The calm before the flames

Isabella woke to the sound of birds and the press of soft sunlight spilling through the curtains. Morning stretched its fingers gently over the wooden floors, turning the modest room into something golden. She stirred beneath the linen sheets, her bare skin humming with the ghost of his touch from the night before. Her lips still tingled from his kisses, and her heart felt wrapped in satin.

Auther wasn’t in bed.

She sat up, letting the cool air kiss her shoulders, the scent of rosemary and old parchment floating in from the kitchen. The little house they shared on the town’s edge had become more than shelter. It was a world of its own—a sanctuary where time slowed down, and the outside world couldn’t always reach them. The past month had been woven with laughter, healing, and touches that felt like prayer.

She wrapped herself in one of his shirts—soft cotton smelling of cedar and clove—and stepped into the kitchen, the wooden floor cool beneath her feet. She found him seated at the small table, shirtless, his broad back to her, a steaming cup in hand, and a Bible lying open before him. The way the sunlight framed him—his silhouette, the cut of his jaw, the faint scar near his collarbone—it made her pause in the doorway.

“You’re up early,” she said, voice still wrapped in sleep.

He turned, smiling, eyes warm and soft. “Couldn’t sleep. Dreamed of you too much.”

She laughed softly, padding toward him. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

He set the cup down and pulled her into his lap. His arms found their way around her like they were made to live there.

“It is when I wake up and you’re not in my arms.”

Their kiss was slow, molten. It wasn’t urgent like those early stolen moments. It was deeper now, deliberate. The kind of kiss that came from knowing, from choosing each other over and over again. Their lips moved together with a familiar reverence, like worship at an altar.

“Come,” he whispered against her lips. “Let’s forget the world today.”

And they did.

They walked barefoot through the garden, Isabella’s laughter trailing behind her like a veil. She tucked herbs into her apron, kissed him with rosemary on her tongue. He lifted her onto the low stone wall, cradled her as if the earth might steal her away if he let go. He whispered poetry into her ear, lines he’d scribbled on scraps of paper when he couldn’t sleep.

Later, they bathed together in the copper tub, steam curling around their limbs. His hands worshipped every inch of her—slow, reverent. She wept softly against his shoulder, overwhelmed not by sadness but by how gentle love could be after so much pain.

“You healed me,” he murmured. “And I didn’t even know I was still bleeding.”

That night, by firelight, they lay tangled beneath the patchwork quilt she made weeks ago. He read to her from Psalms, voice low, as her fingers traced the scars on his chest.

“We’re happy,” she said, almost afraid to speak it aloud.

He cupped her face. “We’re holy.”

And just outside, beneath the oak tree, a pair of eyes watched. But neither of them saw it.

Not yet.

---

The next morning, the town held a small festival—something to celebrate the harvest and the coming of spring rains. Auther and Isabella walked hand in hand through the main square, heads turning at the sight of them. Though he was no longer a priest, the aura hadn’t left him. It shimmered off him like sunlight.

A vendor handed Isabella a small bouquet of lilies, mistaking her for a bride. She blushed. Auther kissed her temple.

“I don’t need a ceremony,” he whispered, “to know that you’re already mine.”

They danced. Beneath lanterns strung like stars, they moved together, her head against his chest, his lips near her ear. When the music faded, they didn’t stop. They danced to their own rhythm, to the beat only their hearts could hear.

They returned home under a sky full of silver. That night, their lovemaking was slow, drawn out like a symphony. Every sigh, every gasp, every whispered name was another note. He kissed the hollows of her hips, and she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

“I want this forever,” she whispered.

He stilled, looking into her eyes, something flickering behind his gaze. “Even if the past tries to claw us back?”

“I’ll burn it down,” she said. “If it tries to take you from me, I’ll burn the whole damn thing down.”

He kissed her then, fiercely. Like a man drowning who just found air.

---

Days passed like dreams. They painted the walls together, spilled flour during baking lessons, read novels by candlelight. Sometimes they simply lay on the floor, fingers entwined, staring at the ceiling like it held the map to their future.

Auther found a small job helping a local bookbinder. It wasn’t much, but it kept them afloat. Every evening, Isabella would wait for him at the gate, barefoot, arms open. He never stopped running to her.

One night, they sat on the porch watching fireflies.

“Tell me a secret,” she said.

He thought for a moment. “When I first saw you in church that day, I thought I saw an angel. I asked God if He was testing me.”

“And what did He say?”

He smiled. “He didn’t answer. So I took it as permission.”

She laughed. “You’re such a sinner now.”

He leaned in, voice rough. “And you made me one.”

She caught his face in her hands. “Then I’m glad I did.”

Their kiss was deep, aching. He carried her inside, and they made love with the desperation of those who feared the dawn. In that moment, nothing else existed but them.

---

But perfection never lasts.

One rainy evening, Isabella found an old envelope in Auther’s coat pocket. There was no name, only a wax seal she didn’t recognize. She didn’t open it. She waited.

When he came home, soaked and smiling, she stood in the doorway holding it.

His smile faltered. “Where did you find that?”

“Your coat.”

A beat passed between them. Rain tapped on the windows like impatient fingers.

“Who is she?” Isabella asked, her voice soft. Too soft.

He stepped forward. “Someone from a long time ago. Someone I thought was gone.”

“Is she the reason you left your last parish?”

“No,” he said, quick. “But she was part of the reason I buried myself in that life.”

“Is she coming back?”

His silence was answer enough.

But Isabella didn’t cry. She stepped into his arms. “Then hold me like it’s the last time. Make me forget.”

He did. With every touch, every kiss, he erased the shadows. That night, they became fire and ash and something deeper. That night, they vowed without words to hold onto their heaven, no matter the storm.

But the seal on that letter wasn’t just a ghost. It was a promise. Catherine would come. And she would not come quietly.