The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,14

bring a check to cover paper goods. Everything you need is in here.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the now-disarrayed room. “I’ll be in with a few deacons setting up tables and chairs in the reception hall. Maybe next time, you could have a few centerpieces for the tables.”

“Umm. Umm.” Her brain stalled at all she had to do. “Centerpieces?”

“Sure. Something to make the place look nice.”

Were there specific table decorations for a funeral? Instantly, she pictured coffins and headstones. Somehow, she didn’t think families would appreciate the humor. Her heart sped up. That was all she could come up with, and her brain ran with it, adding black streamers and balloons.

Oh, help! She wasn’t fit for this position. No one had said anything about running a kitchen or decorating tables. She just wanted to take meals to new moms and help people move—maybe teach a Sunday school lesson to three-year-olds. Panic pulled in on her as she looked down a long life of not measuring up.

Seth’s hand found the small of her back. He was warm and soothing. In that small gesture, she suddenly felt like she wasn’t alone in all this. Here he was, leading a whole funeral for a woman he’d never met to a group of strangers, and she was fretting over setting out paper goods. She drew in a breath through her nose, letting it subdue her feelings of panic. Just today. All she had to get through was today. “Sure. I’ll start a Pinterest board.” And open a Pinterest account and figure out what a board is, she thought.

“Looks like you two have it well in hand.” Mr. White shoved his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels. He was probably used to working with competent people who took his expectations in stride.

“Hey.” A teenager popped his head in the door. “Do any of you know where these programs go?”

Seth held out his hand. “I’ll take those and … go hand them out as people come in.” He made his way toward the viewing room.

Mr. White and Evie followed him into the hall. “Introduce yourself, son.” Mr. White turned the other direction to supposedly set up tables and chairs.

Seth’s shoulders hunched at being called son, and a tangible sense of lowness swirled around him. Like he didn’t quite measure up. Like the word caused him pain. Not physical pain, but the kind that happened to the spirit. How Evie knew that being called son what caused him to throw up a protective wall, she wasn’t sure. She just knew.

A lot of puzzle pieces fell into place all at once.

Seth’s nerves and the tone of voice he used.

His embarrassment over her joking around in front of Mr. White—even though he’d joked with her the day before.

Wow. Seth had something to prove—though she wasn’t quite sure who he was trying to prove it to, himself or Mr. White.

She glanced behind her at Mr. White’s squared shoulders just before he disappeared into the gathering room. He may or may not have chosen his words carefully. She didn’t know him well enough to know if he’d meant to sting like a hornet. She suspected he wasn’t out to cause harm in the world, though maybe he liked to stay on top of the pile.

She whipped back around and called out, “Seth?”

He paused and turned to her.

She scrambled for something to say that would ease the small wound. Something that would build him back up to the man who had walked confidently into the judge’s chambers yesterday and married her. The man who had confidence, not in himself, but because he chose to walk with God. She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Knock ’em dead.” She gave him a thumbs-up. A breath later, her words registered, and her cheeks warmed. Why did her brain have to come up with the most inappropriate encouragement for a funeral?

Seth’s eyes crinkled at the corners as a real, blossoming smile spread across his face. The result was breathtaking and thought-taking and knee-shaking. It was like watching all her teenage crushes smile in person. She’d had a thing for men with chin-length dark hair. Thank goodness he had a clean-shaven face. If he’d had scruff, she would have fainted right there.

“I think that’s been taken care of.” He winked, and her breath caught. “I just have to make sure I don’t put them to sleep.”

She smiled in relief that he wasn’t offended. “Sorry. I