Aaaaanyway, here it is. And keep checking back on the blog next week. I’m going to have a contest for one lucky reader here on the blog to win an advance copy of Building From Ashes WEEKS before its release. I haven’t decided what it will be yet, but I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, enjoy your teaser!
Brigid was so short that Carwyn stared down at the top of her head in the pew at Christmas Eve mass. She was sitting next to him, dressed in a simple black dress, and her hair was her natural dark brown, trimmed into a short, professional bob. Compared to the college girl he’d met two years before, she was hardly recognizable. Her pixie face had taken on the more mature angles of a woman. Her figure was slight and lovely. Luckily, the hard expression in her eyes had softened, and she seemed far more comfortable in her own skin.
She had been formal to him. Polite, but formal. Proper. And more than a little disinterested. He wondered if she was the sort to hold a grudge.
Carwyn found it oddly annoying. He somehow wished she would roll her eyes again. He’s be lying to say that he’d not thought of her in the years since he’d seen her outside the pub in Dublin. Something about the young woman had haunted his thoughts. He admired the way she’d struggled through her difficulties. She had finally found success, but for some reason, her very proper clothing and neatly cut hair bothered him.
He whipped out the Christmas program, scribbled a note in the margins, and handed it to her. She looked up at him with disapproval, but took the note, anyway.
‘What happened to the purple?’
She mouthed, ‘Purple?’ and looked at him in confusion. He grabbed the note and scribbled again.
He saw a tiny smile cross her face. An appealing blush came to her cheek, and she grabbed his pen.
‘Not exactly office-appropriate.’
He scowled. ‘Not the right office, then.’
Carwyn couldn’t stop the grin when he saw her roll her eyes. She took the pen and wrote back.
‘What do you know about the right office? According to Ioan, you wear Hawaiian shirts under your vestments. Not to mention your rumored television habits.’
‘Lies. All lies. I’m a picture of devotion and obedience. Highly appropriate at all times.’
Irritating children, telling on him like that. Carwyn frowned and poked his son in the shoulder. Ioan and Deirdre were sitting in the pew in front of him. His son looked over his shoulder, then between the two of them and the note Brigid held in her lap.
“Behave, both of you,” Ioan whispered. “Brigid, I expect this behavior out of him, but not you. Father Jacob is in the middle of the homily.”
“And it’s a very boring one,” Carwyn whispered back. “Trust me, I’ve heard a few.”
He took perverse pleasure in Brigid’s quiet snort. Ioan tried to look disapproving, but he smiled before Deirdre pinched his side and he turned back to the front of the church.
Carwyn took the note and scribbled again, ‘Why preach a doom and gloom sermon on Christmas Eve?’
She wrote back, ‘To remind us of our grave sins amidst the worldly revelry.’
‘God loves revelry. He told me.’
Brigid snorted again, and Deirdre turned around, reaching back to snatch the program from them. Carwyn crossed his arms and glared at her as the priest finished the mass. And he may have snuck a few more glances at the intriguing Brigid Connor.
I’m leaving this weekend for yet another music festival, so I hope you have a good week! Thanks for reading,