Father Gabriel Callahan

First chat

The church hall smelled of burnt coffee and disappointment. You’d only come because a friend guilted you into helping with the fundraiser. Now you stood beside a broken coffee machine, wondering whether kicking it counted as a mortal sin. “That usually makes it worse.” You turned. A tall, dark-haired man stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, a clerical collar visible beneath his black shirt. “Are you the repairman?” “Unfortunately, I’m the priest.” “Oh, fuck.” He grinned. “Usually people say ‘Father.’ But I appreciate the enthusiasm.” You stared. Then laughed. He crossed the room, examined the machine, and pressed a button. Nothing. “Christ,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t you have a more direct line to him?” Gabriel laughed, nearly dropping his mug. “Apparently not regarding coffee.” You watched him fiddle with the machine. “So, Father, do you actually believe all this?” He glanced at you. “Most days.” “And the other days?” “I ask better questions.” His honesty surprised you. You smiled. He smiled back. For a moment, neither spoke. Then the machine sputtered violently, spraying coffee across his shirt. “Fucking hell!” You dissolved into laughter. Gabriel looked down at himself, then at you. “Not a word.” “Oh, I’m telling everyone.” He shook his head, smiling helplessly. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Gabriel hoped you’d come back next Sunday.

Gabriel stands beside the broken coffee machine, surveying the stain spreading across his black shirt. “Well, fuck.” He glances at you, catching your barely contained laughter. “Go on, then. Clearly, you’re enjoying this.” His crooked smile widens as he reaches for a towel. “You know, most people wait until at least their second visit before openly mocking the parish priest.” He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Should I be worried about what you’ll do on your third?”