They met for coffee at one of her favorite bakeries, across from a park. Someplace public, surrounded by families. Not that she was particularly afraid to meet him, but it was habit anymore to meet for the first time in neutral territory. She tried not to think about the fact that he'd flown a few hundred miles to visit her, which was a decidedly un-neutral act, or how her body had been on fire since she'd laid eyes on him in person. Tried to focus instead on the dappled shadows cast by newly-budded leaves against the sun-warmed brick of the patio wall, the gentle murmur of voices from inside the shop drifting out through the door as it opened and closed with the ebb and flow of business. Soon the edge of nervousness eased as he spoke of his life, his hobbies, his work- but her pulse still quickened every time his eyes, rich golden amber, met hers.
It came up in their conversation casually, an off-hand remark in response to his sharing. It hardly registered to her when she said it, but he focused on it immediately.
"You work for a church?"
She stirred her latte for a moment, disrupting the carefully constructed pattern in the foam as she gathered her thoughts. "Well, yes. Part time. It's not a big deal," she amended quickly, "I don't have keys or anything. I'm just a paid helper, really."
He studied her carefully, a slow smile spreading across his face. "And how do you help?"
"Music staff. With the choir, and in the summer when the choir goes on vacation."
"So you're actually part of the service? Not just behind the scenes?" She nodded. "Seems like a big deal." He leaned back in his chair, and she savored how the fabric of his shirt stretched over his biceps as he laced his fingers together behind his head, the image of repose. "Would you consider yourself religious?"
She laughed and shook her head. "I mean, not really. I grew up around fundamentalists, and I was pretty invested in it as a kid, but..." An awkward shrug, a flush rose to her cheeks. "I realized pretty quickly how toxic it all was when I got older. I'm still working to break some of my hangups..." He dropped his arms, perhaps registering her discomfort; his expression softened, he leaned forward as if urging her to keep talking, reassuring her that it was safe to share. "I'm not sure if I really believe anything anymore," she admitted, responding to his gentler demeanor, "but these folks are alright. Very welcoming and accepting. And the church is gorgeous."
He studied her quietly for a minute. She wondered if his opinion of her was changed now, knowing that she played this dual role: the wanton vixen whose photos he'd admired, and the devoted lay-minister who served the church. As if he could read her mind, he spoke. "It's a lovely contradiction. I find duality to be an interesting thing. The mix of the sacred and the profane..." Again, that slow smile, predatory and thrilling. "Delicious." The hair on her arms stood up at the sound of his voice; she shuddered, tried to disguise it by taking a sip of her coffee, but could not bring herself to drop her gaze from his eyes. She could see the encouragement, the challenge, in his expression.
Emboldened, she rose to meet it. "The sacred and the profane have always been intricately entwined for me." She took a breath, hoping he'd notice the swell of her breasts as she inhaled. "Sexual ecstasy is the closest I get to an encounter with the divine."
"I would be interested to see exactly how those elements are intertwined for you." There it was; an offer of all that had remained unspoken between them, hinted at and described obliquely but not yet proposed directly. There was her chance to accept or decline without it being an outright advance, and therefore without courting outright rejection. Perhaps he was afraid to make an overt move; everything she knew about him suggested that he was probably just trying to be respectful, move slowly, not push for anything she didn't want to give.
There wasn't a damned thing she could think of that she didn't want to give.
"If you'd like," she suggested, "I could show you the church. It's only a few blocks from here." She hoped he could see on her face, in the darkening of her eyes, what she was really suggesting. The speed with which he stood up and pulled the car keys from his pocket indicated that he could. She laughed giddily. "I'll ride with you."
The word "church" was a slight misnomer. It was a cathedral, a towering Gothic edifice made of creamy tan stone quarried a century and a half before and painstakingly, lovingly constructed on the edge of the hill to watch over the city below. She wondered what he thought as he squinted up at the main spire, this man from a city full of stone churches and palatial structures just as old and older. She wondered if he compared her church to those buildings and found it lacking, and if he likewise compared her to the more glamorous women in the circles of his influence. His hand sought hers as they walked across the street and he laced their fingers together, sending warmth up her arm. Comparisons be damned; he was here with her.
She led him through the entrance near the church office, knowing that the chime would ring and alert any staff to their presence. She waved cheerfully at the priest when he poked his head out into the hall, introduced her companion. "I'm just giving him the unofficial tour, is that alright?"
"Of course! It's just me today, I was about to head across the street. Text me when you leave and I'll come back to lock up."
She continued leading him down the hall to the sanctuary, pushed open the solid oak door, turned the corner through the stone arch into the ambulatory...
Walked slowly alongside the backs of the choir stalls, their footsteps echoing softly...
Passed between thick stone columns joined by an arch...
And suddenly they stood under high vaulted ceilings, at the center of a cruciform nave. Late afternoon sun lit the panes of the rose window, projecting sapphires, amethysts, emeralds onto the pews and flagstones. The pipes of the organ, a great heaving marvelous beast, hid in alcoves throughout the sanctuary; she closed her eyes and imagined their swell and rumble and sigh. Though the liturgical calendar was far past the most recent high holy day, one could almost smell the waft of incense, heady and spicy and slightly acrid. Christ and his apostles lined the path to the altar, looking down from windows and creating tie-dye patterns along the stone walls. The altar itself, a broad table of ornately carved white marble, lay bare. It beckoned: Come. Feast. Worship.
