He'd unpacked his few belongings at the modest apartment provided by the diocese for the parish priest that morning. It was sparingly furnished - but he couldn't help but smile at it's simplicity. It wasn't so long ago that even this would have seemed impossibly out of his reach, and he was grateful for a place to call his own - no matter the size. It was just him, after all.
The nearby church was pretty - a little old, and therefore a little rough around the edges (the roof needed replaced), but it looked quite at home in the sleepy little town, and nothing was in too bad of shape really.
Lucy, the church administrator was a kindly woman - a little tense, but friendly enough - and she showed him to his office with some small talk about where he's from and whatnot. To be honest, he wasn't really listening. There was just so much to take in, and his mind was otherwise occupied - especially since he still hadn't sorted out his sermon.
He'd only brought his bible, a notebook and pen, unsure what the state of the office would be. Well, really, he didn't have much more than that anyway. The office was perfect. Others might consider it a tad… cramped (the furniture all seemed oversized), but something about the close quarters was comforting to him.
On the left side of the room was a solid oak desk with intricate floral designs carved into the soft wood. It wasn't exactly his style (he leaned toward the mid-century modern school personally), but it seemed fitting nonetheless, and even he could appreciate it's beauty.
In front of the desk was a pair of thoroughly used chairs - the pads worn down to a half-inch - the faded green upholstery hanging loose with the extra room.
To the right was an equally intricate armoire - with a few shelves for extra slacks, collars, shirts and robes for mass. It was much roomier than he could possibly find use for, but again - it seemed at home in the old church.
Straight ahead of the door there was a single window, and since the room was on the second floor, it provided a lovely overview of the church yard. It was all so - serene. Something he long ago assumed he'd never have.
He sat himself down at the desk and finally admitted that there was nothing left to do but get to writing his sermon. That first sermon was always so difficult. He'd seen many other church leaders essentially get up to the pulpit and pitch their resume (their holiness) to the church - and it turned his stomach.
Determined to find something more - humble - he reached for his leather-bound bible (one of his most cherished possessions) and started absentmindedly flipping through the pages.
When he came to John 10:7, he stopped and read:
"Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep. All that ever came before me are thieves and robbers: but the sheep did not hear them. I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture. The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly."
There it is. That's going to be the sermon - about how God alone is the good shepherd. Priests and leaders come and go, but those who know God's voice will find eternal life.
He smiled softly at the words and pulled his notebook over to scrawl some notes.
She'd passed the church many times, and even gone in on a few occasions when her parents went through their religious phases (which never lasted more than a month). With some effort she pulled open the heavy doors and was greeted by nothing but the scraping sound of the door shutting behind her.
She stepped lightly, suddenly aware of how heavy her footfalls were.
"Anyone there?" She asked - looking for the church administrator she spoke with over the phone. What was her name? Lisa? She should have asked more questions.
The quiet space felt oddly reverent, even though she didn't believe in any of this stuff anyway, she still felt compelled to be respectful.
"Hello?" She tried again - this time toward the narrow staircase by the door.
He was so wrapped up in his notes that he almost didn't hear it. He'd almost forgotten Lucy was down there - likely wanting to finish showing him around.
"Up here!" He called back. Eyes flicking to his watch (he can't believe it's 4 p.m. already) he continued scratching a few final thoughts into his notebook, he was so close to being done he just wanted to finish up his final thoughts before his concentration was broken.
Well, that certainly didn't sound like a woman's voice, but maybe the administrator had gone home for the day. She was supposed to be meeting the priest anyway. At least she'd written that one down.
She turned her wrist as she climbed the stairs, looking down to refresh her memory of the man's name.
"Father Jones?" she asked, rounding the corner at the top of the stairs and coming to an open doorway. She knocked gently on the door frame before stepping into the small room.
He began to speak without looking up "I'm so sorry, Lucy, I guess I lost track of-" the words died on his lips when he finally pulled his eyes up from his notebook.
Standing before him was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. She looked the way he always imagined the angels - long golden hair shining brightly in the sliver of sunlight coming through the window, emerald eyes vibrant with youthful vigor, pale skin that made his fingers twitch with a sudden desire to run his hands along it.
"You're -" [gorgeous] he thought, before clearing his throat. "You're not Lucy." He said dumbly.
She laughed a little at his awkwardness. That was unexpected. In fact, all of him was unexpected. The first thing that struck her is how young he seemed when he looked up from his notebook innocently - prepared for a familiar face. He looked to be around 30, which is about half as old as she assumed he would be.
She couldn't help but feel entranced by his eyes - a kind of greyish blue that managed to be both impossibly bright, but maintain a hint of something darker. Her eyes swept from his disheveled dark hair (he must've been running his hands through it, because it stuck up at charmingly funny angles) and followed his strong jawline peppered with stubble to his lips - woah. He's a priest - keep it together, she urged herself.
He shook his head a little and stood suddenly, aware that his manners had gone completely astray.
"So sorry for that. I've only just arrived, so I'll blame my lack of decorum on being a bit out of sorts." He came around the desk and held his hand out to hers, "Father Jones. And you are?"
His sultry accent catches her off guard - in her haste she hadn't noticed it. It's only when he quirks a questioning brow at her that she snaps out of it, realizing his hand is still extended, and she's failed to introduce herself.
"Emma. Emma Nolan." She manages to say through the handshake. He barely hears it over the sensation of her hand in his. "I'm here to set up my community service."
"Community service?" He parrots back. "Lucy didn't mention anything about that. Let me see if she's still here." He reaches over to the phone on his desk (luckily there's a speed dial button marked "Reception" so he doesn't look like a complete fool), but there's no response.
"Well, I suppose I'm on my own to figure this one out." He concedes. "Did they give you any paperwork, Emma?"
"Yeah, I've got it in here somewhere…" She all but throws her messenger bag onto the chair and starts shuffling around inside. He chuckles inwardly at the state of her bag - not that he'd expect anything less by the look of her.
She's wearing scuffed black and white Chuck Taylors, a worn pair of jeans and a simple gray v-neck t-shirt. There's a small silver pendant dangling in the V of her shirt, and he squints a little trying to make out the emblem on it [admittedly his eyes dart a little lower than that as well] before he notices that she's found what she was looking for and was holding them out to him her eyes catching his.
Oh God. It must've looked like he was looking at… quick - make sure you mention the necklace so she doesn't think…
"That's a pretty necklace you have there. What's that emblem on it?" He can feel the blood rushing to his face - he's blushing furiously.
Emma can tell he's uncomfortable - after all, she just caught him staring at her chest.
That's when inspiration strikes - she thinks to herself that this community service thing could be fun after all. He's the most attractive man she's ever seen, and the way he's looking at her she knows he's not unaffected.
"It's a Swan." She answers coolly, picking up her bag again and pulling her shoulders back a little to stick her chest out a touch - all under the guise of situating the strap (of course).
"The community service coordinator's number is on there" she points to the slightly trampled looking pages in his hand. He notices she's wearing what looks like a bootlace on her wrist. Odd.
"And I guess you need to know how to get a hold of me…" she pulls a Sharpie out of her bag and reaches for his other hand. He sucks in a breath harshly at her movement as she uncaps the pen with her teeth. She jots her number on the back of his hand and blinks up at him through her long lashes.
He's no longer worried about the blush in his cheeks - it feels like all of the blood in his body is suddenly much farther south.
She pops the cap back on the pen and heads for the door, looking back over her shoulder to toss him the most casual "Father Jones" she can muster.
With the close of the door he finally exhales and drops his head to the desk with a thunk.
He's in a lot of trouble already - and it's only his first day.