I brush off that thought away, getting my mind back in the meeting. “Who am I infiltrating though?” I ask, a small smirk coming on my face. I like a good challenge now and then. “The Holland family’s eldest son, Thomas Stanley Holland,” Matty answers, tapping on the tablet in her hand, making a picture of him pop up on the big screen. No way! My poker face stays intact but on the inside, I wanted to shout ‘I knew him in high school, and he was no mob boss’ son then’ but I stayed quiet. Tom Holland was the biggest nerd of school, short and skinny but now he looked nothing like it. His face and arms were very well sculpted, his eyes a brown doe shade, looking kind and naughty at the same time. His curls looked messy to perfection, a perfect mop on his head. The fitting pants leaving very little to the imagination. And he didn’t even have a shirt on in the picture.

He was hot. Panty dropping hot. Who in God’s name is this Greek God? 

“Y/N?” My focus returns to the meeting, “Yes?” “Are you listening? And yes this was a picture he shared with the world. No one knows why,” Matty says. “Yes, umm… how do I.. gain his attention?” I asked, coughing a little at the awkwardness. Was my staring that obvious? “Among his common interests or daily lifestyles, most remain unknown, but we do know this, he makes frequent visits to Platinum Lace -” Matty says. “- The Best Known Gentleman’s strip club of London,” Russ finishes. Matty again taps on the screen and the picture of a posh looking club shows up on the screen.

“I don’t like where this is going…” Mac says slowly, his eyebrows creasing in worry. But at the same time, a smirk formed on my face, “Oh cmon have you never had a dream job in mind?” “Yes! And it's a normal one like being a scientist, and saving the world!” he remarks. “That’s why you don’t get laid. Mine was pole-dancing!” I shrug. “Good to know you’re on board with this. Let’s get you set up with the equipment,” Russ says, moving towards the door. “Wait! So we’re okay with it?” Mac questions, looking around the room. “It's Y/N’s mission. You all are backup. If she’s on board with it, then all of you have to be,” Matty says, then turns to look at me, “Are you on board with it?” “Yes!” ”No!” Mac and I reply at the same time, him obviously being the one saying ‘No’. I hit him on his shoulder, “My mission, my choices. I’m on board with it,” I start following Russ, “This is very exciting! It’s giving me the jitters!” 

He was always there, watching and waiting for when you were most vulnerable. No name, just an apparition that stood over your bed night after night. 

When you were little, you thought it was a sibling or parent just watching, staring, waiting. Never an answer. Silence with wide eyes. Then vanished. It took a few separate occasions to realize that wasn’t family, it was worse. You’d never been harmed, just mentally scarred. Every shadow in the daylight was a playground for panic attacks, and it was murderous.

He knew it too. 

While you got ready for bed, taking a few melatonin to hopefully avoid the next meeting, Tom watched. Behind the shower curtain, near the towels in the corner, in your shadow, he took notes. Shaky hands. You forgot to take a puff of your inhaler this time. Wearing socks to bed? Gross. Since when did you do that?

You rolled into bed, grasping at your weighted blanket and spraying lavender around the spread. He watched as you put your eye mask on, knowing it’d fall off after the first hour of drifting. You looked at every corner of the room, checked the night light and lamp before trusting instinct and rolling over. 

Tom wished he could tuck the hair in your mouth behind your ears. Instead, he waited. Watching your chest rise, stutter, and fall once again. Occasional snore, spasm, or squeak. He looked at the clock. Showtime. 

The lights in the room cut. You rolled to your right side, left again, then on your back. Planted. Chained down to the bed. Like always. Tom ghosted his fingertips along your covered body, wishing he could press kisses to your head instead of nightmares, but whatever made you see him was good enough. 

You jerked awake, knowing what was going to happen. Keeping your eyes pressed shut, you started counting to ten, praying to a different god every time you would gain mobility once again. 

1...2...3...4...

“(Y/N)”

This is just your paralysis playing with you, keep going. 4...5...6...

“Open your eyes for me, angel.”

Fuck off. 6...7...8...9

“Counting won’t help. Only I can. Look.” 

You opened your eyes. The lights slowly flickered on, one at a time. You saw him fully. He looked with caution. Clenched fists and a tight jaw with gentle eyes. Tearful eyes. “Hello, gorgeous.”

He became blurry with salty tears, falling down your face. Even though you tried talking, only whimpers came out. “I know, shh. This is awful I’m so sorry. This is the only way I get to see you. I’m breaking so many rules for doing this, shit. But, this has been going on for too long. I can’t sit silent anymore, right?”

Tom looked down at you, watching you have a silent panic attack in bed. You couldn’t move, talk, do anything other than weep. He sighed heavy. “Please calm down, I don’t have much time. We were meant for each other, I’ve watched you grow from the moment you were born. You are my destiny and I was sent to keep you safe until we can be together.”

You started crying harder, struggling against the invisible bonds holding you down. “It’s okay, we can talk later. Please don’t be scared of me anymore, you are safe under my watch.”

A blink later, he was gone. You whipped to sit up, grasping at your chest for air. Wheezing, stuttering, frantically looking for any trace of this really happening. Nothing except a panic attack. 

After that singular night, daily occurrences happened slowly but surely. Your songs would shuffle to one’s you’d never heard of. Computer tabs with little words and quotes on them showed up. That’s how you learned his name. And death in your house.

Coping was hard, knowing someone was over your shoulder every waking moment. Changing and showers became nerve-wracking, yet he promised he never looked, only when you turned 18. Then that was an occasional thing, to make sure you weren’t hurting yourself. 

Tom watched as you slowly stopped doing common tasks. You stopped the melatonin, no more sleep masks or weighted blankets and lavender, he hated that smell. As you woke up night after night, you grew less anxious and more happy to see him. While you couldn’t talk, he could see a small smile forcing a way onto your face.

He fell in love with your pain.

Tom somehow found ways to communicate before you got stuck. You used Google to type questions, wrote them on paper and left them on your nightstand, and even scribbled them in the fog of your showers. Those were your favorite, he would write back, too. Tom has lovely cursive. 

Yet, with every conversation and lingering thought, it made you go insane. Instead of fearing the shadows, you waited for them. You sat in the dark, kept searching his name and information, thought of ways to actually feel him. He could only keep you trapped for long before you wanted release.

You needed his pleasure.

It was snowing white while driving down a backroad, the radio was buzzing with static. You believed the electricity would help Tom communicate, and if you focused hard enough it would. Last night was your longest conversation yet. With the snow falling and the lack of sleep taking your mind, it didn’t take long to forget you were driving. 

Tom tried to jerk the wheel. He reached over, but his hands slipped through as you flew forward.

You saw red. It was dripping down your face, into your lashes, and coated your tongue with bitter copper. Blinking was hard, your eyes couldn’t open. Tom sat in panic, screaming your name. It was daytime. 

You heard him in the sun through the snow and blood. Somehow you turned on the airbag, looking at the crumpled passenger seat, listening to his wails. You smiled while he cried. “You’re okay, stay awake, please! I can’t lose you like this! Please...” 

You jerked awake, knowing what was going to happen. Keeping your eyes pressed shut, you started counting to ten, praying to a different god every time you would gain mobility once again.

1...2...3...4...

“(Y/N)”

‘I didn’t even hear her’ Tom said as he opened the fridge and grabbed the orange juice ‘Wait, did you say “two”?’

‘Yeah, I came downstairs with Emmy shortly after you left, and Jess came down right after me. She’s in the lounge with her right now. She got Emmy to stop crying almost immediately. I don’t know how she did it, she must be a baby whisperer’

Tom took a drink from the juice bottle before putting it back before excusing himself to go check on Jess, patting Owen on the shoulder as he walked past him. When he got to the lounge he stood in the doorway for a moment as he watched Jess, she was sitting on the sofa and humming softly as she held Emily’s little hand in hers, running her thumb over her tiny knuckles. She then lifted Emmy’s hand to her lips and gave it a kiss. Tom Smiled and walked toward the sofa and when Jess saw him she smiled

‘Hey, have a good run?’ she asked

‘Yeah, it was good’ Tom replied as he walked over, he leaned down and placed a kiss to the top of her head before sitting next to her on the sofa

‘I'm always amazed at how small they are’ she whispered as she smiled at the sleeping baby in her arms

‘I know, it’s so weird to think we were all this small once’ he replied

The two sat on the sofa for a while before Tom went into the kitchen to get them both coffee, laughing to himself when he saw that Owen had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. As he headed back toward the lounge he saw Fiona coming down the stairs with Maisie,

‘Have you seen my husband and baby anywhere?’ she asked

‘Yeah, husband is asleep in the kitchen, and baby is asleep in the lounge, with Jess’

Fiona thanked him and asked if he and Jess would mind watching Emmy for just a few more minutes while she woke her husband and gave Maisie something to eat. He happily agreed and headed back into the lounge.

‘Here you go, 2 sugars and more cream then is humanly necessary’ Tom said as he set Jess’ coffee on the table in front of them and sat down next to her, she smiled and thanked him.

A few minutes later Fiona came in to check on Emmy, just as she stated fussing and squeaking so she relieved Jess of her sitting duties and took Emmy so she could feed her, again. Later that afternoon Tom and Jess went over to Miles and Lilli’s for lunch and were overjoyed when they announced that they were expecting another baby.

When they got back to Tom’s parents’ house Jess helped Maggie and Fiona wrap a couple more gifts from Santa for tonight upstairs while Tom, Roger, and Owen kept the kids occupied downstairs. After dinner and everyone was sure the kids were asleep they gathered them up and took them all down to put them under the tree.

When everything was in place everyone headed back up to get some sleep, knowing that the kids would be waking up bright and early to tear into everything. Tom and Jess stayed downstairs a little while longer, Jess held the cocoa Tom had brought her and curled up beside him, smiling as she rested her head on his shoulder and stared at the tree.

Tom smiled as he sat there with her, his arm around her shoulder and felt happier then he had in a long time.

‘I love you Jess’ he whispered after a few moments of silence, she then looked up at him and smiled

‘I love you too’

He gave her a kiss before setting his cocoa on the end table beside the couch before standing and walking over to the mantel and grabbing his stocking, carrying it with him as he walked back over to her

‘I was going to wait until tomorrow to do this, with the whole family, but I think now is better’ he said softly as he sat down on the coffee table, carefully taking Jess’ mug from her and taking a deep breath

‘Last Christmas I realized I was in love with my best friend and this last year been the best year of my life and it’s all because of you’ he said as he reached into the stocking and pulled out a little silver box ‘And if you let me. I’d love to spend every Christmas, and every day, for the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me’  

Tom then dropped to one knee in front of Jess as tears streamed down her face, opening the box to reveal a beautiful ring

‘Will you marry me?’

‘Yes!’ Jess said softly as she cried and Tom slipped the ring on her finger, tears streaming down his face

‘I love you Jess’ he whispered as leaned his forehead against hers

“I’ve been waiting for my chance to really be who I want to be,” he said. He squared his shoulders. “It’s unfortunate, but it isn’t all bad, Maggie.”

She shrugged and leaned against the cold glass of the window, hoping they would arrive at the cabin soon and this terrible discussion would be finally over.

After seven more minutes of jostling and tense silence, the trees gave way to a clearing and she saw it suddenly perched on an overlook. When she had heard Robert say they were going up to the family cabin to settle his father’s affairs directly after Christmas, she had envisioned a smallish, rugged type of building, maybe rough-hewn split logs lined up to make a porch out front, a slight musty smell, windows that needed to be washed and dropcloths that needed to be pulled off the furniture  and shaken out in the snowy yard when the family first arrived. But this? This was not a “cabin.” This was a house, and more than that, still.

It was tall; it looked like at least three stories, although being set on an overlook it might have had another half floor below. Every detail was finely wrought, with contemporary styling that made it seem more like a yoga retreat or a spread for Conde Nast House and Garden than a rugged family getaway.

“Finally!” she said as he pulled the parking brake. She kicked open her door and stretched her legs out over the fluffy snow. “I would have had us up here in half the time, you know,” she said, laughing and exulting slightly in the rush of cold air that filled the car.

“Maggie,” Robert said quietly.

Her guts turned to lead and she paused, inventorying the last few words she had said.

Pride.

She sighed and turned around to face him, pulling her legs back inside the car.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit,” he said, then stared, waiting for her to reply.

She nodded; no sound would come out of her throat.

“Rather in humility value others above yourself,” he said. “Do I really have to complete the verse for you, still?”

She pressed her lips tightly together. “Not every time.”

“You know I only care about you,” he said, his voice softer. “It’s my duty to bear you up and keep you on the right path. Especially after… Especially considering… how things were for you when we met.”

“I know, Robert,” she said.

“Those other men out there don’t know what a precious thing you are,” he said.

She twisted her mouth, trying to hide her smile, hating how easily she forgave him.

“My own beautiful Maggie,” he said, leaning in for a peck.

He leaned in and she felt nothing but the dull flat press of his lips, then maybe just a bit of warmth. He smelled like Ivory soap.

He pushed his way out of the car and slammed his own door shut with a sharp metallic bang.

“Aren’t you coming?” she heard him say, his voice muffled by the snow.

–

“Robert! There you are, my darling,” said Kitty, whisking him inside with one wizened hand lightly on his shoulder.

“We would have come sooner, mother, but the snow…”

“And I’m so glad you made it safely,” she said. She frowned, clenching a wad of tissue in her hand. “It only makes me think of the… of the loss…”

“You know that I’d be careful,” said Robert, walking in with her and talking in low and businesslike tones, leaving Maggie in the entryway to stamp her boots and wrestle them off of her feet with no bench. She sat down quickly on the stairs opposite the door, wrangling with the boot laces.

On the table in the entryway: three framed photos.

Robert’s sister Susan, beautiful with dark hair, clear skin and the perfect smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Bright, clear green eyes and a dazzling smile.

Then Robert himself, in a picture that looked to be about ten years old, a confident smile on his face, much thinner than it was now, the gaunt spare look of a boy about eighteen or twenty, with eyes a bit too bright, who can never quite eat enough to keep up with his body’s ambitions.

Then, on the far side, a photograph of a man looking to the distance. He had an old look about him; something of a silver screen star. An elegance. A dissatisfaction. He looked as if he might open his mouth and suggest they all go somewhere else; somewhere better. After all, life is short, he would say. This picture, unlike those of Susan and Robert, was in black and white.

“Come, Maggie,” said Robert, and Maggie looked up from her spot at the foot of the stairs. She hopped up, stuck her boots beside the low window, and padded toward Robert.

“Is that a picture of your father?” she said, pointing at the black and white portrait.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “No, that is not my father.”

“Who is it?”

“Come have a glass of Beaujolais!” cried Kitty from the kitchen. “Robert, it’s your favorite! Come on, and bring Meghan with you.”

“Maggie,” he said, but too quietly for his mother to hear.

“What,” she said.

He took a deep breath, then paused again. “There are a great many things I would have liked to explain to you in… more leisure than this. But there hasn’t been time.”

“What is it,” she said, her guts clenching again. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He smiled brightly. “Oh, nothing terrible,” he said. “Just that… That’s a picture of my brother.”

“Your brother? You have a–”

“Technically, I have a brother,” he said. “But he’s no brother to me.”

She stood, stunned. “Why would you never even mention–”

“The things he’s done to this family,” said Robert. “You can’t understand, I’m sure.” He took her in his arms, holding her tightly, though she did not uncross her own arms. “And I don’t want you to. I like having something perfect all to myself.”

“Robert!” cried his mother. “Susan and I have the wine poured, and Jeffrey will be here in less than an hour.”

“Jeffrey,” she said. “That’s… your brother? Who I just found out about?”

“No, Jeffrey is my father’s lawyer,” he said. “My brother will not be attending.”

“But isn’t that–”

“I’ll explain it later,” he said, then sighed. “Don’t be angry.” It was more of a command than a plea. He walked ahead of her down the hallway.

“Take your shoes off,” said Maggie. “You’ll track snow through the whole house.”

“My shoes are fine,” he said. He held out his hand. “Now come with me,” he said. “And let me show off my girl.”

—

She sat at the dining table, watching the last of the roast duck bring sliced and plated, her own stomach full and slightly seasick. She had not had to speak two words during dinner, with the maelstrom of words swirling around her from Robert’s entire family.

She had loved him deeply at first. Until they arrived at the house a few hours ago, she had considered that what she felt now must be that deepening of love that happened in time, when the shine of new lust had worn off. She had never had the luxury of true lust with him, the way he held her off in his seriousness, succumbing to her charms only once every few months or so, but the heat of the passion burned bright when he let it flare in their small downtown apartment.

She had moved to Chicago bright and full of plans, finishing grad school at Loyola quickly, and then moving to a mid-level job with an advertising firm. She had met Robert after a precipitous failure in her love life, having nearly compromised her professional reputation on a married man. A silver fox, with gleaming blue eyes, who treated her simply and kindly, and who was honest in his own way. He never promised anything he couldn’t deliver, but his discretion, which he owed to his wife, left something to be desired. She found a series of texts exchanged between himself and Maggie, and stormed to the downtown offices, screaming at Maggie that she was a stupid whore, causing a flurry and a quick call to security.

In the end Mrs. Bradford was removed from the building, and Bryant began proceedings for divorce in any case, but by then Maggie had outgrown her desire for excitement, and began to look on anything lust-driven as suspect and bound to fail.

She quit advertising, and began work at a small nonprofit to do with equal housing. He had just bought a row of rental houses and stopped into the small storefront near the Archdiocese offices to enquire about a program that would keep his houses let profitably through the winter and allow him a considerable tax break as well.

She had pushed the pamphlets over the desk toward him, and their eyes met; a fire burned in his blue eyes, and she found herself drawn to him. He was upstanding and principled in a way that Bryant had not been, and before long she was sitting with him for long dinners at a family-run Italian place, and sitting beside him in the pew at Holy Name Cathedral. He took his religious convictions seriously, it seemed, though he always seemed to be searching a bit for someone to blame, at least in his worst moments. But every man has his flaws, Maggie reminded herself, and he was always so kind to her, and never asked her for more than she wanted to give.

“I would spend time with you just to hold your hand,” he had said that spring, lacing his fingers in hers as they walked through Grant Park. But back at her apartment he had gripped her face between his hands, kissing her passionately, and she lost track of all time and space as she felt the thrill of him letting go completely, giving his body to hers and being somehow more human than he often was. She gripped him tightly as he came, gasping, and felt the gentle calm of being with him as mere mortals, their ideals tossed to the side with their clothes, strewn across the floor from the kitchen to the bed beneath the wide window.

And then the next day he had suggested they go to confession together.

“I’m not ashamed,” she had said, hot tears stinging her eyes.

“It’s time for you to start classes,” he said, and they had fought bitterly. But after two weeks of lonely cold dinners, looking at his scarf, left behind in their passionate romp, hanging now alone by the door, when he showed up at her office with a dozen roses and his heart in his hand, she took him back, and as she began to study the Catechism things fell into a kind of warm and protected order. Before long it felt as if nothing could get to her, between Robert and Our Father Who Art In Heaven, and then she was done fighting.

But here on the mountain something in his calm exterior was cracking.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything, Susan,” said Kitty, frowning at her daughter.

“Grief does strange things to people,” said Maggie suddenly, and everyone turned to stare at her. She realized then that she had not spoken at all in the past hour.

A pair of headlights shone in the front window.

“That must be Jeffrey,” said Kitty. “Robert, Susan, go out and show him in. I’ve had them shovel the walk earlier today but only in that one spot. Jeffrey will never find it, and he’s so… he’s quite large these days.”

“I.. ah…” said Susan, looking ill.

“I’ll go,” chimed Maggie, only too glad for a reason to hop to her feet. “You stay, you all stay.”

“Thank you,” said Kitty, smiling grandly. “Don’t forget to stomp your feet when you come back in, please.”

Out in the drive Maggie saw the snow curling up and around, swirling through the air in the illuminated beams.

She walked carefully to the car, a large grey SUV of some kind.

“Take this,” said a smooth voice, holding a case out to her with a black gloved hand, from behind the driver’s door.

She took it carefully.

“So what did mother say,” said the voice. “Shocked, I suppose?” There was a slight English tilt to the words, the voice as sleek and wicked as the movements of a housecat eyeing a fat canary in its cage.

“I, ah…” said Maggie. “Are you the… are you the lawyer?”

The man stood tall, and she saw then the face of the man in the black and white photo. He grinned. “You’re not Susan,” he said.

“And you’re not Jeffrey,” she said.

He held out his gloved hand. “I’m Eli,” he said. “But the family call me Tom.”

She shook his hand, too speechless to reply.

“That is, when they call me anything.”

“Hello,” she said.

“And what do they call you?” he said.

“Oh, oh, sorry,” she said. “They call me Maggie.”

“Do they?” he said. “I’ll bet Robert called you that straightaway, although your real name is much more regal.” He slammed the car door shut, a duffel slung over his shoulder. “May I call you by your real, regal name?” His voice was low.

She laughed nervously. “Maggie is just fine,” she said.

“Is she?”

The snow fell harder, and she could feel its flakes sticking to her forehead, melting there, presumably from the incendiary heat of her skin under this man’s oddly provocative gaze. She had an urge to hate him, but also to ally herself with him suddenly, as if he could shield her from the thick woollen blanket of indifference that awaited her back inside.

“Well, it’s… it’s nice to meet you.” I only found out about you two hours ago. She turned back toward the house.

“Wait, Maggie,” said Eli.

She turned back to him.

“Close your eyes and listen to the snow.”

She was so bewildered she could only obey.

“It’s the perfect sound,” he said. “It’s a sound like no sound at all. The tangible sound of a hush.”

He was right. She felt it around her, the cushion of soft silence.

“It’s as close to peace as we’re likely to get for days,” he said. She opened her eyes to see him staring intently, directly into her eyes.

“I’m glad I’ve met you, Maggie,” he said. “And I’m glad to have shared this silence with you.”

He walked with her to the door, the crunching of their boots the only sound. Her heart pounded and her head nearly spun with confusion, although two bottles of Beaujolais between the few of them at dinner didn’t help either.

At the base of the steps he placed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her up the wooden planks so she would not slip in the new snow. At the door, he pushed in, greeting Susan boisterously, and fielding the first shocked gasps from Kitty.

Maggie heard Robert’s silence as if it were a sound itself, though sharper and heavier than the silence of the snow outside. Eli’s gentle touch on her back burned through the chill of the evening, as intimate as if he had touched her bare skin. Through the rest of the evening, over cocktails and sitting beside the fire in the overstuffed leather furniture while the family made stilted conversation or sat in silence as the embers crackled, she lost all track of the miniscule drama among Robert and his family, and felt only Eli’s fingertips.

“Father, forgive me,” she thought, smiling gently at Robert as she met his eyes across the room, feeling the heat of his brother, sat only inches away from her.

My parents had made the mistake of taking me to the Barnum show in New York the year before. We had seats at the top of the tent all the way near the back. Not wonderful for seeing the center ring show, but glorious for the trapeze and the tightropes. It was more than I could ever have dreamed of! There were dancers and jugglers and tightrope walkers and trapeze artists who swung and flipped through the air, dancing bears and elephants that stood on their hind legs and wore feathered caps. And in the center of it all—Barnum himself leading the spectacle in a bright red jacket and top hat. It was… breathtaking. Brilliant.

It became all I ever wanted.

When the notices went up in town, I tore one from the boards and hid it away in my dresser. I opened it each day, looked at the lettering and wondering if I could make it. My parents had sent me to ballet since I was a young girl. And walking the tightrope didn’t look so different than ballet.

“And ‘hoo are you, miss?” came a gruff voice.

Drawn from my reverie, I looked up to see a man in a worn bowler cap and a brown jacket that had clearly seen better days. “Yes, um…” I held out the notice as if that solved everything. “I’ve come to inquire about the circus.”

The man flicked his fingers at me, shooing me away. “Show’s no’ til phree,” he said.

I gave a nervous chuckle. “No, sir. I think you misunderstand. I’ve come to inquire about joining the circus.”

It was his turn to laugh. “A li’l fing like you? In the circus?” His laughter devolved into a rotund guffaw that made my face rush with heat.

Though I am not proud to admit it, I stamped my foot and quite certainly pouted. “Yes, sir. A little thing like me! In the circus!”

He shook his head. “We go’ no use for somefing like you, love,” he struggled through chuckles. “Go on.”

Tears welled in my eyes. I thought of the dazzle and the music of the Barnum show, of how much I wanted to be in something like that. It was like I could still hear the sound of the drums swelling as Anne Wheeler swung through the air, her pink hair and costume shining in the lights. My ears filled with the whoop of Phillip Carlyle as he called her accolades to the crowds. Performed for Queen Victoria! Dazzled the royalty of Europe!

I crumpled the notice between my fingers, fighting the urge to turn and run. Just as I’d always been taught, I tugged my shoulders back, straightened my spine as if someone pulled me upright. This man would not see me cry. Even if my hopes had been dashed to the floor.

Dirt and gravel crunched beneath my boots as I walked away from the only thing I’d ever wanted. I couldn’t image what would happen when I went back home. How could I go back to that life when I so desperately wanted more?

“Wait!”

I stopped, feeling as if all the inertia in the world had settled into my bones. The sound of footsteps drew closer.

“Wait, please!” Someone skidded to a stop in front of me, their feet kicking up a cloud of dust.

I fought to keep my head up, my eyes free of tears. As the dust settled, I caught sight of the person who’d come after me. He was just a little older than me—perhaps twenty-three or so—with curling blonde hair and a set of bright blue eyes. There was something handsome and wholesome about him, but something roguish as well. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, worn black suspenders attached to his threadbare pants.

“You said you were interested in joining the circus?” He smiled, and, for a moment, I didn’t know where I was. There was something dazzling about his smile.

Unable to trust my voice, I nodded.

“What’s your act?”

I wanted to tell him the truth, I should have. The truth was that I didn’t actually have an act. What I did have was a lifetime of classic training in ballet and a burning desire to be in front of an audience. But that wasn’t enough. Even I knew that. My thoughts raced through my head, trying to catch hold of something… anything that I could claim.

“Contortion,” I blurted. In truth, I was flexibile thanks to my ballet master. “I’m a contortionist.”

The young man nodded, looking me over in a way that one appraises livestock. He walked around me in a circle, his fingertips drumming his chin. More than once, he looked from me to the circus building and back again. At last, he gave himself a nod.

“I think we have a costume that might fit you. And I’m sure Nina can make adjustments. You won’t be a feature, for sure. You understand—bigger acts and more draw in the oddities. We haven’t quite figured out how Barnum draws so many.”

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of P. T. Barnum. I knew it was shining all over my face. “Music acts. Dancing and music and songs and fire dancers and bearded ladies and a trapeze artist with pink hair and a dozen animals that can all do tricks.”

I was pleased that I had time earlier that day to write out a shopping list. It was a Thursday evening and I forced myself to make a quick trip to the supermarket so that I could pick up some extra supplies for the church bake sale on Sunday. Father Thomas had warned me that they had sold out of sweet treats for the past two years, and then he had winked and said that it was primarily his fault, he had a sweet tooth and a crippling weakness for anything sugary. I had blushed, feeling light headed by his words for no apparent reason, and I had spent the rest of the night awake staring at the ceiling and wondering what all these feelings meant. I shook my head, trying to abandon the thoughts of that night and instead focus on the task at hand.

I looked down at my list debating whether to buy milk or white chocolate chips but my train of thought was interrupted when I saw a familiar figure in the corner of my eye. My eyes left my list without hesitation, seeking out the tall man across the aisle from me. Father Thomas. I could always recognise him, if not for his height then for the way he carried himself or the gentle sound of his voice. Or for those hands… I swallowed nervously, trying to recite the Lord’s prayer in my head to distract myself but when I thought of those words all I could think about was him. The intonation of his voice guiding us all through prayer, and me through a private fantasy. I had to press my thighs together to stop myself from fidgeting too much in the pew, lest I earn myself some strange looks from the other members of the congregation.

I watched as he opened a box of eggs, his fingers prodding to check none were broken. I wondered helplessly if I should actually go over to talk to him or continue staring at him like some kind of pervert. Before my mind could come to a decision my legs were moving and I almost bumped into him.

“Father Thomas, fancy seeing you here” I said trying to sound casual even though my face felt like it was on fire.

“Even priests need eggs” he joked, he looked in my basket “extra supplies for the bake sale?”

“Um, yes” I stammered “I wanted to make sure I made enough cookies for everyone.”

“A good idea. Cookies are always popular, and I simply can’t wait to get my hands on yours.” His eyes bore into mine and I had to look down and break eye contact before I melted on the spot. It felt odd seeing him without his collar. He looked like a normal man in his jeans and t shirt instead of a priest. If only…

“So Father” I blurted out, trying to look for a way to change the subject quickly “what have you been up to since Sunday?”

“Just getting everything organised for the bake sale” he said, and he continued to list off calls that were made and bible verses he had been thinking on. Safe talk. I breathed a sigh of relief, listening to the cadence of his voice as he talked about how the money would go to towards a new Sunday school classroom.

“It all sounds like so much, you must have been up late last night, I hope you’re not working yourself too hard. Taking breaks is important.”

Father Thomas smiled “yes, it’s been quite stressful but rest assured I took a break last night. I, uh” he smirked “had a second coming of sorts last night and it truly helped relax me.”

“A second coming?” I frowned as I tried to work out what he meant.

“Yes I was quite frustrated too, but I swear to you when it happened I thought I saw God” he smiled wistfully.

“I’m not sure what you mean Father” I admitted.