Page 25 of Devour

“Well, then.” The ensuing silence lasted far too long for my liking. “I suspected you did that, but I didn’t know for sure, so I didn’t blame you. I appreciate your honesty, nonetheless.”

“You know I don’t lie, hubby.” I reminded him of this with a very wide smile.

“I know.” Not lying, either.

“And I’d never hurt you.”

“Until you finally eat me.”

“Don’t you trust me to make it bearable?”

Doubt. Silence. And more doubt.

Asher finally pulled his head out of his butt. Pardon the expression, but nothing else adequately described this most recent development in our friendship. It took him a long time, and I mean a long time, to respond to the polite messages I always sent him around the holidays and on his birthday. Finally, at the start of my last semester at seminary, he messaged me and said he wanted to meet and talk. He missed us being friends, and he owed me an apology.

So, we planned to do just that. And we would meet at a pub near both of us because… well, why not? I could still drink (since, interestingly enough, it’s not a sin for clergy or laymen). Unfortunately, time didn’t allow for me to stop home and change into something more secular. I’d have to rush to get there when we agreed, and… well, hopefully seeing me like this wouldn’t come as too much of a shock. Somehow, I managed to arrive before Asher anyway, so I grabbed a table, typed and sent a quick text to him, then another to Rhory.

With nothing better to do while waiting, I browsed the drink menu. Despite a trendy menu and a solid wood bar in the same dark stain as the hardwood floors, the seating left something to be desired. The options were all wooden barstools, wooden chairs, and wooden benches. Ones that reminded me way too much of church pews for a somewhat upscale establishment. I had been anxious enough waiting alone without being reminded of the upcoming choices I’d have to make.

“What can I get you today, Father?”

Sigh. Not a priest. Not even a deacon, yet. Technically. No point in correcting someone trying to be polite. A common misconception, made the minute people spotted the white collar.

Midway through placing my drink order, Rhory arrived. Plopped right down next to me in the booth without so much as a hello first and frightened our waitress. Or maybe worried her. We were an odd pair: me, with my clerical collar and Rhory, looking very much like himself in a cropped black sweatshirt. He paired that with belted bottoms only a few inches away from qualifying as booty shorts. Oh and black fur-lined boots, of course, because it snowed today. Very practical attire. He also switched to yellow since I last saw him. Not blond. Bright like a daffodil yellow, with sunset orange roots. It suited him.

“And, uh, for… um…”

Oh, this poor girl. And I called her a girl not to be demeaning, but because she looked sixteen at most. She also looked very confused, which only amused Rhory even more.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Rhory said.

“Get water, at least,” I suggested.

“Fine. Water, please.”

The waitress power-walked back to the kitchen, leaving us alone at our table.

“Look at you, hubs, making sure I stay hydrated,” Rhory said with a wide smile.

“I’m expecting this to be awkward enough as it is. Last thing I need is for you to be the only one not drinking or eating anything at dinner.”

Rhory pouted. “I’m the buffer friend?”

“Yes. We haven’t said more than a few sentences to each other in close to three years,” I admitted. “And I suspected he’d be late and didn’t want to wait alone.”

“You know I’ll always keep you company,” Rhory chirped.

“I know.”

“Or at least until you’re thirty-five. Then you’re mine.” His last word came out a bit growly, so I turned and did a quick once over of him.

“You didn’t feed today, did you?”

“I did,” he quickly objected.

“Rhory, we talked about this,” I groaned. “You can’t be snacking in public. At least fill up before we go somewhere.”

“I’ll be fine.”

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