After all, didn’t Emily Dickinson die an old maid?“Father? I didn’t quite catch your name? Are you a Jesuit?” the nun inquired, still a bit co...fused.“Father Mark. Let’s leave it at that,” I smiled, though somewhat flirtatiously, just not too brazen about it ... it was intended to sound unintentional and playful.“Okay, Father Mark. I’m Sister Amanda. Nice to meet you. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of a Father Mark in this parish at all,” the thirtysomething nun answered, but something in her. His unblemished nose was framed by wide cheekbones, giving his face a noble, strong look, fitting his body well. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but his brow was unmarred by worry lines. His only visible flaw was a small scar on his left cheek, less than half an inch long, probably the result of a childhood accident as it was faded and obviously old. His clothing marked him as financially well off, and Lacie felt burgeoning hope grow in her chest. He didn’t appear to be very old, probably. More

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