The next day arrived as stubbornly as the previous had left.

Yet again, Assumpta found herself wide-awake at five in the morning and missing – actually missing – Peter. Idly stroking the bare side of her bed, the publican allowed her mind to wander to thoughts and possibilities that she'd so far left unentertained.

Would she ever wake up next to him in this bed?

Assumpta reasoned that if such a thing would ever happen, it would only transpire if they had fully committed to this relationship. Which they had. Hadn't they?

Her thoughts raced.

They'd committed to something yesterday, that much was certain. She'd committed to seeing no other man and Peter had committed to… well, allowing her.

No, it wasn't like that, she reasoned hastily. They were sorting through this. Whatever this was. Assumpta knew what she wanted it to be but did Peter share this vision? Did he even have one of his own?

The publican rolled over and groaned. Stop it, Assumpta.

They needed time. They just needed time.

But time, she would soon realise, was a luxury that neither she nor Peter could afford.

...

Frank MacAnally exuded an alarming sense of cheer as he stepped foot into Fitzgerald's. As soon as he saw Assumpta, he seemed affable – gleeful, even in his greeting to her.

The publican made a good show of ignoring her visitor, preferring instead to finish fanning the yellowing plastic menus ahead of the lunchtime rush.

However, Father Mac would not be dissuaded from taking his usual place at the bar.

"Whisky and water is it?"

The elder curate said nothing and instead studied her with great interest.

"If you're looking for Father Clifford, you're a good twelve hours too late" she began, unnerved by his regard.

"Father Clifford, is it now?" he retorted. "No need for such formalities on my account."

Assumpta flinched. "What can I do for you then, Frank?"

If he was at all offended by her reference, Father Mac didn't show it. "I'd like a word, if I may."

"About?"

The old man eyed her with incredulity. As if they had any other topics of conversation…

"I know."

The publican felt a chill down her spine. She was about to brush him off with a barefaced 'What?' – the very same 'What?' she'd given him when he'd caught her in the backseat of her father's Ford Mondeo with Jason O'Shea when she was sixteen.

"What…" she began before the rest of the words escaped her. Assumpta sighed. It wasn't worth it then. It was not worth it now.

"What you think that you know," she said instead, "isn't... isn't what you actually know."

Frank smirked at her garbled sentence. After all of these year's he'd finally intimidated the great Assumpta Fitzgerald!

Trying desperately not to acknowledge this, the publican drew a laboured breath.

"He's a good man. " she said finally. "A good Priest."

"Evidently."

"He is!" she maintained, briskly. "The best this town's ever had and you're about to take that away?"

"I believe, Ms. Fitzgerald, that you are already managing that quite well."

Assumpta cursed silently under her breath. This was not going to end well.

It would never end well.

"What are you going to do?" she managed after a pause.

With the temerity of a feline, Father MacAnally sidled up to the bar and in a careful and measured voice, recited what he'd come here to say.

"I'm going to tell him what I'm here to tell you, Ms Fitzgerald: end it. End it now or he can forget being a Priest."

Assumpta swallowed, painfully. "That's his decision."

"Really?" the elder Priest wore a look of faux-incredulity on his face. "And you're comfortable with that?"

"It's nothing to do with me."

"I think," Frank levelled. "That if he left, it would be everything to do with you."

It sounded like a compliment but Assumpta knew it was anything but. It was something else entirely.

"That's a lot of pressure on a new relationship, don't you think?"

There it was. Frank's move – his game plan. Assumpta's eyes narrowed. What did he want?

"I think, Ms. Fitzgerald that you know as well as I do, that you're the only reason Peter would ever leave his vocation. If he was forced to, that is. He is perfectly happy in all other aspects of his calling but you…" The Parish Priest looked his former Sunday School menace directly in the eye. "You. If he had to, he'd give it all up for you. And what would he get in return?"

Everything. Assumpta felt the word press against her lips. Everything. She'd give him everything… but even as soon as she was about to say it, about to wipe that self-satisfied smile from the old man's face, the publican knew that it was a lie.

"Marriage… in a Church, of course? Children? Would he still be a practising Catholic? Would they?" Father Mac put to rest his rhetoric. "You may be able to take the man from the Priest, Ms Fitzgerald but it doesn't work the other way around."

Assumpta whispered slowly in an effort to keep her voice level. "If he had to" she began.

Frank smiled. His real game plan. "What's that?"

The publican gathered fortitude. "You said that if Peter had to – if he was made to – he'd choose me …"

"Yes?"

"So, if you want to keep him from making that choice – from leaving the Priesthood, why make him?"

Father Mac's face darkened. For a second, he thought the game was up. Why make him? Had she really meant that as a question?

"What if…" Assumpta then began in earnest, to the relief of the elder Priest. "What if we didn't give him that decision?"

Her companion made a show of raising his eyebrows by way of a response.

"What if this revelation – this whole thing stayed between us?"

This time, Frank didn't suppress his smile, much to the annoyance of Assumpta. Even the idea of sharing some kind of confidence with the man that embodied everything that she loathed was, at the very least, unsavoury.

It was not lost on Assumpta that she now owed Frank MacAnally a favour – a favour that he was sure someday to collect – with interest. And it terrified her.

"If I agreed," he began, "You would have to keep a better guard on this dalliance. If I noticed, it won't be long before someone else does. And if that happens, Ms Fitzgerald, it's game over – no dice."

"Okay," she vowed, demurely.

"No one can even suspect – I want you to assure me of that."

"Okay. Fine."

Frank pursed his lips. "How?"

How? For a moment, Assumpta's mind went blank. It was not lost on her that half the village suspected something lingered beneath the surface of her relationship with Peter Clifford. The other half almost certainly knew.

"No one will know," she heard herself promise him.

A moment passed. "And you're willing to take measures to ensure that?" Frank asked quietly.

"Measures?"

"Measures," he echoed. "You'll need to throw them off the scent."

She was about to seek some sort of clarification but then she knew. She knew. She knew what she was about to agree to.

"I will."

...

A/N A little short, I know – and a long time coming! I so wanted to add to this chapter and give you all something meaty to read after all of this time but alas, i'm pouring everything into the next. This one is for you, Andrea... I hope that you feel better soon. And to Bridget – I hope that you're okay :)