The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,18
this for the living room?” she asked, holding up a painting of a bowl of fruit. An awful painting. The banana had three 90-degree angles. The frame was worse than the picture, made of barn wood with splinters poking out of one end.
“I—” He hesitated, looking for a kind way to say what he thought.
She laughed. “I’m kidding.” She set the frame down and stepped away, brushing her fingers across her jeans.
He let out the breath he’d been holding and chuckled. “I like that, though.” He pointed to a lamp made from deer antlers.
She looked him over with a sharp eye and then gushed falsely. “Me too! Let’s flip a coin to see who gets to keep it in their room.”
He pulled a quarter out of his pocket. “Call it in the air.”
“Tails.”
He caught the coin and flipped it over on the back of his hand. “Ah, heads.”
“You lucky duck.” She elbowed him lightly.
They walked right past the lamp and toward the kitchenware, neither of them stopping to pick it up.
“I have to ask you something.” She stepped ahead of them and picked a plate up off of a stack on the shelf. It was blue with a darker rim and several chips. She put it back.
“Shoot.” He leaned his forearms on the shopping cart, content to let her pick plates and bowls.
“Why didn’t you get married before?” She eyed another plate, this one purple. There were three matching bowls but only one other plate. She put it back too. “I mean, you’re funny, easy to be around, not too bad to look at …”
His chest filled up with something akin to caveman pride.
“What’s the deal?”
He huffed out a breath as he tried to wrap words around the history that kept him from trying for a woman like her, a woman who was out of his league. Maybe he’d done something in this life to deserve her, though he wasn’t sure what. More likely, it was God saying, You need some help, boy. I’m going to give you a boost. “Let’s just say I’m Goodwill relationship material.”
“You’re chipped?” She held up a black plate and pointed to the white scar.
He nodded. “Exactly. I’m not department store quality.”
“You mean I settled?” She played her hand over her chest and gave him a teasing smile.
“Something like that. I didn’t even start out new, though. I grew up in …” He paused, searching for delicate words. “A lower-income neighborhood and situation.”
That was putting it nicely. His dad was a slobbering drunk. Even though he was a happy drunk, he couldn’t hold a job and he was a bad husband and a worse father. His mom worked, but she drank to escape her own horrors. They’d split a few years ago. Not a surprise to anyone who knew them. Mom was sober now, but Dad had taken a turn for the worse.
His mentor at the seminary had asked if he wanted to become a preacher to atone for his parents’ sins. He hadn’t had an answer for that, and he’d not spoken of his past since. Which made Evie in his life all the more of a miracle. One he wanted to be worthy of, and not mess up. Was it possible for a person to mess up a miracle? Probably not. Miracles were literally the workings of God, and no one could mess with God’s will.
Evie’s brow furrowed at his confession.
Then again … if there was a way to mess up a miracle, he’d be the one to find it.
His instinct was to brush his fingers over her forehead and wipe her worry away. He placed his hands over hers on the edge of the plate. “I may not have come from a good place, but I want to go to one. I promise you, I will work hard for a good marriage and do my best for you.”
Her forehead smoothed and her shoulders lowered. “That sounds like a department store promise to me.”
A shot of panic went through him. Her expectations were too high. If she wanted a family like the ones he’d seen at church, with little kids all lined up in matching bows and dresses, she was in for a big letdown. Because no matter how hard he tried, his past always came back to haunt him. Either he made a dumb mistake, or he dropped the ball, or he missed something important. He didn’t know why he did those things, but he did.
And the thought of doing that to