Peter's hand visibly shook as he returned the receiver to its cradle. He cast an eye over to the glowing display of the VCR. 12.17am. It was late – far too late to be abandoning the house he'd only just returned to and hotfooting it over to Fitzgeralds.

He hadn't asked why Assumpta wanted to see him – that was painstakingly obvious. All he'd done was merely nod and mumble a muted promise that he'd be right over.

Checking his reflection in the hallway mirror, the curate combed his fingers through his hair hastily. His heart was beating fiercely beneath his heavy overcoat. Everything told him to stay put, that this was a bad idea. But another voice spoke to him – the other voice that hoped it was a bad idea.

Oh god…. Peter gripped the sideboard for support. Possibilities flooded his brain. Assumpta had wanted to continue their conversation from woods, that much was certain, but to what end?

There was only one way to find out.

With a deep breath and one final look in the mirror, the nervous curate pocketed his front door keys and headed out into the cold night air.

Assumpta paced the length of the pub as she waited for the inevitable knock on the door. In the ten minutes since she'd hung up the phone, the publican had managed to re-apply her make up twice and simultaneously polish off an entire bottle of French Viognier.

Light-headed and ever so slightly nauseous, she ran her rehearsed speech through her head. You can't keep doing this Peter… what the hell do you think you're playing at? You need to get off the fence… It's either the Church or me – you can't love us both…

Wait – no, not love. Don't bring that into it, Assumpta chided. Keep this formal – protect yourself.

She just needed to ask him to stop acting so irrationally when he was around her. To either be her friend or leave her the hell alone. She wasn't a parishioner – she wasn't even devout. There was no reason for the curate to continue spending the little time and money that he had at her pub.

She wanted to return Leo's call – heck, she was going to return his call but first she had to put Peter in his place. Give this confusing thing they had language – give it a name. Friendship? Maybe. Nothing? Probably.

Love...?

Just as Assumpta mulled over the implications of the latter, there was a muffled knock at the back door. Typical of Peter that he was more worried about the neighbours than what it meant to be invited to a single woman's home after midnight. She headed into the kitchen and loudly wrenched open the door, as if to spite him.

Peter stood awkwardly on the doorstep. Wordlessly, Assumpta moved aside to allow the curate in and wordlessly he entered, his hands kept firmly in his pockets despite the warmth emanating from the Aga.

She was going to offer him a drink – a nightcap, perhaps but the words hitched in her throat. Silently, she stepped into the pub and poured them both a generous measure of the weighty Barossa Shiraz she'd opened instead. Dutch courage, the publican reasoned as she walked back into the kitchen and handed Peter his glass.

"Thanks," he mumbled, finally removing his hands from his pockets. With a hasty gulp followed by another, he commented lightly, "This is good."

Inclined to agree, Assumpta took another sip but was quick to realise that her head was beginning to catch up with the effects of the bottle of wine that she'd polished off earlier. Gradually she sat down and indicated to Peter that he should do the same.

Neither party spoke. Instead, they kept their focus firmly on the own respective drinks, Peter examining the syrupy legs that formed against his glass as the wine quivered involuntarily.

He stowed his trembling hand onto his lap. Better Assumpta didn't see how nervous she made him. Better to pretend that this meeting wasn't anything out of the ordinary for the Priest.

But his sweating brow gave him away.

"Is it too hot in here?" Assumpta questioned, "Can I take your coat?"

"It's fine," he assured her, wiping his forehead nervously. "Why am I here, Assumpta?"

Whether it was from the inflection in his voice or the hopeful yet terrified look in his eyes, Assumpta knew immediately that Peter had entertained some theories of his own to why he was drinking alone with the publican in the middle of the night.

"To talk!" she exclaimed immediately. "Just to talk…"

"About?"

Assumpta clicked her tongue at his insolence. "Really? You're going to play it this way, are you – "

"Play it what way? Look – " Peter clenched his teeth, "I'm not sure what you want from me."

His companion shook her head impatiently. "When have I ever asked you for anything?"

"You haven't"

"And I won't." Assumpta assured him. "But know this – I'm not going to put my life on hold forever."

"Meaning?"

Assumpta tried to align her rapidly forming thoughts. She wasn't making sense – she knew this. Peter stared at her imploringly, his eyes filled with concern. Sifting through her confusion, she admitted solemnly, "I can't do this anymore."

Peter leaned forward in his chair, slightly panicked. "Do what?" he retorted innocently, well aware of the answer.

"Peter… don't insult us both by pretending this is all in my head."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

At this final comment, the publican's mounting rage finally boiled over. "You're impossible, you know that?" With a jolt, she rose from her chair and paced urgently into the expanse of the bar.

Peter followed in earnest, his heart threatening to beat from his chest. Were they really going to do this? Now?

When he found her, Assumpta was slumped heavily on a barstool.

"What do you want, Peter?"

So many things… his mind wandered. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple."

"Not for me – not from where I stand." Peter neared the publican and moved to put a hand over hers. Then, thinking better of it, he placed it on the bar instead, allowing it to linger in the space in front of hers. "Look, is this about tonight? At the woods – "

Assumpta rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable," she muttered under her breath.

"Because if it is," he continued "I'm sorry I put you in that position, I really am. But I meant what I said. I'm a Priest –"

"Then why are you even here?"

"You asked me!"

"And would you do anything that I asked?"

Peter tried to ignore the loaded nature of her question. "Probably," he added carefully.

Assumpta felt her palms perspire as she mulled over the implications of his answer. "Anything?"

Before he could prevent it, Peter heard himself utter "Everything." Their fingertips were touching now. This was dangerous territory, the Priest realised but regardless he kept his hand where it was and held his focus. "What do you want, Assumpta."

All she needed to do was utter one single word and Peter's mouth would probably be on hers. The trembling hand that was currently hitching at her fingertips would probably be exploring the depths of her hair and then her face before settling on the curve of her waist.

All she needed to say was the single word that was etched on her lips.

You…

But she couldn't. "Closure," she answered instead, realising soon after that this word would land her in hot water too.

Peter smirked nervously. "Closure?" he repeated, trying desperately to hide the disappointment in his voice. "From what?"

"From this! Look, Peter you have to let me live my life"

"I didn't realise you weren't."

Assumpta snatched her hand away and returned back behind the bar. "Two dates in three years… do you really think that I'm living my life to the fullest?"

She noticed the curate shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm not stopping you," he pouted.

"What if I told you that I'd met someone?"

"Have you?"

"Don't avoid the question," she warned, momentarily elated by the panic in Peter's voice.

"I'd be please for you. Of course, I would be pleased for you Assumpta. You deserve to be happy."

"Leo wants to get back with me."

Her statement hung heavily in the air for a moment before either party spoke. "Your ex-boyfriend, Leo?"

Assumpta nodded carefully. "He's moving back to Ireland. Wants to give things another go."

Peter felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "Well, that's wonderful!" he started, a little too enthusiastically before noticing that Assumpta's gaze had fallen directly on him. "Isn't it?"

"It could be."

Nervous by the continued attention she was giving his each and every word, Peter broke eye contact and stared into his lap. "Then what's stopping you."

He hadn't meant it as a question and so was surprised when after a moment's silence, his companion shook her head and with tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, stuttered. "I don't know."

She was openly crying now and it took all that Peter had to keep himself from going directly to her; from wrapping her fragile form with the length of his arms and humming sounds of consolation into her hair.

Firmly rooted to the barstool, he decided instead to hold out a hand in the vague direction of the publican. He hadn't expected what came next. If he had, perhaps the Priest could have better prepared himself for resisting the inevitable.

Unconsciously, Assumpta accepted Peter's proffered hand and squeezed it gratefully, as if fully appreciating the solace it offered. It was meant to be a gesture. It was meant to be friendly. How was he to know how much power a single touch would yield over them?

As their fingers entwined, Peter locked eyes with Assumpta. By now, she'd moved closer and was standing merely a metre away. As the seconds wore on, Assumpta closed the gap until eventually she was there, hovering right above him.

Their knees bumped together with excruciating restraint as the publican neared further still. Their hands, once simply tangled by the length of their digits were now firmly attached. Peter ran the knuckle of his index finger along the width of her palm, generating an open-mouthed gasp from his companion.

He studied her mouth carefully, as if committing its crevices to memory. The fullness of her pout was intoxicating. How many times had Peter wanted to touch it? To hold it in between his own pursed lips…

"Why am I always thinking of you?"

Assumpta's admission took them both by surprised. As soon as the words left her mouth, she flushed bright red and attempted to swallow any subsequent phrases by biting down hard on her bottom lip.

The revelation alone threatened to push Peter over this edge. But this, coupled with the vision of Assumpta wrestling with the physical manifestations of her desire rendered the Priest utterly senseless.

He needed to kiss her. Now.

Releasing her hand, Peter lurched forward to grab the sides of Assumpta's face. Within seconds his mouth was on hers, his hands sidled up in the tangle of her hair as they stumbled clumsily to the back wall.

The reality of their kiss was even better than Peter had imagined. Her mouth, sweet from wine was hot against his, scorching his tongue as the Priest ventured in deeper, harder.

Returning his advances in kind, Assumpta ran her open palms along the muscles in his back, settling her thumbs eventually in the loops of his belt. Their kiss intensified as she tugged him towards her, drawing her leg upwards as he pinned her against the jamb of the kitchen door.

It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. But things were getting out of control. They needed to stop but neither party showed the willing, or even the ability to do this.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and with lips swollen, Peter couldn't help but reclaim her again with a second and third open-mouthed kiss, each administered quickly and defiantly; each a reminder that there may be no repeating this.

"I – I can't feel my legs." Peter whispered unexpectedly.

Assumpta grinned broadly and placed a hand on his thigh. "They're still there."

"You're sure?"

"I think so," she wagered. "What else would be keeping you upright?"

Peter flashed a wry smile and gestured to the wood beneath his palms. "I think this door has a lot to do with it."

He looked so adorable. Sexy and sweet in equal measures, from the mess of his hair to the bright of his smile.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Peter admitted eventually.

"What's stopped you?"

"What hasn't?" Mulling over their new situation, he let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm so confused,"

"I know."

"But I guess that's to be expected, right?"

"Probably."

Peter smirked at her candour. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

Before she could prevent herself, Assumpta joked, "I think I've been easy enough for one evening."

Peter smiled shyly. "Not for my liking."

Even as the words left his mouth, Peter regretted them. He didn't want to cheapen this – he certainly didn't want to entertain the possibility of anything else happening tonight, no matter how much certain parts of the Priest piqued at the prospect. "I didn't mean –"

"I know," she assured him quickly.

"I should go,"

Assumpta tried to hide her disappointment. "You should."

As they walked solemnly to the back door, each taking extra care not to touch for fear that it would be their undoing, dozens of unspoken questions filled the ether.

Peter attempted one. "So, what are you going to tell Leo?"

"That all depends on what you tell me."

The pair shared an uneasy silence as the heat from the room escaped through the open door.

"We will talk," the Priest assured her as he stepped into the night. "I just have to think first."

His companion flashed him a knowing smile. "Oh Peter," she chastised. "It's not what's in your head that I need to hear."

With those departing words, Assumpta closed the door, leaving Peter alone on the other side and more confused than ever.

Thanks for the great feedback you've all been leaving. It's always nerve-wracking when you submit a chapter but you great people always say the loveliest things.

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