The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,11
a brother and a sister—they’re both out of state and deep into their own lives. I was raised with Jesus from day one. My parents are in Africa on a mission for as long as they can be. They love the work.” Her eyes unfocused as she looked inward. “I was a shy girl—except in church. I loved to sing in the choir.” In a blink, she was right back in this room. “I can’t lead music or play the organ. Shoot. You weren’t looking for a choir director, were you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got that covered.”
She sagged with exaggerated relief.
He swallowed back telling her about his guitar and love for music. Even though he thought she’d be supportive, it was such a big part of who he was that he wasn’t ready to share it with her yet. That was okay. Even if she never sang in front of anyone, he’d be happy just to know she appreciated music.
“Anyway, skip a few years. I worked, but I wasn’t happy there. So, when I saw your ad, I answered it. And here we are.” She spread her hands wide and then dropped them quickly.
That was a good start—and a base for a lot of questions. “Okay. Lightning round Q and A.”
She sat up taller.
“Did you walk or ride the bus to school?” he asked.
“Neither—we carpooled. You?”
“Bus. Favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Salted caramel.”
“Mint chocolate chip,” he said without waiting for her to ask. “Have you ever been in love?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. He waited, but she didn’t pop out an answer. A breath later, she gathered up the used napkins and stuffed them into the garbage under the sink. She didn’t look at him, and the fun that they’d bantered between them now hid in one of the clean cupboards.
He kicked himself for throwing in that question. It had popped into his head, and he hadn’t filtered until it was too late.
“Thank you for a wonderful night. I think I’m tired. I’m going to make up a bed.”
The heaviness of the unanswered question was a gulf between them that he didn’t know how to cross. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not you.” She put her hands in her back pockets. “It’s been a big day.”
Her words did little to assuage his worry that he’d messed up—on their wedding day.
She headed for the small hallway that led to the two bedrooms. “Did you have a preference?” She pointed in both directions at the same time.
“Take the one on the right.” It was the master, and she’d have her own bathroom for privacy. “We have a meeting with the board at eight tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes rounded. “Do I need to do anything?”
“No. They want to meet you is all. Introduce themselves.”
She nodded and then yawned. “I can handle that.”
There was no doubt in his mind that she could. She’d be gracious and beautiful and kind—everything a pastor’s wife should be and more.
“Good night.” She walked out of sight, and a few seconds later, he heard the bedroom door shut.
He sat at the table for a few minutes. Realizing that they had over half a pizza left, he shut the lid and shoved the whole thing in the fridge.
By not answering the question about having been in love, she had answered. Who was this man? How could he have been so stupid as to let her go? And why did the memories of it haunt her? Was she still in love?
He clutched at the hope that she was not. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility of marrying a woman who was in love with another man. That would be … tragic.
He drifted in and out of the other rooms in the house before finally going into his room and putting fresh sheets on the bed. After changing and a prayer, he cracked his door open in case she needed him in the night.
Chapter Six
Evie
Evie’s hands shook with nerves as she and Seth stood outside the church doors. He hadn’t been given the keys to the building, and Mr. White, the head of the church board, had said he’d meet them here to officially hand them over.
The church itself was beautiful: mature trees gave a beautiful background to a stone exterior and a steeple that could be seen for miles around. All of it spoke of a place of peace and love.
She yanked her hand down, forbidding herself from chewing on her thumbnail ever again. She might