CHAPTER 12EZRA Sunlight slanted through the window beside me, too bright, making me squint.I shifted uncomfortably, but before I could say anything, Father Dorian reached over me and slid the curtain down.Close. Too close.His shoulder brushed mine. His arm was right there, solid and unyielding. His cologne—or whatever priests wore—wrapped around me, clean and warm, edged with something sharper.I froze. My throat tightened.“Better?” he asked, his voice low.I hiccupped.Hiccuped.“Oh my God,” I muttered, covering my face.Lily leaned, whispering, “Are you seriously hiccuping right now?”“Shut up,” I hissed.Father Dorian’s lips curved, almost but not quite a smile. He turned his gaze back toward the aisle, like the moment meant nothing. Like my insides weren’t combusting.Then I noticed something. His sleeves had rolled up when he reached for the curtain. His forearm stretched, the skin tight, and there—ink.Without thinking, I blurted, “Is a priest even supposed to have tattoos
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