“Of course,” she said, teasing, as she eased herself on top of him. Very slowly. “Like this?” she asked sweetly.
Rafe made a gurgling sound of assent.
Then she noticed something and flicked a piece of gold dust off his eyelash. “You rat! This isn’t gold dust. It’s dime-store glitter.”
He grinned and put his hands on her hips, holding her in place.
She punched his chest, which was heaving with amusement, at her expense. “You didn’t throw away your gold, did you?”
“Now, honey, I may be a fool, but I’m not a gold-plated fool.”
With a lot of convincing, she agreed.
Epilogue
In a place far, far away, St. Augustine turned to the Celestial Majesty, who was leaning back on His throne, legs propped on a cloud.
“We did good, didn’t we?” the former reprobate beamed.
“Yep!” God said, but not in a boastful way. Boasting was not God-like. Still, He added, with a little chuckle, “Another one for our side!”
St. Augustine started to give his boss a high-five, but stopped himself (the grace of humility still came hard for him). Instead, he handed God a clipboard, and He made a huge check mark with a golden marker. God had a thing about clipboards.
“Who’s next?” God said, rubbing his hands with anticipation. “Has anyone seen that fourth Wiseman? The one who got lost on the way to Bethlehem?”