The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,10
of the box. “This is the best wedding dinner ever.” She took another large bite and chewed slowly, savoring it.
“I have to agree.” He leaned back in his seat and set a napkin over his chest. His lower back thanked him, and his feet thudded sorely with his heartbeat.
She took a second to look over the kitchen/dining area, and he did the same. They were seated at a round table with three chairs. It could use some sanding and stain, but it was solidly made. The sink was under a window that looked out over the yard. The cupboards were all open. Someone from the church must have cleaned after the last pastor had moved out. There wasn’t a cup, dish, spoon, or napkin to be found.
“I guess we’ll need to buy some things.” He tapped a lower door with his foot, shutting it.
“Like plates.” She lifted another napkin and wiped her lips.
“I thought you were going to pack the plates,” he teased.
She lifted a shoulder. “My old roommate owned the house and everything in it. You?”
“Confirmed bachelor. I eat out a lot.”
She laughed lightly.
“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said in a husky, intimate voice he didn’t know he had.
She paused, and the laugh cut short as her cheeks turned dusty pink. The sound died between them, creating an awkward little monster. Her face paled and she dropped her eyes to the cream tile.
He instantly regretted his actions. “I relaxed into this too fast,” he backpedaled. She bit her lip, and he hurried to explain what had happened to him, even as the knowledge poured into his mind. “I think that knowing we’re married and there aren’t any dating games to deal with had me feeling more comfortable than I should.” Plus, they’d been joking all afternoon about being married now. She’d talked about being his wife and having a husband. The camaraderie was tentative, really. He should have known better.
“No. I want you to feel comfortable around me.”
He did. He couldn’t explain how easy it was to be with her. Perhaps she wasn’t as comfortable with him, though. “Maybe we should get to know one another more? That might help.”
“That would be good.” She took a small bite of pizza.
“Good? As in ‘good, that will help me feel better,’ or ‘keep talking so I can figure out if you’re a weirdo’?”
“The second one,” she said from behind a napkin as she finished her bite. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.
He wiped his fingers clean. What would be the best way for her to meet him? If he were just introduced to her, he’d start at the beginning. “Let’s see. I was raised by a single mom and had my ‘come to Jesus’ moment my junior year of high school. I went to college on financial aid and worked as an assistant pastor in Colorado for a couple of years before applying for this position.”
“How did you find out about it? I didn’t even know this church was here, and I’ve lived here my whole life.”
He lowered his brow. The calling to Moose Hollow had been a personal feeling—one that he’d kept between him and God. Until now. Instinctually, he knew Evie would understand. “I felt impressed to come here about six months ago. I waited tables, not really sure why I’d uprooted my life, and then one day a woman came in wearing a church hat. You know, the kind with the feathers and flowers and such?”
Evie nodded.
“She spoke about their pastor dying and how the church needed a new one. I got the information and applied the next day. I was in the right place at the right time.”
“Wow.” She set down her crust staring at him like he was a science experiment.
“What about you? What brings you into this marriage?”
She smiled without showing her teeth. “Are you going to ask me what a nice girl like me is doing in a marriage like this?”
“Maybe after your story.”
“Because you don’t know if I’m a nice girl—right?”
“I have a feeling you’re the nicest girl.”
Her cheeks dusted pink, and she chewed her lip. When she looked up, there was a storm of painful clouds in her eyes. His heart yearned to be a harbor of peace where she could leave the clouds behind. But that wasn’t the type of marriage they had. He couldn’t hold her in his arms and whisper words of assurance in her ear or kiss away her sorrows.
“I was your typical suburban child. I have