The youngest monk ducked. “Careful, or my knife might slip.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Kingsley winked at me, then disappeared out the kitchen.
Surely, my mouth had to be hanging open. Where did this fun side come from? And what about the pranks?
A sudden heaviness pulled at my heart. This community was beautiful. I wanted that, yet I was so lonely. Sure, I had amazing friends and knew a lot of people. But again, that deeper connection wasn’t there.
Brother Matthew kept going with his stories as we chopped and sliced, then did dishes. The kitchen started smelling of freshly baked bread and the vegetable soup we had going. It had to be late afternoon when Brother Aurelius handed me a sandwich and a bottle of water.
“Would you mind bringing this to Brother Samuel? He keeps forgetting to eat when he’s doing yard work.”
“Of course.” I took it and left the two monks to it.
Outside, the sun had wandered farther to the west but was still high in the cloudless sky. I trailed a beaten path through a field, then crossed the woods. Kingsley was by Serenity Lake, mowing knee-tall grass with a scythe. He worked fast and smooth, his rhythm never slowing. His hair and habit dripped as if he’d taken a dip in the lake. Had he been doing this all afternoon?
I stopped a few feet behind him. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, Brother Samuel, but I come bearing gifts.”
The scythe halted mid-swing. Kingsley looked up at the sky, then over his shoulder at me. “Hey.”
“Why do you always do that?” I asked.
“Pardon me?”
“Look at the sky. I’ve seen you doing it several times today.”
He sniffed. “Time. The position of the sun tells me what time it is. Approximately.”
“Ooooh, that’s smart. Welp, it’s time for a snack.” I held up the sandwich and water bottle. “I have orders to feed you.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that.”
“Maybe not orders, but I won’t leave until you eat the whole thing. Even if I have to stuff it down your throat.”
One of his brows arched. “That’s . . . aggressive.” Grinning, he leaned the scythe against the trunk of a pine tree and bridged the gap between us. His wet habit clung to his broad shoulders and solid chest.
Holy Absalom, I’d never thought I’d use the wordhotto describe a monk, but this man . . .
Don’t go there, Harley. Just don’t.
What had we been talking about again? That I would stuff the sandwich down his throat. Right. “I call it ‘making sure people who matter to me are taken care of,’ and yes, sometimes aggressive love is needed for that.”
He stilled. Water dripped from his dark brown loose curls as his gaze searched my face.
Yes, I was aware of my choice of words, and no, I couldn’t help that I already cared about this man. He’d protected me, calmed me down, given me a lift home to get my things . . . All of it without asking for anything in return. Not a lot of men did that in this day and age. They took what they wanted, then ghosted you. Or maybe I’d just met the wrong ones.
“Sit with me?” Kingsley pointed at a patch of juicy grass in the shade of a gigantic mango tree, then relieved me of the sandwich and water bottle.
We settled under the tree, leaning against the trunk, arms almost touching. The rough bark bit into my back, but I barely noticed it because the view was so breathtaking. Greenmountains rose around the other side of the football-stadium-sized lake, the navy water calm.
I sighed. “It’s so beautiful up here.”
“It is.” Kingsley held up the water bottle. “Want some?”
“I’m good. I just drank some in the kitchen.”
He opened it and downed half of it with a few gulps, then recapped the bottle.
“Did you go for a swim or why are you so wet?” I asked.
