mom used to make the best blueberry muffins," Cole had mentioned while painting in the Chapel."Haven't had a good one since high school."
I open the pantry door, scanning the shelves.Do we even have what I need?It's been years since I've baked anything more complex than slice-and-bake cookies at Christmas.My fingers find a bag of flour, then sugar.Before I know it, I'm pulling bowls from cabinets, measuring cups from drawers.
On impulse, I check the freezer and, miracle of miracles, there’s a bag of frozen blueberries buried beneath frozen vegetables and ice cream.It must be from when Ally went through that smoothie phase last summer.One more thing, I check the spice cabinet and dig around, yes!Lemon essence, Cole’s always drinking Lemon Mio, maybe I can combine his two favorite things?
Warmth spreads in my chest."You're actually doing this," I mutter to myself, setting the oven to preheat.The digital display blinks to life, and something about the simple action feels comforting like greeting an old friend after losing touch.
I pull out my phone, googling a recipe.The flour puffs into the air as I measure it out, leaving a fine dust on my dark pants.I don't even mind.There's something soothing about the process, the precise measurements, the soft sounds of ingredients being combined, the way the mixture transforms from separate elements into something cohesive and new.
The wooden spoon makes satisfying circles through the batter.I carefully fold in the blueberries and lemon, watching as they marble the pale mixture with streaks of purple-blue.
My mind wanders to Cole, to his eager energy as he works.His enthusiasm is contagious, his work ethic impressive.Something is refreshing about his presence in the Church, breathing new life into the aging building and, if I'm honest, into my daily routine as well.
Having Cole around this past month has been a breath of fresh air.Not just because of the repairs getting done, but because of his company.Our conversations flow easily, his laughter and smiles bringing life to the place that I hadn’t expected.
The timer dings, interrupting my thoughts.I pull open the oven door, and a rush of warm, sweet-scented air envelops me.The muffins have risen beautifully, golden brown with bursts of blueberries peeking through their tops.
As they cool on the counter, I find myself leaning against the kitchen island, simply breathing in their aroma.It's been so long since I've created something like this, something that wasn't a sermon.Something I created for my own reasons, it almost feels rebellious to do for myself in that way.
I have always loved cooking.I used to help my Mom in the kitchen until Dad put a stop to it, saying “Kitchen work is women's work, Son.” I picked up the hobby as an adult, and it quickly became a passion.
Often a family affair, but over the years, the passion slowly fizzled out as my day-to-day life became more and more about the Church.
The next morning, I arrive at the Church just after sunrise, the container of muffins balanced in one hand as I unlock the back door.I move through the quiet hallways, my footsteps echoing against the walls.It feels almost secretive, this simple act of bringing homemade treats to work, yet there's a flutter of anticipation in my chest that I can't quite explain.
The breakroom is bathed in pale morning light filtering through the single small window.I set the plastic container down on the table, adjusting its position a few times before stepping back.
Should I leave a note?No, that would make it too formal, too deliberate.This is just...I'm not sure what this is.A friendly gesture?A thank you for Cole's hard work?Either way, a note feels like too much.
I pop the lid open halfway, letting the scent of blueberries and lemon escape into the room.That should be invitation enough.With one last glance at the container, I head to my office to prepare for the day's tasks.
Throughout the morning, my mind keeps drifting back to the muffins.Has Cole arrived yet?Has he found them?What if he doesn't like them?What if they're dry or too sweet?The thought makes my palms sweat as I type up Sunday's bulletin.Ridiculous.They're just muffins, not a peace treaty.
At around 10am, the anticipation has become too much.I need to know if he has seen them.So I decide I need coffee or water, maybe tea?Ugh, why is this so hard?I grasp my coffee cup and march towards the breakroom.I round the corner into the room and stop.
