Page 2 of Intimately Faithful

Only with the divine grace of God intervening for Danny, did it thankfully put him on the right path.

The right path for him.

Some would ask what gave him the wisdom to counsel his community as he did for such a young age. No one knew his past, and probably wouldn’t ever hear the tales of a time when Danny Murphy of the infamous Murphy’s of Galway, answered only to his mistress; drugs.

It was the same disconnect in his breastbone he felt from those dark days of trying as hard as he could to die and failing each time.

Even as he smiled, carrying over the tea and snack, he wondered was God of a mind with a new path for the pastor? He knew one thing, he always listened when God spoke to him.

Aye, he wasn’t so daft these days.

The red scarf un-wound from her neck. At least the women felt comfortable enough to take a seat for a while. If she needed a bed, he was sure to find her one, he was well acquainted with the local shelters and no one should be desperate enough to sleep in the snow.

Next, off came the oversized hat and Danny froze where he stood.

The blood stopped circulating inside his veins.

And the shock of what he was seeing—whohe was seeing, caused a mass riot within his lungs.

If the devil himself had appeared and started to do the Irish jig he couldn’t have been more surprised at the cascade of blood-red hair that tumbled out of the hat.

Corkscrew red curls fell in rivers over slim shoulders as a face emerged.

A face of freckles dusting over her nose like cinnamon sugar.

He knew the numbers of freckles.

He’d counted them many times. Kissed them a million times and sought them in crowds for years.

Moss green eyes met Danny’s.

Sure, the ground underneath him was rocking because for the first time in a long time, Danny felt unsteady in his own body. He stalled his steps, the cup swaying in his hand. A look of nerves on the woman’s face, she too was stuck in place, but she wrestled with the zipper of her coat, her teeth chattering together to show how cold she was.

“Aoife…” his voice scratched, sure he was dreaming and not standing in front of the girl he’d loved at six. And then at twelve. And at eighteen and every year in between.

The girl who had broken his soul apart at twenty-two.

Memories like a kaleidoscope swept through his vision, he didn’t have one childhood memory that didn’t involve Aoife. The girl he’d loved before he knew what it was to love a person as deeply as he had.

He’d loved her so deeply as a little boy, he’d wanted to be her everything.

Protector and best friend until she only loved him.

Knees just about buckled out from under him.

Aoife here in his church.

What was God doing to him?

The first girl he’d kissed.

The girl he’d climbed trees with and jumped over streams for because she wanted him to capture her a frog. The same girl he hid from her brothers and protected her from her drunk father. The same little girl who would sneak into his house and to sleep in his bed when she was scared of thunderstorms.

The girl who took all his firsts and gave him hers.

The girl he’d worshipped and fucked and lost all in the same year.

And the same woman who had walked away from him and married someone else.