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Chapter Six

Simon led Miss Sanchez to his office, which was in shambles. Multiple stacks of paper lay on the floor, organized the way he wanted them, but he could see how it might look to a guest. He spotted the bottle of Johnnie Walker on his desk and sneaked it into the bottom drawer. Hopefully, she didn’t see it and think of him as a hopeless lush.

But her eyes were trained on the bay window that had a view of the backyard. Simon agreed that it was a pleasant sight. The grass was verdant green. It boasted more fruit trees, Mrs. Malone’s vegetable garden, and a wooden swing suspended from a thick branch of a massive oak tree. Simon suspected it belonged to the previous vicar’s children. He seemed to recall that he had three girls and a boy, all grown now, of course. He could imagine the girls fighting over the swing.

“It’s all so… lovely,” Miss Sanchez said, though it sounded to him that her voice trailed off in the end, as though she didn't know what else to say.

He indicated the sofa where he often took daytime naps, relieved that Mrs. M must have taken a brush to it because it was looking a tad manky. “Have a seat, Miss Sanchez. I’m sure you’ve had enough of standing around. Would you like a sherry?”

Her dark eyes glimmered with amusement. “Aha, you do have sherry.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “The elder ladies would be scandalized if I offered them whisky. Of course, I have sherry.”

She sat down on the sofa and adjusted her skirts around her. “Will you have one with me? I hate drinking alone.”

Simon hesitated. It was just a spot of sherry. It was whisky he’d been avoiding. What could it hurt? He took out the decanter of sherry from the cabinet behind him—the stuff in there was for his parishioners—as well as two crystal sherry cordials. He poured her a whole serving and half for himself.

He extended the drink to her, careful that no part of his body brushed against hers. The proximity of the woman, her presence alone made him heady. He had already touched her too much today.

“Is there a reason for your forbearance, Father?” she asked with a quirk of her full lips. “Or do priests truly abstain from everything?"

He was taken aback by her frankness. Scratching the back of his neck, he chuckled. “It's advisable to deprive oneself of indulgences from time to time. It's cleansing for the soul.”

She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her gaze at him. “That almost sounds Catholic."

He took a sip of his drink and almost gagged at the cloying sweetness that clung to his tongue. Ugh, he bloody hated sherry. He set his cordial down on the cabinet behind him. He would not take another sip. “Don't let Mrs. Malone hear you say that. She'll toss the both of us out on our ears for heresy, and then where would we be?”

“We’d have to fend for ourselves, I should think.” She toasted him with her cordial and took a sip. “I thought I saw a pub in the village proper. We can ask them to make us sandwiches. We can go down to the banks and eat by the river on a picnic.”

Simon tried not to react, but it took some effort. What she just proposed was bold, especially on such a short acquaintance. He had the initial impression that she was a timid young woman. Nevertheless, the idea of being alone with her tickled him. But it wouldn’t be sensible. He was still trying to avoid scandal, after all. “That does sound pleasant, Miss Sanchez. That's something we can do further along our acquaintance, perhaps.”

Her forehead creased briefly, and Simon feared he might have offended her. In a moment, however, her eyes brightened again, and a smile lit up her face. “Forgive me, Father. There I go again, assuming you'd want my company. You must think me brazen.” She glanced at her lap, where she held her fan.

“Not at all, Miss Sanchez. In fact, I think you’re…” She lifted her head and caught Simon’s gaze. He swallowed hard before continuing. “…rather delightful. I’m just mindful of your reputation. My parishioners, though wonderful people, are inclined to gossip. There’s not much else to do around our little hamlet, you see.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away from him again. She seemed to have directed her gaze to a spot above his shoulder. He glanced behind him. It was the charcoal sketch that Winston had done of him and Mrs. Malone having tea in the backyard, and presented to him as a birthday present last year. Mrs. M had it framed. Winston was a brilliant artist. He captured the look of affectionate reproof on the housekeeper’s face as though he had taken the image with a camera. Simon wasn’t sure if his own depiction was accurate, though. He thought the artistic version of him was a little too pretty.

“That’s a lovely drawing.” Ms. Sanchez indicated the artwork by inclining her chin. Her face remained flushed as though she were still embarrassed. Simon hated that he was the cause of it. “We should join the others, I think.” She finished the rest of her drink and placed the cordial on the side table. When she rose to her feet, she swayed a little.

Simon rushed to her side. “Are you all right, Miss Sanchez? Too much sun today, perhaps? Would you like some water?” Her nearness was intoxicating. She smelled like jasmine and something citrusy. He longed to bury his face in her hair and inhale her essence. Appalled, he took a step back and balled his hands into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms.

“Oh, I’m fine. I must have gotten up too fast.” She gave him a short smile and touched his sleeve, then snatched her hand back. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Father. I’m a tactile person and sometimes scare people with my exuberance. I’m almost certain I terrified poor Mrs. Grover earlier. I was just so excited to make a new female friend. Please apologize to her on my behalf.”

Simon regarded her with consideration. She really was an odd little thing—outgoing, yet seemingly embarrassed of her own high spirits. He suspected she had a restrictive parent who attempted to snuff out her bubbly personality when she was just a girl. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Sanchez. Rosemary is always thrilled to make new friends, especially young women. I don’t know if she told you this, but she and Kenny have four children—the eldest Esther is only twelve.”

"Oh, my!"

“There you two are.” Tom Roundtree poked his head into the doorway of his office. “Mrs. M has the table set up, and people are starting to sit down. Thought you folks might want to know.” He winked and disappeared again.

Simon heaved a sigh of relief. Once again, Miss Sanchez’s eyes darted toward him, and her lips appeared to tighten. He cleared his throat and pulled at his dog collar. His obvious relief at Tom Roundtree’s interruption must have annoyed her. He was, what the kids might call, a dope.

“I’m famished,” she announced, heading for the door. “I hope your Mrs. Malone’s pot roast is as good as people say it is.”

Simon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled bit by bit before following her out to the hall. By the time he caught up to her, she was standing next to Tom Roundtree, and he was leaning toward her, seemingly telling her something only she could hear. In response, she flicked her fan open and covered the lower half of her face. Her eyes, however, sparkled with laughter.

In his mind, Simon enumerated the ways he could wipe off the pleased-as-punch grin on Roundtree's face. He looked at the ceiling, horrified by the direction of his thoughts. God forgive him, he just contemplated violence against a brother of the cloth for daring to talk to a woman he himself fancied. Simon had just met the woman today. He had no claim on her. Neither did Roundtree, but that wasn’t really the point, was it?

“Vicar, what are you doing just standing over there?” demanded Mrs. Malone with a reproachful look. “Please take your seat at the head of the table.”

Simon snapped out of his gloomy mood and forced a smile on his face. On his right side would be the Dowager Viscountess of Warren and Lady Cosgrove. The two women had their heads together and seemed to be in quiet conference. They looked up and nodded at him in acknowledgment as he headed for his seat.

He glanced at the empty chair to his left. Dare he hope that Mrs. Malone assigned that seat to Miss Sanchez? He meant to peek at the place card, but he didn’t want to be obvious. He directed his attention to Lady Warren as the good woman asked for his opinion regarding her idea about getting rid of the black mold in the vestry.

But his focus wavered as he watched Miss Adelaide Easton head for the empty seat next to his. Remembering his manners, he pulled out the chair for her and pushed her in once she was sat. She said thanks and beamed at him.

On the other side of Miss Easton was Mr. Roundtree doing the same for Miss Sanchez. As Tom pushed her chair in, he nodded to himself, and a secretive smile touched his lips. Simon's thoughts darkened once again.

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