"You have to know we didn't mean to hurt anyone, Niamh."

"You had to know that you would."

Peter realised these pangs of late-breaking guilt were exactly what Father Mac had warned him he'd feel. "You'll have a lot to answer for," indeed. The look in Niamh's eyes was penance enough. As it softened, he found the guilt growing heavier.

"You are in love then?"

"I am."

"When did you realise?"

"In my gut, probably when I met her." Niamh made a face. He ignored it. "I tried to smother it for a long time. Lack of air didn't kill it, so two nights ago I held it up to the light."

"You know, when you moved here, you wouldn't even tell me if you'd ever had a girlfriend."

"Did it matter?"

"I only..." she took a deep breath. "Had it never occurred to you when you took those vows that this might happen?"

"I'd had relationships. I liked women."

"Then why even bother trying?"

"Because it was rare for me to really click with someone. And I'd certainly never felt like this before."

Another disgusted face.

"Niamh, when Assumpta picked me up on my way into town that day, it felt like God was putting me through some sort of cheeky, custom-designed trial by fire. When I found out how she felt about the church, I thought the feelings would fade away. Or at least that she'd never share them. Don't you think I'd have faltered well before now if I wasn't thinking of the consequences?"

"You could have stuck it out long enough to go about it honestly."

"You're right."

"But?"

"No 'but.' You're just right."

"Why not, then?"

He shrugged. "It had been an intense day. Maybe a sense that it was now or never. I knew I couldn't expect her to wait around forever. I didn't feel like living without her anymore."

She was not quite mollified, but the stink-eyes finally seemed to have run out. In fact, she was sniffling.

"You were going to christen the baby!"

"I'd have felt like a hypocrite. Even if I was pure of deed. I've already felt that way for years. You deserve better. This whole town does!"

"That'll be a first!" she scowled. "Mark my words, Peter Clifford. Your interim replacement had better be utterly perfect and totally asexual."

"Niamh, c'mere." He opened his arms. She gave him a hug with a side of bone-crushing resentment, and then stormed into the pub for another toilet break. After the soreness in his ribs subsided, he went in as well, finding his boxed possessions gone from the entryway.

"Moved them upstairs for you."

Assumpta stood again in the kitchen door where life as they knew it had begun to unravel, not 48 hours earlier. She pulled a brass key from her apron pocket. "Gave you the room farthest from Leo's."

He'd have settled for sharing hers again.

It's no big deal. She needs her space. "He's still in?"

"Booked through tomorrow. Sure he'll be lying low until then anyway. Pretty sore about everything."

Peter shuddered at the idea of sharing a roof with the man who'd been tailing him that morning. He decided for her sake not to bring it up. Not much choice, anyway. "What do I owe you?"

"You can't afford my weekend rate. Help me with the dinner preparations and we'll call it square. However long you need, I can put you to work."

A good enough port in a storm. "I'll probably be travelling to Manchester in a bit. Drop the bombshell in person and all that."

"How you think they'll take it?"

He shrugged. "I've no idea."

She nodded. "All the same, gives Father Mac a chance to introduce your replacement."

"Don't suppose you'd like to join me on holiday?"

"Are you trying to kill your poor mother?!"

"You're right, you're right." He reflected for a moment. "I do think she'd like you."

"Ha."

"I do. I'll bring you home when she's had a chance to get used to the idea."

"One thing at a time."

"I know."

"By the by, my old roommate Fiona can't wait to meet you. Says come on up whenever we need refuge."

"Maybe I could meet you there on the way back from Manchester."

"That'd be grand."

Niamh emerged from the toilets and shot an uncertain look at the couple in the kitchen door. She missed the man lurking at the top of the stairs with a notepad.


As it happened, there was little need for extra help over the dinner shift. The crowd was small enough to make Peter wonder if the public was catching wind of things. Closing and cleanup passed quickly and quietly, which he attributed to the possibility that Leo might come down at any time to give them more grief. He hoped that Assumpta would follow him to his room afterward, but she gave no indication of this as they dimmed the downstairs lights.

In fact, he was already in bed reading when she let herself in.

He jumped. "I thought I'd locked that."

"You had. I keep a duplicate of every key." With her hushed voice, she reminded him to lower his own.

"Oh, and you assume you'll be welcome." He knew they should probably talk seriously, but flirty glibness was easier, and at least he knew where it would lead.

"Putting you up indefinitely, in exchange for mere dish duty? I'd better be." She met his eyes. "And I couldn't sleep knowing Leo was on the other side of the wall. He's been on and off the phone with someone all night."

He set Cardinal Martini's latest tome on the side table. "About what?"

"Decided it wouldn't help me to know."

"Right."

"Sorry about this morning, Peter."

He shook his head. "All me. Got a little jealous is all. Not the first time."

"His turn for that now."

"Ugh. Don't remind me."

"How'd the meeting go?"

"Everything's sorted but the Pope's seal. Bishop said he remembered you."

"Oh?"

"From the play rehearsal. And your name on the petition."

She cringed.

"Said he figured you were in love with me even back then."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, is that right?"

"Mmmhmm."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm not asking you to believe. I am merely asking..." He eyed her jeans, t-shirt, and flannel. "Sleeping in those, are you?"

"Got a better idea?"

He weighed this in his mind for a moment, then peeled off his Middlesbrough t-shirt and flung it at her.

"Only if it wouldn't just be to spite the bloke down the hall."

She held it up like a trophy. "Must admit, that wouldn't exactly spoil the fun."

He raised one eyebrow.

She jettisoned her flannel, then her t-shirt. "Reckon the cat's out of the bag anyway, don't you?"

"Sorry? Wasn't listening."

Now went the jeans. "I said it's already old news, there's nothing we could do about it. Might as well sit back and enjoy the ride in the handbasket."

"Hm? Sorry, miles away just now."

Her bra landed on his head. She paused at the mirror to admire herself in the worn-out old shirt.

"Short-term loan, mind."

She turned down the covers and slid in beside him. "That right?"

He clicked off the reading light. "Yes. Reserve the right to repossess it anytime." He ran his hand to her hip, just beneath the hem of the shirt. She inhaled sharply and brought her leg up over him. His hand moved up inside the shirt, trying to commit her curves to memory.

"How're we doing on all that lost time?"

"We've not even begun to offset my twenties, Assumpta." In their present configuration, it was stating the obvious. "You're sure we won't be heard?"

"Shhh..."

Their mouths connected with an intensity that equalled the frustrations of the day, and the unspoken fear both of them kept pushing aside. Playing chicken again. He knew it would catch up with them, knew there would be much more hell to pay, and by the way her arms and legs gripped and clutched him, he knew she was thinking of it too. As they stripped each other and came together, the strain of keeping quiet spilled over into a fierce recklessness.

When it was over, both of them had tears in their eyes. He embraced her protectively, whispering into her hair a host of assurances he didn't quite believe himself.