Trust Fall

ponytail. Coming up from behind her daughter, she kissed Cassandra who was slapping a spoon on the lump inside her cereal bowl. “Cassie, stop playing and eat...or you’ll be late for school.”
“I don’t want to.” The girl spanked her breakfast again. “This is gross.”
Approaching Ashford, who was gumming a mound of the same paste, Devlin spun around and lifted a finger. “Watch your tone, young lady.”
Cassandra sat straighter. “Sorry.” She made a face at her sticky meal before forcing a small spoonful of the gray mush into her mouth.
Devlin spun back, clutched her husband’s shoulders, and kissed him, getting a taste of the oatmeal in the process. “Good morn—” she put fingers to her lips and winced. “Oh, wow.”
“I know.” After holding his spoon vertical—none of the slop on the utensil moved—Ashford dropped the silverware into the half-empty bowl and set the container on the counter. “I gave it my best shot, but...I’m done.”
She wiped her mouth and swallowed hard. “Feel free to make her something else.”
Opening the refrigerator door, “Way ahead of you,” he removed a carton of eggs. “How many do you want?”
“None.” She poured coffee into a travel mug. “I have to go.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Devlin gave Cassandra another kiss. “How about I pick you up from school? We can stop at the park on the way home.”
The little girl beamed at her mother. “Really?”
“Really.” Devlin stretched out her arms. “Now, come on. Give me hugs.”
Cassandra pivoted in her seat and raised her arms. “Love you, Mom.”
Devlin hugged and kissed her child, “I love you, too, babe.” She rubbed the girl’s back a couple times, “Be good,” and left the house, Ashford right behind her.
She opened the driver’s door to her black cherry, Ford F-150, placed her coffee mug on the console, and turned back to her man. “Plan on me picking up Cassie unless I call you.”
He nodded and lifted a brown paper lunch bag.
Chuckling, she unrolled the sack and stuck her nose inside.
“A bagel with peanut butter...and low-fat yogurt and fresh fruit.” He twirled a finger. “The yogurt and fruit are already mixed.”
Devlin put the bag next to her coffee and faced him, smiling. “You’re so good to me.” Holding his cheeks in her hands, she kissed him. “I don’t deserve you.”
He bobbed his head from side to side. “Can’t argue with you there.”
Her eyes got bigger, and her mouth fell open a bit before she went in for a longer kiss.
A football player in college, making the team as a linebacker, but later switching to running back, Ashford swallowed her up, his six-foot, two hundred pound athletic frame—wide shoulders, narrow waist, heavily muscled arms and legs—engulfing her.
“Don’t mind me...just passing through.”
Hearing the familiar elderly voice, Ashford nearly pushed Devlin into the truck to separate the two of them. He smiled at the man dressed in a black suit, black shirt, and black shoes. He glimpsed the Roman collar and white clerical tab. “Good morning, Father.”
Recovering from the shove, Devlin stood straight, frowned at Ashford, and smiled at her father. “Hi Dad. Getting an early start?”
“Last minute meeting with a young couple I’m marrying this weekend.”
Ashford lifted a hand. “Have a good day, Father.”
The sixty-one-year-old opened the door to his car, stuck a foot inside, and regarded his male counterpart. “You really don’t have to be so formal, son.” He tipped his head back, glanced at the sky, and smiled at Ashford. “The Almighty won’t send down fire and brimstone if you call me by my first name.”
“Thank you, Fath—” Ashford nodded at the shorter, gray-haired man, who sported sparkling blue eyes and whiter-than-normal teeth for a man of his advanced years. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Snickering under his breath, the man in black sunk into the vehicle and shut the door.
As the late-model car backed out of the driveway, Ashford shook his head at the front grille. “I always feel,” he rolled his shoulders, “strange around your dad. I mean he’s a Catholic priest for crying out loud.”
After Devlin’s mother died when she was a little girl, Devlin’s father had raised her and her sister by himself. He never remarried or dated another woman. When Devlin started college, he took an early retirement and started the process to become a priest, taking the final steps when she was married and on her own. Three years ago, he became Father Martin Mahoney. After the death of Devlin’s husband, Father Mahoney moved in with his widowed daughter to help care for Cassandra.
“I don’t know why, but when we’re all together...in the same room, I...I feel like I’m,” Ashford hesitated, “violating his daughter or something.”
A short snigger later, Devlin put fingers to his chin and turned his head toward her. “Well...”
He eyed the broad grin on her face.
“...that was some pretty good violating you did last night.”
Wincing, hunching his shoulders, “Please don’t...” he pressed palms to his ears, gave the departing Chevy another look, and shook his head at her, “don’t say it like that.”
She laughed, “I’m sorry,” before laying hands on his waist. “Look, my father was married, Curt. He has two daughters. He’s well aware of what a married couple does in their bedroom.”
Ashford’s chest heaved before he looked away and sighed. “I know, but still...”
She clutched his upper arms. “You need to get past this feeling. And I think there’s no better way to do that than with some more...togetherness.”
He saw a twinkle in her eye.
“So after we put Cassie to bed tonight, how about you and I do some more...” violating, “tender...gentle...loving? Does that sound better?”
He smiled. “So when you say get past this feeling, what you’re really saying is I need to...get right back on the horse.”
Her eyebrows shot upward.
He heard his words in his mind. “Not that you’re a horse and I’m...” gawking beyond her shoulder, out the Ford’s passenger window, “although,” he tapped his lips with a forefinger, “at certain times last night, it did look,” he rotated the digit her way, “like you were riding—”
Devlin gripped his