"Peter! We thought you'd disappeared forever."

It was almost as if the gravely Irish baritone to the left of Assumpta had spoken her thoughts.

"Have a drink on me, why don't you." Padraig continued, gesturing for the landlady's attention but her gaze was fixed firmly on the eyes that were avoiding hers.

"Don't mind if I do." Peter added, sheepishly taking a seat beside the parishioners. "Just a coke, thanks Assumpta."

Assumpta. Just the way he pronounced her name gave her gooseflesh along her arms. As the publican moved to retrieve the glass bottle from the fridge, two thoughts occurred to her. One: Peter looked decidedly uncomfortable about being home. Two: He still made every fibre of her body tingle by his very presence.

Damn. This day was not going to end well for her.

She placed the drink beside Peter and immediately stowed her hand back in her underarm for safety. If the Priest was aware of her presence, he was careful not to show it. His attention was fixed firmly on the beads of condensation forming on his glass.

"Good holiday then, Father?"

Snapped from his reverie, the Priest offered a nod followed by a noncommittal smile. Goaded by Padraig's stare, he continued, "Sure, it was okay thanks."

Feeling the publican's prying eyes bore into the back of his head, Peter eventually added, "My mother was taken ill a few days into the week but she's on the mend now."

"Really?" The urgency in her voice surprised even Assumpta.

"The hospital transferred her to Occupational Therapy."

Gingerly, Peter caught the publican's softened gaze with his own and broke into an uneasy smile. She returned it swiftly, but at a loss with what to do next, dropped her gaze to the glistening coke bottle between them.

"Occupational Therapy?" Brendan's remark was a welcome respite. "Must've been serious then?"

The moment over, Peter diverted his attention back to crowd and the questions at hand.

Although she fully expected Peter to be among the first of the locals to leave when last orders were called, it came as an unwelcome blow to the publican when he left without so much as a goodbye.

Did she mean so little to him?

Eventually, and with a minimum of fuss, the remainder of the stragglers followed suit and at a quarter past midnight, Assumpta was finally alone – in a clean pub – and eventually able to salvage some of the evening to call her own.

Peter had returned. He had actually come back – but to what end, how was she to know? A decision had been reached, that much was certain. The Priest seemed less nervous this evening – more sure of himself and his actions. In fact, their whole dynamic had changed. Years of careful exchanges had now been replaced by a new confidence that comes only when two people had seen each other naked.

Which of course they had.

Assumpta winced at the recollection. She sensed that Peter was still embarrassed by the fleeting nature of their union but there was no assuring him without flouting her years of sexual experience. How could she convince him that first times rarely ever went according to plan? That ultimately it didn't matter?

Wine. She needed wine. It was tempting to fill the yard of ale glass that hung above the optics, so frayed were her nerves, but instead Assumpta settled for a very large glass of Chablis from the fridge.

Settling down in front of the fire, Assumpta took a sip and then another, trying not to focus on the last time she and Peter had ended up on this couch. Barely a week ago but as far as she was concerned, it could have been a lifetime.

Hastily, she downed the remaining contents of her glass and poured herself another. As she did so, Assumpta felt the hairs on the back of her neck immediately stand on end. The door behind her had swung open. Someone had come in.

Without even turning, she knew who it was.

"Rather late for a house call, Father Clifford." she muttered into her glass. "Father MacAnally would not be pleased."

With a smile, Peter took a seat next to her on the couch. "Well, that's really not his concern, is it?"

Confused Assumpta turned to face her companion, noticing immediately the absence of any of the usual trepidation he wore on his face. Peter smiled knowingly, as if he'd waited years to tell her what came next.

"I don't work for Father MacAnally anymore."

A/N So... I am officially one of the worst updaters in this forum's history, I know BUT I hope that you're all still bearing with me. This story does have a resolution, i'm just not entirely sure how to get there yet.

Thanks to all of my lovely reviewers and a warm welcome to the excellent bunch of new Ballykissangel FF writers out there. I'm enjoying your stories immensely.

The next chapter to this story is almost complete so keep your eyes peeled for another update.