Whispers From Behind the Screen

By Lorraine Lord

Caitlin Murphy's life has been planned out for her all her life, so becoming a nun was her fate until she decided it wasn't. After leaving the convent, she fell under the watchful eye of her overly protective brother, Owen. Despite his attempt to shelter her from the evils of society - especially men - she meets a handsome and intelligent man at a local café. The physical attraction between them is undeniable.
Before becoming a priest, Aiden O'Leary's life was out of control. It wasn't until Father Flynn rescued him from his sinful 'player' ways, that Aiden was able to turn his life around for the better. As a priest, Aiden lives a life of celibacy and devotion. But meeting the beautiful and innocent Caitlin is changing everything. His vows, the secrets he's keeping from her, as well as his desire for her, are tormenting him. His devotion to the church is strong; his role is important but is it possible his love for Caitlin could be stronger than his vocation?
As a man in love, Aiden wants everything for Caitlin, but as her priest hearing her confession he abuses her trust by taking advantage of knowing her deepest thoughts. When she reveals her lust, he seduces the naïve and virtuous young woman. When she learns the truth,will love survive, or will trust be forever destroyed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lorraine Lord
• Release date: Mar 2, 2019

Book preview

Whispers From Behind The Screen

The Seduction

LORRAINE LORD

Copyright © 2016 by Lorraine Lord

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1511713191 

ISBN-10: 1511713194

Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited

Nikki Rae

Metamorphosis Editing Services

Proofread by Nadine Winningham

Other Sources

Thanks to Jean Kent and Candace Shelton. Your reference books helped during those brain-cramped moments of writers block.

CHAPTER 1

MY LIFE HAS never been my own. Already planned for me, not by me but for me, I have always listened to my parents my entire life and did what I was supposed to do. If I had one iota of courage, I would not be sitting here rotting away in this silent chasm. Each day passes slowly like the one before. Promptly, at five-thirty each morning, I wake to the booming sounds of the carillon echoing throughout the complex. I climb out of bed, drop to my knees, and begin my morning prayers. After reciting the rosary a few dozen times, I slip into my habit. While not having to fuss with my hair or lather on makeup does have some advantages, I do miss shopping at the mall and being able to dress in something other than this unflattering penguin suit. Last summer, during one of the hottest days in July on record, I figured no one would notice me wearing nothing but my birthday suit beneath my black tent. While seated at the dining table with a group of my fellow sisters, Reverend Mother glanced over and saw my bare legs. She lifted up my skirt and got an eyeful. My penance included kneeling for five hours and reciting the rosary repeatedly, all while balancing a catechism book in each hand. I don’t know which hurt more…my extremities or my pride.

My stomach growls as I walk down the long narrow halls toward the chapel for morning prayers. To show obedience and devotion, we cannot enter the refectory for breakfast until we recite the rosary a hundred times. Certainly, I have dropped at least ten pounds since I have been here. What was I thinking? All we do is pray. Duh! No kidding…no surprises there. Then there are never-ending chores. I can handle all that, but what makes me crazy is the isolation and solitude. My bedroom is even called a cell. That is exactly what it feels like, a prison with its four walls, no windows, minimal furniture, and a set of rules as long as Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

This lifestyle is not for me, it is not what I want. I want to go to the mall, visit with friends, and I’m dying for a beer. I want to fall in love and I want kids—lots of them. While my love for the Almighty will always be in my heart, I have to get out of this place. Besides—chuckling at my own joke—black really isn’t my color.

Naturally, my parents are going to flip when I tell them I’m leaving, but it is my life. I made up my mind several weeks ago, but today is the day I’m going to make it happen. Right after dinner, I am going to march into Reverend Mother’s office and tell her I quit. If I sit through another crocheting session and listen to those cackling hens, I’m going to go postal.

I am certain Reverend Mother will try to convince me to stay, but I am so out of here. On the other hand, the dear sisters may be relieved to see me go. I certainly have not been the poster child of perfection. lost count as to how many infractions I have had over the past three years. Originally, my delinquencies consisted of stupid stuff like sneaking a smoke, which is funny because I detest the smell and taste of cigarettes. The pure thrill of doing it is what excited me. Other minor transgressions included swearing and nudity. I love being naked and often sleep in the buff. No matter how many times the sisters lecture me on the virtues of modesty it has never sunk in. However, I admit that I didn’t start to get into real trouble until Adel joined the cloister and we became close friends. Separately, we are able to conform to the rules, but put the two of us together and we’re incorrigible. Every Friday night, we managed to sneak out of the dormitory while everyone was asleep and break into the chapel to help ourselves to the ceremonial wine. We probably wouldn’t have been caught if it hadn’t been for Adel having this brilliant idea to invite a few boys from a nearby college to party with us. They were friends of her brothers and had already been drinking by the time we joined them in the rose garden at the far end of the property. It was after midnight when Adel decided to snag another bottle of wine from Reverend Mother’s office. Barely able to walk, she stumbled into the pedestal displaying a bust of Saint Francis, causing it to drop to the floor and smash into a thousand pieces. Of course, the senior sisters came running when they heard the noise and caught us red-handed. They called the police in. The boys were escorted out of the rectory, and forced to sit in the cruiser for over an hour before Adel took full responsibility. Luckily, the sisters did not press charges. Instead, the young men were required to usher Sunday Mass until the end of the semester. As punishment, Adel and I had to serve in the kitchen, washing dishes for the next six months. No matter how much lotion I rubbed into my hands, they were continuously chapped and raw.

Now, peering through the glass door of Reverend Mother’s office, I grow increasingly more impatient. I know they see me, but apparently my time doesn’t have any value. Instead, Reverend Mother and Sister Bernadette Marie casually continue their card game while I sit here and wait. Bored, I trace my hand along the top of the bench, feeling the rough grain beneath the shellacked surface. It may look pretty, but it certainly is not comfortable. I shift my body so my butt doesn’t cramp from sitting here for so long. The caretaker placed this bench outside her office a few months ago. Last Christmas, a generous donor willed a sum of money to the convent, and they used part of the donation to refurbish the dilapidated chapel. Reverend Mother believes waste is a sin against God, so she had the old pews refinished and placed them at various locations around the premises. 

Sister Caitlin, Sister Bernadette barks from inside the office.

They remember I’m sitting here and wave me into Mother’s office. Finally!

Yes, I say nearly bouncing out of my seat.

Reverend Mother Mary McCarthy will see you now. I hope this is important. It’s late, and she is busy, grumbles Sister Bernadette.

Busy! She has to be kidding! They were fucking playing cards. I shake my head in disbelief.

I enter her office and shift restlessly from side to side while I wait for the queen to grace me with her presence. With every moment that passes, the knot in my stomach tightens.

Caitlin, don’t you dare wimp out now, I mumble under my breath. You can do this. Glancing at my homely black strapped watch, I wonder what is taking them so long. Darn it, I can’t believe it has been twenty minutes since she called me into her office. The sound of Bernadette’s gruff voice suddenly interrupts my thoughts.

Shit, she intimidates the hell out of me. Out of habit, I bless myself, asking God to forgive me for swearing in my head.

Seated at her desk, with both hands properly folded in front of her, Mother looks up toward me. Her chin jets upward, giving me her undivided attention. Hovering in the corner of the room by the picture window that runs the length of Reverend Mother’s office, Bernadette picks her nails as if my presence is boring her.

Sister Caitlin, what can I do for you on such short notice and this late in the evening? Reverend Mother says kindly. Her voice is soft and loving, as always.

Trembling, my pulse races, and sweat beads on my forehead.

Well…Reverend Mother Mary McCarthy…I.…um… 

Yes, child, what is it? Get to the point. Mother’s voice uncharacteristically holds a note of impatience.

I have given this a great deal of thought and I have decided I want to leave the convent. This isn’t for me. Besides, I don’t think I would make a good nun, I blurt out the words so fast I don’t know if they heard what I said.

You what? But…you are so close. You only have a few months before your final vows, Sister Bernadette shouts from across the room. Her mouth purses into a tight form, revealing deep crevices around her lips, a result from decades of smoking. The hairs on her chin twitch as she emphasizes the word what. We have invested so much time in you, and this is how you repay us? she says sharply, and then looks to Reverend Mother, waiting for her response.

Sister Bernadette Marie blesses herself and bows her head in prayer.

Then it happens. I give off one quick giggle and suddenly, I burst into a fit of laughter. I don’t know if it’s because I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, or because of the rumors about the dear sisters’ special relationship, and the visual that comes along with it. All I can think about is the joke I once heard about the woman who was so fat her lover had to roll her in flour to find her wet spot.

Oh, dear God, forgive me for my vulgar thoughts.

Both are huge women. Reverend Mother has a ruddy complexion and is as wide as she is tall. I have no idea what her hair looks like, as I have never seen her without her veil. Sister Bernadette has short spiky salt and pepper hair and the largest hands I have ever seen, even bigger than most men. Her presence is intimidating due to her sheer size. If I had to guess, I would say she is at least six foot two. At night, when she walks down the dimly lit hallways, her shadow casts an enormous and ominous specter. When I first arrived at the convent, I recall hearing a rumor that Sister Bernadette competed in the 1984 Olympics and took home two bronze medals in shot put.

Sister Caitlin, have you been drinking? Bernadette’s lips compress into a single line.

No, Sisters. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I was so nervous about telling you that now I feel relieved. That’s all. I don’t dare share the X-rated thoughts that had popped into my head.

Mother stands, straightens herself with dignity, and then gently touches my arm. I note the tears welling up in her eyes. My dear, are you sure this it what you want to do? Please pray to Jesus asking for guidance. You should get a good night’s sleep and we will talk in the morning. I am sad to learn that you are not happy here.

Mother, everyone here has been kind and loving. It’s me. I don’t think I can live like this for the rest of my days. After having the privilege of working with the children, I ache inside. I want to fall in love, have a job outside of the convent and more than anything, I want to be blessed with children—God willing. That is all I have to say.

Reverend Mother nods, dismissing me to my quarters.

THE NEXT MORNING, I follow my usual routine. I dress in my street clothes and meet with Reverend Mother. After listening to her lengthy spiel, I respectfully confirm my decision and go straight from her office to the chapel for the last time to pray, asking the Lord for guidance.

Surprisingly, so far, leaving the convent is easier than I anticipated. After signing a few papers, I pack my suitcase and call my brother Owen, who will arrive later this afternoon. I say an emotional goodbye to my friends and a few of the senior ministry, who I love dearly. They understand my reasons for leaving and are supportive. That is, everyone, except for Sister Bernadette and Reverend Mother.

Suddenly reality hits me like a freight train coming to an abrupt stop at the end of the line. I burst into tears the moment I exit the chapel and walk down the long hall past the cloisters where a few of my fellow sisters kneel to pray. Respecting their vow of silence, I step inside the women’s room, grab a few tissues and wipe the tears from my moistened cheeks, then wait a long fifteen minutes for the silent time to end.

Toward the front of the mansion is an activity room where we gather for morning announcements, special visitations from the local diocese, and scheduled recreation times. Since there are about three hundred nuns living in this facility, with the exception of prayer services, we work in rotating shifts. Lucky for me, today is the day when I normally visit with my friends.

Floor to ceiling windows expand the entire length of the building. On the far end are four card tables with chairs neatly tucked beneath, and bookcases full of arts and crafts materials. To my right is a sitting area, and to my left are several computers linked to the internet, but there is software to prevent us from accessing any website that is not on the approved list. I step into the room, breathe a sigh of relief, and drop into an oversized leather chair. I draw my legs up, tuck my feet beneath me, and stare out of the bay window while I wait patiently for Owen. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I wonder if I am making the right decision. Short-term, I will live with him in his Boston brownstone, but I will need to find a job soon. Unfortunately, theology is not one of those highly sought out skills. Perhaps I can apply for a position within the history department at one of the colleges in the Boston area, or even a local high school.

The moment Adel notices me hiding in the corner she runs toward me. I’m sure by now she has heard the rumor that I’m leaving this place. Nothing around here remains a secret for long.

Sister Caitlin, I have been looking all over for you, Adel says and wraps her arms around me. Please tell me you’re not leaving me here all alone. Who am I going to get into trouble with now? she whispers.

I smile.

Glancing around the room, I notice we have an audience. While my fellow sisters appear to be minding their own business, I know they are all listening.

Sister Sharon bounces over to where Adel and I are standing and shouts out, Caitlin, why are you dressed like that? Are you going somewhere? Subtlety is not one of her better characteristics. I know she heard the rumor but utilized my attire to initiate the dialog. When I entered the novitiate, I was required to give up all of my personal belongings. Generally, they are stored away until you take your final vow. However, early on, I decided to donate my clothes to a nearby woman’s shelter that helps domestic abuse victims find employment. Having nothing to wear but my habit, Reverend Mother provided me with three sets of street clothes for my departure.

Knowing everyone in the room is listening, I turn to face my audience.

Sisters, may I have your attention, please?

All heads tilt toward me.

My whole body trembles uncontrollably. I am sure you have heard by now that I am leaving the convent. This has been a tough decision. Please know I love you and will miss you. I plan to continue my ministry in the future, but right now, I need to find out who I am. I hope you understand and will pray for me, I say, my voice breaking miserably between my words.

Promptly, everyone in the room jumps from their seats and forms a circle around me. The low roar of conversation fills the room until Sister Bernadette barrels through the doors clapping her hands as if we are children back in grade school.

What’s all this commotion? I can hear you from my office, she shouts. Like black birds flying south for the winter, my fellow sisters sprint back to their chairs.

Sister Bernadette, this is my fault, I say kindly. I want to say goodbye to my friends before I leave.

I see. Her face turns crimson and she huffs back to her office.

ALL EYES ARE upon Owen as he drives up the long winding driveway before passing through the iron gates in his sleek new black Jaguar. The convent sits high atop a hill overlooking the entire valley. Therefore, we have a bird’s eye view of anyone who comes to visit long before they arrive. In the background, I hear the younger girls’ muffled giggles as he exits his vehicle. I didn’t realize until now, but he walks with sophistication and grace. His strawberry blond locks glisten in the sunshine, and even at this distance you can’t miss the sparkle of his teal blue eyes. Over the years, he has acquired a polished veneer. Combine that with his naturally perfect frame and handsome face, he is certainly one good-looking chap. The way he presents himself in the doorway with distinction and grace makes even the eldest and most pious among us smile. Most women find him deliciously appealing. Even in a convent, he can’t escape captivating the opposite sex, especially Adel. She watches his every move from a nearby window.

Who’s that? she mouths.

My brother, I mouth back. Oh boy, here we go again.

I wouldn’t be shocked to hear that she is the next candidate to leave the convent. She is excessively boy crazy.

Remembering the night when we broke into Reverend Mother’s office, I thought she and one of the guys were going to do it right there in front of me. The two of them couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was so embarrassing. By no means is Adel a virgin. In fact, her promiscuity is the reason why she joined the convent in the first place. Her parents put it in her head that unless she renounced her evil ways, she would rot in the bowels of Hell. Sounds like my parents. That mentality is beyond ridiculous! Thinking about it now, I wish I had responded to the other guy’s advances and appeased my ever-growing sexual curiosity. When his lips touched mine, something inside of me ignited. It took all of my strength and faith in God to stop before things got of control. As for Adel—it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. Too bad it won’t be because of Owen. Before she gets her hopes up, I whisper, He’s gay.

Her jubilation retracts and her mouth hangs open as she blesses herself. I feel a sudden frisson up my spine the moment Owen enters the vestibule. For the first time in my life, everything is about to change. Finally, I am taking control of my own destiny and will be free to live my life as God intended.

There you are, he says with a glistening smile. Are you ready?

My chin lifts. Yes. I swallow hard. I’m so sorry that you had to drive all this way, but I didn’t know who else to call, I mutter, trying not to cry.

He wraps his arms around me. My precious sister, you know I would do anything for you. He exhales into my ear. Did something happen?

No. No, it is nothing like that. Everyone has been kind. I’ll tell you later, I whisper.

Don’t worry, darling, I will take care of you. You’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you like, Owen says as he picks up a clear plastic bag containing my belongings. We are about to leave when Adel saunters over to us.

She extends her hand. Hi, I’m Adel. You must be Caitlin’s brother.

He reaches forward and shakes her hand vigorously. Nice to meet you, Adel. I’m Owen.

I’m going to really miss my partner in crime. She looks my way and winks, then gives Owen a flirty smile.

Folding his arms across his chest, Owen says, Oh? He looks toward me waiting for an explanation. What kind of trouble? He clears his throat with uncharacteristic nervousness. I know he is thinking I have done something horrible and I’ve been expelled from the convent. Thanks, Adel, for stirring that pot!

What kind of trouble could we possibly get into around here? Adel pauses. Maybe we sneak an extra piece of cake every now and then. She smiles and winks.

Oh my God, she is flirting with my brother. I think I’m going to vomit.

Owen, I hate to interrupt, but afternoon prayer is going to start shortly and I want to say a final goodbye to the sisters, I interject. Please take my bag out to the car and I will be there in a few minutes.

Adel, give me a quick hug. I will try to visit you soon. I start to cry.

Caitlin, please don’t be sad. You can call me any time.

I knew it!

You little devil. How long have you had a phone? I whisper in her ear.

She giggles and slips a piece of paper into the palm of my hand. I gave them an old phone that didn’t even work and kept my activated phone. Wasn’t I clever? She grins.

We hold hands as we walk over to where the sisters line up to enter the chapel, and I say my final goodbye.

AS WE DRIVE down the road, I look out the back window of the Jag one last time at the place I fondly called home for the past three years. Sucking in a deep breath, I try not to become emotional as I turn around and face forward, never looking back.

Exhausted, I doze off and sleep most of the way back to Boston. I wake to the wonderful sounds of the city and the ocean breeze blowing through the sunroof, causing my long hair to flutter across my face. What a glorious summer day. I don’t know if it is because I have lived in virtual solitude for the past few years, but I feel as if I have been reborn. Everything is so fresh and new. Even the sky appears to be bluer.

Glancing at Owen as he drives, I am so proud of the man he has become. Despite what our father says, he is one amazing man. Perfectly groomed and impeccably dressed in a fine white silk dress shirt and black pleated trousers, he appears to be happy and successful. His Irish import business must be doing well.

We arrive at Owen’s place shortly after seven. Located in Boston’s historic district, the exterior of the three-story building has a stone and brick façade with dark wood trim. Iron fencing wraps around the front of the property and decorative handrails lead to double French glass and wooden doors. Owen taps his code into the keypad and opens the door.

Owen, I thought you said you lived in a flat. This is more like a penthouse. Your place is beautiful. Gee, I’m afraid to touch anything. Knowing he is an anal neat freak, I ask, Do you want me to take my shoes off?

Yes, I would appreciate it if you did. I just had the floors redone, he says as he places my bag in the rubber tray by the door and hangs my purse on a hook. After two long years, I am finally about done with the renovations. I bought this place below market value knowing it needed a lot of work. If I didn’t jump at the opportunity when I did, I was never going to find a home in this neighborhood with four bedrooms, original fireplaces, and a private courtyard. I gutted and replaced all of the fixtures in the bathrooms and kitchen, ripped out all the carpeting, patched and plastered the walls. I contracted most of the work but did some of the painting myself when I had down time. I’m still working on the third floor but I’m getting there. Come…let me show you around.

The first room we step into is the state of the art kitchen with stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops, and sleek modern custom cabinetry.

I didn’t have time to go shopping before I picked you up but there’s leftover pizza in the fridge. Feel free to help yourself to whatever I have. Pointing to the cabinets next to the sink, he says, Plates, bowls, and glasses are over there…and the cutlery is in the drawer beneath the cabinet below the wine rack.

Got it, I say as my eyes bounce around the room taking in my surroundings.

Next to the kitchen is the formal dining area. A vase filled with pale pink peonies offer a nice contrast to the black walnut table. Baroque style chairs with white cushions and clawed feet sit beneath the table.

We exit the room and walk back toward the main hallway. To the left of the central staircase is a small but tastefully decorated bathroom with a cream and gold color scheme. We circle back around to the foyer passing by the formal living room. Beneath the stairs is what looks like a closet. Suddenly Owen stops and plucks a key from his trousers and unlocks the door. We step down several steps and enter another room.

So this my prize possession, he boasts with a broad smile.

I step inside to get a closer look and float around the room.

Wow! Owen, this is amazing.

The décor has shifted dramatically from the neutral colors with a light and airy feel to extremely masculine and intense. His office looks like something you would find in a James Bond movie with its dark inlaid wood paneling and ceiling. I can picture a group of men sipping bourbon and smoking cigars. The built-in bookcases are stacked with hundreds of books. In the middle of the room, there is a conversational seating area in front of a stone fireplace. Positioned by the windows overlooking the courtyard is a finely crafted mahogany desk and executive chair.

So do you want to see upstairs? he asks.

Are you kidding me—yes, I’d love to. I follow Owen out of his office through a secret door hidden amongst the bookcases.

OMG. How did we get here? I exclaim. This is crazy. To my surprise, we enter the formal living room.

This house is full of surprises, he chuckles.

Goody. I clap my hands. You know how much I love surprises.

The second floor has an open floor plan dedicated to entertaining. There is a large screen television, a billiards table, a bar, and a couple of workstations with laptops and a karaoke machine. Like a curious adolescent, I wander around the room consumed by all of the electronic gadgets, before plopping myself onto the white leather sofa and fiddling with the controller. It takes me a moment to realize Owen is standing on the landing waiting for me. I can tell by his posture that he is growing impatient.

Caitlin, you can play with that stuff later, right now, I want to show you your room.

I follow him up the stairs and walk excitedly down the hall toward my bedroom. He opens the door and I gasp at my surroundings. 

This is my room? It is so beautiful. Owen, you are the best brother ever, I exclaim. I don’t know how you had time to fix up my room on such short notice, but I love it.

I’m good…but not that good. Hoping you would eventually pay me a visit, I decorated this room for you. I know how much you love to shop and buy clothes…or…at least you used to. Therefore, when I redid this room, I added a large walk-in closet. It is at the other end of the bathroom. As you can see there are two fireplaces and…—he pauses—look up and check out the ceiling. He points his finger toward the roof.

Is that a window?

Yes, it is one of three. There is also one in the master suite and I’m sure you noticed the large skylight above the staircase. Hopefully, you still love to stargaze.

I do. Thank you, I say, wrapping my arms around his torso.

I’m going to head down to grab your bags and let you get settled in. Do you want me to order Chinese for dinner?

Sounds good. I haven’t had that in a long time.

I look around and notice he has placed orchids in the windows and a fresh bouquet of pink carnations on the table next to my bed. He thought of everything. My room is bright and cheerful. The north-facing windows overlook the city, and if I look closely, I can see Boston Harbor. Unlike the plain navy wool blankets I had in my cell at my last residence, this bedding is made of soft cotton in a pale yellow with decorative purple flowers, and smells fresh.

CHAPTER 2

TWO WEEKS HAVE passed and the pittance of money I saved while in the convent has run out, so it is time to find a job. Owen has been the most gracious host but I cannot sponge off him anymore. Invigorated, I bounce out of bed and walk across the wood-planked floor toward the shower. Then it occurs to me—what am I going to wear? I think I have a whopping three outfits, and they are all the same: a long-sleeved knit sweater that stretches down past my hips and a black skirt made of a polyester and rayon blend that flows exactly to two inches above my ankles. Dark stockings and gum-soled laced shoes complete the hideous ensemble. I look like such a fool dressed like this in this heat. What a quandary. I can’t afford to buy clothes, I have no credit, and nobody in their right mind would hire me looking like this. Perhaps Owen can use some help in his shop. I can work there until I at least earn enough cash to buy one decent outfit. At this point, I would settle for clothes from a thrift store

I glance about the apartment, there must be something I can do to earn my keep. For starters, I can do some much-needed grocery shopping. Maybe Owen will let me drive his Jag. Ha, fat chance. He would never let me touch his car. I still cannot believe when he picked me up in New Jersey he made me take off my shoes before entering his vehicle. Talk about being anal.

For someone who loves to cook, I’m surprised he doesn’t have a well-stocked kitchen. I know he has been working long hours at his store but this is crazy. Being so close to several colleges, he sees a lot of foot traffic, especially this time of year with parents bringing their kids back to school. I haven’t had a chance to visit his store but it looks spectacular on the internet. 

Rifling through the kitchen cabinets, it is no wonder why he is so thin. There isn’t a darn thing to eat in this place—not an ounce of milk, or cereal, or juice, or even a slice of bread. There are only a few bottles of water and a half-empty bottle of chardonnay in the fridge. It looks as if I will have to go out for breakfast. I’ve wanted to check out the coffee shop down the block since I got here. Owen sings its praises at least once a day. Time to find out for myself.

I know I have found the right place when I read TRANT’S PASTRY AND COFFEE SHOP etched into the glass on the front window. The facade is simple with large picture windows and green trim. A small sign advertising homemade ice cream hangs near the entryway. Before I enter the cafe, the smell of espresso and pastries drives me insane. Starving and having such a weakness for anything sweet, I have a hard time not ordering everything on the menu.

When Owen initially told me about this place, he warned me this coffee and sandwich joint was the best in South Boston and was always packed. For some reason, I thought for sure by ten in the morning it would be empty. Glancing at the menu as I stand in line, I see they not only offer the obvious breakfast treats, but they also specialize in gourmet sandwiches, micro-roasted coffees, and award-winning handmade ice cream, or so the placard on the wall reads.

The clerk keeps the line moving and in no time, there is only one patron in front of me. I patiently wait as a gray-haired woman holding the hand of a small boy with pale hair places her order. The boy is probably no more than three years old, I’m guessing.

At first, I don’t pay much attention to the ruckus going on toward the back of the line, until I hear a male voice full of arrogance shout, Move. 

Before I can fully grasp what is happening, I’m shoved so hard I nearly fall to the floor. Stumbling, I manage to keep my balance, but my head is swirling with rage. I can’t believe this. Some jerk cut in front of me. Quickly, I turn and face him with a defiant lift of my chin. To my amazement, standing inches from me is a mouse of a man with his arms folded across his chest, dressed in a high-priced silk suit and a freshly pressed white shirt. His long jet-black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail looks ridiculous on someone his age. Under normal circumstances, I would find his appearance amusing, but not today. As I look down at him, what really catches my eye is the massive diamond pinkie ring glistening next to his wedding band. I have always thought men who wear pinkie rings tend to be the biggest assholes on the face of the earth. I guess this proves my theory.

Unable to stop the raw ferocity that knots in my gut, I can no longer keep my mouth shut. With both hands on my hips, I screech, Excuse me!

For the next five minutes, he verbally attacks me, mocking the way I’m dressed and implying I crawled out of a halfway house.

A shimmering wave of pulsing fury clouds my better judgment as I glare down at the little twerp. Are you finished? Mentally, I count to five before letting him have it.

Listen to me, you little troll. You burst in here as if you are the ruler of the world, but in reality, you are an insignificant jerk who has nothing better to do than push women out of your way, and for what—a cannoli? Maybe a coffee? I bet your wife, that is, if some woman is foolish enough to have married you, wears the britches in your household. I’m certain your behavior is to make up for your inadequacies elsewhere.  

He looks up at me in surprise, and I stare back in challenge. He straightens his stance, puffs out his chest, and throws his hands on his hips. Before he can fire back, I unscrew the cap from my water bottle and toss the contents in his face, shouting out the words, "Téigh trasna ort féin!"

Everyone in the cafe cheers.

The man’s eyes narrow in anger, and his jaw stiffens.

You little bitch, he shouts, lunging toward me. I take two steps back. Someone in the crowd screams, Call the police. He suddenly stops, clinches his fists, and cries out in frustration. I stare at him, wondering if he is going to strike me. Instead, he grabs a napkin from the napkin dispenser, swipes his face, and barrels his way through the crowd, exiting the coffee shop in a huff. After making such a bold move, I think about how foolish I was. He stood so close to me and could have easily attacked me. Fortunately, a few construction workers entered the cafe amidst the commotion. They look like a bunch of Friday night brawlers so I am sure they would not have thought twice about kicking the ass of some arrogant panty wad in a suit.

I inhale a deep breath, trying to calm down, when suddenly I hear a roar of laughter from behind, and feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

Bravo, lassie. Well done. But just to let you know, ladies shouldn’t talk like that.

Still angry, I turn around. Do you want the rest of this? I say, tilting my water bottle to him, looking straight into his bright blue eyes, and wondering how he knew what I had said. Unless you are in Ireland, most people do not know the words for go fuck yourself in Gaelic. Then again, I am in South Boston. I guess I should watch my potty mouth.

Calm down, gerl. I thought you handled that nicely. He smiles and extends his hand toward me. I’m Aiden. Pleased to make your acquaintance…Miss…

Shyly, I blush and shake his hand. I’m Caitlin.

He stands before me looking devilishly handsome. Wow, what a gorgeous man. How can I possibly be nasty to someone who God has graced with such beauty? He is neatly dressed in a baby blue Oxford shirt and tan chinos. His loose curly hair is as black as the night, and his extraordinary bright blue eyes are flecked and ringed with gold. He is totally my type. That is if I had a type. Oh my, check out those dimples! I have always been a sucker for dimples. It takes me a moment to get past his looks before I notice his strong Irish brogue. Sounds like southern Ireland. Dublin region maybe.

After what seems like forever, it is finally my turn to place my order.

Still trembling, I say nervously, I’d like an Asiago bagel, and a dark roast coffee with three sugar substitutes and a splash of cream.

Aiden reaches over my shoulder and hands the woman at the register a twenty. Make that two, he says.

With an angelic smile, I glance over my shoulder. I appreciate the offer, sir, but that isn’t necessary.

He gives me a warm, friendly country boy grin. "I insist. Besides,