And life was starting to get really interesting.

Twenty years ago Søren had been sent to Sacred Heart in Wakefield, Connecticut, as a temporary fill-in for an ailing Father Greg. His “temp job,” as she dubbed it, had turned into a calling that had taken him away from his Jesuit brethren. Now two decades later, he would rejoin them. A difficult transition, but still, it was life out of the small parish fishbowl, life outside the scrutiny.

“Eleanor?”

Nora realized she’d been doing nothing but staring at the rings on the silver chain for the past five minutes.

“I’m all right. I can wear these. But don’t tell anyone we’re engaged. Number one, we aren’t. And number two, an engaged Dominatrix is a boner-killer, and I’ve got to be tough for the New Orleans scene. I’ll be the new kid at school.”

“I would never presume to tell anyone anything so horrifying and slanderous. And you’ll have the entire town under your heel in a month.”

“Good. I like the sound of that. Okay.” She took a shallow breath to steady herself. “Now can I please have that box I asked for, sir?”

“I’ll give it to you now. You’ll earn it later.”

Nora wrapped Fionn’s last present, a Catholic Bible with his name engraved on it—Fionn Aaron Easton. She had already declared herself his godmother and hadn’t taken any argument from Zach about it.

Nora, you and I have slept together. I don’t know how appropriate it would be for you to be my son’s godmother.

When has the appropriateness of something ever been a deciding factor for me doing anything?

Well, I suppose I can’t argue. Especially considering...

Considering what? Nora had asked but Zach hadn’t answered her.

Søren watched over Nora’s shoulder as she wrote the name on the gift tag.

“Fionn,” Søren said, narrowing his eyes at the name tag.

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Do you know if Fionn is a family name?”

“No idea. Grace’s mom’s Irish. She said it was an old Irish name.”

“It is. Fionn or Finn refers to the legendary Irish warrior, Fionn mac Cumhaill, or Finn McCool. It’s very interesting.”

“So why is that interesting?”

“Because Grace has red hair, and Zachary’s hair is black.”

“So?”

“Fionn means—” Søren paused and stared at the name tag again. His eyes seemed to lose focus a moment, as if he were remembering something.

“What?” she prompted.

Søren met Nora’s eyes.

“The name ‘Fionn’ means blond.”

Nora narrowed her eyes at Søren.

“Søren...that night you played with Grace, by any chance did you two—”

Before Nora could finish her question her phone started to emit the familiar strains of “Englishman in New York.”

“Hold that thought. It’s Zach. Booty call.”

Nora brought the phone to her ear.

“Zach, I hope you finally have my synonym for thrust, noun form. Otherwise, I’m hanging up on you.”

“Don’t hang up. I’m not calling to talk to you.”

“Are you calling to sing to me?”

“I need to talk to Søren, and I don’t have his number.”

“Why do you need Søren? Spiritual crisis?”

“Of a sort.”

Zach sounded serious, uncharacteristically serious. Usually their phone calls were full of nothing but fighting and flirting.

“What’s going on?” Nora asked. “You can tell me.”

“I will. But I need to talk to Søren first.”

“Is everything all right? You’re kind of scaring me here.”

Zach laughed on the other end, a warm, slightly sheepish laugh.

“It is all right, I promise. Just been putting off this conversation for a long time. Can I have Søren’s number?”

“No. But you can have Søren. He’s right here.”

Nora handed Søren the phone. He gave her a look and she only shrugged.

“Zachary?” Søren paused and listened intently. After a few seconds his eyes widened hugely.

Nora’s heart raced. Something was up. Something big. She prayed it was something good. He reached out and cupped her face with his slightly shaking hand.

Whatever it was she knew that it would change everything forever, although she couldn’t say why.

“What is it?” she mouthed at him, needing to know the answer, unable to wait another moment.

Søren laughed.