I Love You from Afar

My onset of embarrassment and shame helped tame my lustful thoughts, but it also revived my anger. My mind repeated the derogatory word that came to me earlier. Mentally belittling the angel made me feel less intimidated by her. It was another low point of my existence. I was in a wretched state of mind and needed to repent. I buried my face in my hands and took a deep breath, asking God to forgive me. Then I had a conversation with myself. Why was I at the coffee shop that morning? I didn't go there to stew in my anger and mentally insult a woman I admired. I went there to relax and find a little enjoyment in life before facing my stressors again. So, what would make me happy at that point? I wanted some delicious coffee and to maybe exchange an innocent greeting with the beautiful woman in front of me. That was easy enough to accomplish.

I took another deep breath and went to the counter to order my tall black. I passed behind the angel to catch a glimpse of her chess game and a whiff of her scent. It looked like she was winning. I wished I knew more about chess so I could offer some advice. Stopping by her table to chat felt too bold and awkward in a room with so many people watching. It wasn't crowded by any means, but there were plenty of witnesses that could be parishioners. I would have to think of a different approach. With my coffee in hand, I returned to my table to consider my options. I could be noisy until she looked at me again, then I could smile and apologize. That would break the ice a little. I sipped my coffee and pushed my leather satchel aside to make room for my cup on the table. I gave it a proper nudge, causing it to fall off the table and into the chair below. My thick notepad helped it make a much louder thump than I was expecting. I cringed and looked at the angel, expecting her to look at me in annoyance. She was smiling to herself as she kept her eyes on her game. I got the feeling she was intentionally ignoring me, or maybe she was about to win and was really engrossed in her game.

One failed attempt aside, I decided to try something that I knew was annoying. I picked up my pen and opened my philosophy book. I pretended to read for a few minutes as I steadily tapped my pen on the table. I glanced at the angel to see if she was still smiling. She was staring at her game with a soft look about her eyes as she ran her fingers over her lips in a distracting manner. I almost dropped my pen as I watched her. I tightened my grip and tapped a little harder, determined to make her look at me. An elderly chap at the table behind her gave me an annoyed look, prompting me to quickly stop. He rolled his eyes before he returned to eating his muffin. Suddenly, the angel straightened up and started to look my way. My heart leaped for a second, then her eyes looked past me out the front window. She frowned and sighed before she closed her laptop and began gathering up her things to leave. I suddenly felt panicked. She was about to walk by my table to get to the door. I needed to smile or say something to her. It was my last chance to accomplish my goal that morning.

My heart was pounding as she stood and picked up her jacket. To my relief, she turned her back to me and went to the restroom. I had a little more time to plan. I could wait until the bathroom door opened and hop up to go to the restroom myself, passing her on her way out. Then what? Smile at her like a creep? No good. A calendar notification beeped on my phone, reminding me it was on the table. That's when the perfect idea came to me. I could pretend to be making a call and go outside to talk. Then I could greet her on her way out. It would be less awkward chatting with her outside instead of in a room full of listeners. I grabbed my phone and looked at it for a moment. Then I heard the squeak of the restroom door. I stood and hurried outside with my phone to my ear. My heart was pounding as I paced away from the front door towards her car. Crap. I didn't realize she was parked that close to the front door. That's when a cold raindrop hit the top of my head. In my haste to execute my plan, I didn't realize it was raining. That's what she was frowning about earlier.

I heard the little bell over the front door ring as she opened it. It was time to act. What was I doing again? I started talking into my phone as I turned around to face the angel. I looked at her and nodded in recognition as I announced I was returning a missed call to the imaginary person on the other line. The angel was staring at me with an eyebrow raised as I paced away from her car. Rain was still falling on my head. I hurried back under the awning of the front patio, too embarrassed to linger in her path. My face was burning as I paced in front of the shop, pretending to talk on my phone. Meanwhile, she got in her car and left. I finished my ridiculous charade and hurried back inside, where it was warm and dry. I sat down and sipped my coffee, feeling like a complete moron. I should have stayed at my table and simply smiled at her on her way out. Well, at least I didn't feel angry anymore.

I tried not to dwell on the awkwardness of that Wednesday as I went about the rest of my week. I did wonder what she thought of me afterward. The confused look on her face was telling. I'm sure she thought I was crazy. But, on a good note, attempting to make human contact with her was distracting me from my normal worries. I smiled when I thought about it. I still felt bad for thinking poorly of her when I was angry. I deserved the awkwardness. I planned to leave her alone if she was at the shop again the following Wednesday.

My stomach was doing its normal nervous dance as I drove to the coffee shop again. I smiled to see her car in the parking lot, but she wasn't in her normal seat at the window. My stomach fluttered more as I entered the shop and discovered her sitting at the same table as last week, but this time she was facing the center of the room with her back toward the couches. Her latest low-cut sweater was pink and flirty, and her lips were shiny red. She was on her laptop, probably playing chess. I had the urge to sit at her table again, but I couldn't do it without a really good excuse. My normal table was empty, but I didn't want to sit there again. I simply wanted to sit where I could easily admire her exquisite face. I didn't intend to stare at her. I just wanted the privilege of a few glances while I worked. I brought my laptop to the shop to work on a sermon for next week. Valentine's Day was approaching, and I enjoyed confusing parishioners with all the unconfirmed legends surrounding the obscure saint that represented it. I was dreading the actual holiday. My spouse was still mad at me for gently scolding her about her expensive extra jacket, and I didn't know how to amend the situation. I honestly didn't care. She could sulk all she wanted. I had other things to enjoy despite how silly they were.

I walked across the room and set my stuff on the table closest to the main counter. There was an empty table between the angel and me, giving us plenty of distance. I planned to sit where I could see her while I worked. I glanced at her beautiful face before I stepped over to the counter to place my order. She was smiling and shaking her head like she thought something was funny. I assumed she was reacting to her game and thought nothing of it. I retrieved my tall black and sat down to work on my sermon, often stealing a glance across the room when I thought she wasn't looking. I met her eyes once, and the look she gave me sent my blood pressure up. She was staring at me with a serious look about her brow. I quickly looked away, wondering what she was thinking. I focused on my sermon and tried to ignore her for a while. When I knew her gaze was down, I stole a quick glance. She was writing in a notebook beside her laptop. I had never seen her do that before. I smiled at the thought of her writing me a note. I seriously doubted she was doing that, but it was fun to imagine.

I went back to writing and gave my star gazing a rest before she caught me looking again. Ten minutes later, she stood and gathered up her things to leave. I sighed in disappointment. She was the delight of my Wednesday mornings. I hated to see her go. I hoped she would glance my way before she left. She went to the lady's room as I scrutinized the wording of my closing statement. I hated puns, but I actually had a good one that wouldn't cause too many eye rolls if I worded it right. The shop was really busy that morning, and I actually didn't see the angel step back into the room.

She was halfway to my table when I finally noticed her approaching. I looked up and met her sultry gaze, and I had an "oh shit" moment. A gorgeous woman was approaching me, a lonely priest in a packed coffee shop. Was she going to sit down and speak with me? Should I pack up my stuff and run? I went into panic mode and quickly glanced around the shop, looking for parishioners. I didn't see any familiar faces, so I looked at the angel and gulped. I couldn't begin to explain how I felt as she approached my table, holding me in her daunting gaze. I wanted to say hello, but I couldn't get any words out. She saved me the trouble of speaking by sensually sliding a folded note across my table with two fingers. I grabbed it as she turned to leave. I pulled my gaze away from her and quickly looked at the note, and my stomach dropped. This is what she wrote.

"Why do you gravitate around me like a creep and never speak to me? I've seen you staring. It's unbecoming of a young priest. Especially one as handsome as yourself. Do I need to speak with your parishioners about it? You should know I would have considered being your friend if you had just asked, but how you act makes me think you're crazy. If you want to talk, then talk. I won't bite... unless you want me to.

Kind regards,

Chloe

P.S. I suspect you recognized me from my writing page. I won't judge you if you don't judge me. If you want to speak discreetly, here's your chance. chloehunt1875@gmail.com" (Author's note: the email address is on her public profile.)

By the time I looked up again, she was gone, and I was completely humiliated. My God, she probably thought I was stalking her. I'm glad I only saw her on Wednesdays. My hands were still shaking after she approached my table. A partial panic attack was probably the cause. We hadn't spoken a word to each other in over a month, but I was obsessed with her, and she knew it. I was glad she didn't call the church about it and ruin my life. I suddenly wondered what she meant by a writing page and not judging each other about it. I wanted to look it up that instant, but I seriously needed to get a grip and finish my sermon. My schedule was packed for the rest of the week, and my only chance to finish it was that morning. I took a minute to collect myself and made sure no one was staring. Then I put the note in my robe pocket for safekeeping. Nothing horrible had happened, but it felt like it did. A woman passed a note to a priest in a coffee shop and left. That was it. It could have been a prayer request for all anyone knew. My heart stopped pounding after five minutes had passed, allowing me to focus on my sermon.

Chloe's note felt like a hot stone in my pocket as I went about my day. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I looked at it whenever I had a private moment. Despite its harsh message, she was kind and flirty. She called me handsome and offered to bite me if I wanted her to. I liked that part the most. I was energized and happy after receiving her attention. It helped me get through an exhausting evening of visitations at the local children's hospital. Don't take my sentiment wrong. I loved working with children and trying to give them hope with Christ's love, but most of them would never leave the hospital, and some of them knew it. Speaking with children that know they're dying isn't something you can prepare for. You just give them your heart and share their pain and fears to ease the unfair burden. I always arrived home with red eyes after those visits. That evening wasn't any different. I entered the house to find my partner waiting for me in the kitchen with a scowl on her face. I was ready to find a late supper and hug the kids for an hour straight, but she obviously had something on her mind.

She motioned for me to sit down with her at the kitchen table, and I grew nervous. Had someone seen Chloe pass me a note at the coffee shop and told her about it? I sat down and gulped as she pushed a paper across the table and tapped it with her index finger. It was my credit card statement. I asked her what was wrong with it, and she demanded to know why I was buying a seven-dollar cup of coffee every Wednesday morning when I could make it at home. I sighed in relief and scratched my head. She was angry at the cost of my mini vacations after blowing four hundred dollars on a jacket she would wear for two whole months and then abandon it to the back of the closet. We lived in the south. Our winters were often spring-like. She didn't need two absurdly expensive jackets, but she had them because I wanted her to feel appreciated. I calmly explained that to her, and she quickly grew red in the face. Then she declared I could sleep in the guestroom that night. I was hurt and surprised by her reaction. I really didn't understand her sometimes. I told her I was sorry she felt that way and that I would give her all the space she needed to cool down. Then I grabbed a bowl of cereal and retreated to the living room to watch cartoons with the kids. I felt better as I chatted with the babies about their day. My four-year-old wasn't actually a baby, but she was still my first baby, and I had a hard time thinking of her as anything else. My two-year-old's favorite word was still dada, and I had no complaints about it.

After putting the kids to bed, I wished my significant other a heartfelt goodnight and told her I loved her, and she echoed my sentiment with less enthusiasm. I sighed and collected a change of clothes before escaping to the guest room with my laptop. I was exhausted as I disrobed and climbed into bed to begin my search. I was dying to find Chloe's writing page and learn more about her. I was tempted to send her an email, but I didn't want to embolden her to speak to me in public or further humiliate myself by confessing my admiration. I assumed she knew that I admired her, but she could also think I was crazy. Thinking back on how I acted around her made me roll my eyes at myself.

My first search for her name wasn't fruitful, so I added her email and still got nothing. I thought for a moment, then I brilliantly searched her name and added "author" after it. That was the magic combination. A flood of ebooks with attractive covers filled my screen beside a gorgeous picture of Chloe's lower face, neck, and cleavage. Her daunting eyes were cropped out, keeping her identity safe from those that didn't know her, but her perfect mouth and small nose were unmistakable. Her lips were painted a sultry red, as were her fingernails. She was holding a glass of red wine and smirking like she knew all my secrets. She probably knew every man that saw that picture would be staring at her cleavage for a few minutes and doing something they wouldn't do in public. The picture honestly wasn't that scandalous, but her beauty made it feel that way.

I suddenly had a good idea of what kind of writer she was, and I was intrigued and a little worried. I gulped and clicked through her ebooks to read the synopsis. They all sounded like solid stories that I would enjoy reading despite being labeled erotica. She had an author page on the e-commerce site, but she had written "writing page" in her note. Her author page wasn't a writing page or a blog. It didn't make sense to call it that. She had to be referring to something else. All but two of her ebooks were in erotic genres, so I knew what to search for. After a little digging, I discovered a hugely popular erotic story site that featured her writing. I clicked on her profile and discovered an equally arousing picture of her lower face, neck, and cleavage. Her red robe was open enough to reveal her smooth stomach, pulling my eyes downward, tempting me to imagine the rest. That picture caused a reaction in me that I'm sure she wanted.

I pulled my eyes away from the tempting picture to examine her story list. It was massive, and every single one of them was highly rated. My eyes ached with fatigue after my long day, but I was determined to read one of her stories. She had a list of recommendations in her profile, so I picked the first one, Phantom Code, and started reading. I had never been more engrossed, enlightened, or seduced by a story before. I didn't feel dirty reading it. It was too well written. She carefully immersed me in a near-future world through her character's thoughts and emotions, letting me feel what they were experiencing. She wrote from a deeply empathetic perspective, and I loved it. I cried, laughed, and satisfied myself four times in less than two hours before I finished the story and fell asleep. I felt refreshed the next morning. I had a new favorite story to think about that day. I wished I had a week to myself to carefully read everything in her story catalog. I had discovered a treasure trove of enjoyment and I planned to return to it as soon as possible. But, until that moment arrived, I needed to clear my browser history.

My partner was in a better mood the next morning. She even apologized for spending a small fortune on a second coat that she didn't need. She gave me a kiss and a hug, but it didn't feel authentic. The angry tension in her muscles gave her remaining displeasure away. I'm sure the looming date on the calendar was the reason why she wanted forgiveness early. I appreciated her efforts and still planned to get her an expensive gift for Valentine's Day. It was a shared tradition, after all, and she always tried to get me something she knew I would enjoy. The budget would be strained after her spending spree, but we would make it work. Despite the rocky points, we always made things work. Our relationship was rarely enjoyable, but it was comfortable. I asked if she wanted me to return to bed that night, and she confessed to needing a little more time to cool off. I gracefully acknowledged her needs before heading to the bathroom for a shower.

I went about the rest of my day with a bounce in my step since I had something to look forward to for a change. As I was preparing for choir practice in the church's sanctuary, I was thinking about sending my coffee shop angel a ten-page email, thanking her for letting me read her incredible story. Not to mention the privilege of seeing her profile pictures. She was a rare, gorgeous philosopher. In her story, she explained the nature of reality and God in a few tidy paragraphs before seducing me with her spectacular erotica. I paused after that thought. My chest suddenly felt tight with anxiety and guilt. I loved her writing, and I deeply admired her on an unhealthy level. My feelings for her at that point suddenly scared me, and I played with the "L" word in my mind longer than I should have. A wave of shame washed over me again. I was a married priest, and she was a gorgeous erotic author that I had practically stalked for a month straight. I was treading on thin ice. I was impressed God hadn't hit me with a lightning bolt yet. I sinned in many ways thanks to my coffee shop angel, and I had no words for how much I enjoyed it. That was the worst part.

I finished bookmarking the last hymnal for choir practice before I sat down on the edge of the stage to collect my nerves. My behavior around Chloe was unacceptable. I'm surprised no one at the coffee shop called me out on it. I needed to take a step back before I did something stupid. I didn't really know the woman I was admiring. If I confessed my admiration, she could easily turn around and ruin my life with my own words by exposing my secret to the church. I had to make myself ignore her or risk losing my livelihood. That thought hurt more than I could stomach. I absolutely loved seeing her on Wednesday mornings, even if I didn't get to speak to her. She brought enjoyment back to my life when I was at my wit's end. I couldn't let her go yet. My throat felt tight with grief as I wrestled with my emotions. A simple resolution eventually came to me. I would continue my mini vacations on Wednesday mornings, but I had to stop gravitating around Chloe like a moth to a flame. If she wanted to speak to me, she could, but I wouldn't pursue a friendship with her. I wouldn't initiate conversations or send her any emails. It was too dangerous to open myself up to her when I didn't really know her. I was somewhat satisfied with that idea and managed to get on with my evening. I still planned to read more of her stories that night. I wasn't about to let a feast go to waste.