He’s standing in the doorway.
Hands folded.
Expression pleasant.
Eyes absolutely lethal.
The substitute jerks his hand away.
“Father.”
“Your period is about to begin.”
The priest smiles—and it’s the kind of smile sharks probably use.
“You know, Mr. Reynolds, I don't think Mary's fiancé would appreciate your invitation.”
I blink.
My what now?
Father Peter continues.
“Though I'm sure you intended it as a professional meeting of course.”
Mr. Reynolds suddenly looks very uncomfortable.
“Of course, Father.”
“Excellent.”
The priest nods.
“Because after that unfortunate incident with Councilman Jonas, well, let’s just say her fiancé strikes me as the jealous type.”
Oh dear.
“Unfortunate incident? Oh, um, yes completely professional invitation, of course,” Mr. Reynolds says.
And I know exactly what he's thinking.
He’s undoubtedly heard about the punch.
And he's not wrong to be nervous.
Not even a little.
Mr. Reynolds mumbles something else and flees the lounge.
The second he's gone, I stare at Father Peter.
The priest calmly pours himself coffee.
Adds cream.
Stirs.
Like he didn't just casually drop a grenade into my day.