I don’t gasp or shriek or even shift though. This isn’t dark. Not like I know it.
“What happened to the lights, for God’s sake?” Mom’s voice rings through the room, a note of nervousness in it.
I know why. She’s worried this will be the straw that breaks my back. She doesn’t realize I feel more comfortable now than I did when I stepped into the light just now.
I take a few steps inside the room, my breath returning, and someone reaches for my arm. “Let’s leave them in the dark for another minute—what do you think?”
I hear the tipped smile in his voice. I feel the warmth in his fingers radiate up my arm. I smell the hint of the same shaving cream he’s been using since his first shave the summer he turned sixteen. I feel my nerves unravel, my stomach coil, and everything else get pulled in his direction. Like I’m a million shavings of iron and he’s a magnet, everything moves toward him.
“Are you responsible for this?” I whisper, turning toward him. It’s dark, but I can make out his outline. Or maybe I’ve just memorized it enough to picture it.
“Why? Are you going to tell on me?”
When his hand slides away from my arm, I grab it. That isn’t a conscious decision. It’s something my subconscious dictates. “No, but I was going to thank you for it.”
“And how are you going to thank me for it? I’ve made promises of celibacy, obedience, and to paraphrase, to abstain from anything of a fun nature.” His voice is light as he braids his fingers through mine.
It’s a small thing, but the sensation makes me teeter in place.
“I could always, you know, just thank you with words. The old-fashioned way.” My voice is light too. It sounds strange to my ears, but it feels good. Right. “Thank you.” I enunciate it slowly, which makes him laugh.
“Yooou’re weeelcome,” he replies.
That’s when the lights fire back on. It takes me a few seconds to clear my vision, but when I do, he’s staring down at me with something I don’t recognize in his eyes. It’s new. I want to ask him what it is, but I chicken out. I think I’m afraid of the answer.
“Okay, everyone. Crisis averted.” Mom’s voice echoes through the silent room. “Please just get back to enjoying the night. Thank you for coming.”
He’s still looking at me, and I’m still looking back, and now I know others are starting to look at us. He must realize it at the same time because he unwinds his hand free from mine.
“Probably don’t need any more awkward questions than you’ll already get.” His eyes scan the room as his hand slides into his pocket.
He’s in black and white again, as he’s always been in the past two weeks, but this isn’t the same black-and-white outfit I’m used to. I step back just to make sure I’m not seeing things. And maybe I step back to get a better look at him.
“Are you wearing a tuxedo?” My heart picks up, and I know why. Seeing him like this, without his priest’s collar, blurs the lines for me too much. It’s easier to forget what he is and succumb to what I wish he was instead—mine again.
“I’m pretty sure that’s what you call it.” He glances down at himself. “At least that’s what the guy at the rental place called it.”
I glance at his neck. “You traded in your collar for a bow tie.”
“Yeah,” he says, yanking at the bow tie. “But it’s still choking the hell out of me.”
I smile at him yanking at the tie. It doesn’t look as tight as his priest’s collar. It doesn’t look half as restraining. “You look good.”
Actually, he looks better than good. He looks better than great. But I don’t think I’m allowed to say that to a priest. Especially with the way people are tuning into our conversation, slowly creeping a little closer.
“No, you look good. I look like an eyesore next to you.” His gaze skims down me, lingering in places I’m not sure a priest’s eyes are supposed to linger.
My fingers curl into my palms. “Thank you for coming. I know you’re busy and this probably isn’t your thing, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here. And you’re wrong about this not being my thing.” His eyes make their return trip to mine. “You’re here.”
The whole room feels like it’s creeping in around us, listening, watching. I’m already a lightning rod because of what happened to me; I don’t need to be one for being a priest’s temptress.
“Jade, sweetie.” Mom comes up beside Torrin and me, glancing around the room. “Your guests. Everyone’s eager to say hello.”
“Hi, Eleanor. Great party,” Torrin says.
“Hello, Torrin. I’m pleased you could make it.” Her voice isn’t unkind, but it’s stilted.
I know she doesn’t want me getting hurt, but I’ve already been hurt. Being with him, in whatever way I am, makes me a little better each time. It’s almost like every time I’m with him, another shattered piece comes back together.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to the lights, would you?” Mom asks him, an eyebrow arched.
Torrin’s face goes flat. “I don’t have a clue.” He can’t keep up the act though. A smile breaks as he winks. “It must have been a fluke.”
“It must have been,” Mom replies, looking at me. Her eyes soften from seeing me relaxed, smiling, not about to lose my shit all over the room. Leaning closer to Torrin, she pats his arm. “Thank you.”