The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,39

had candlelit dinners and received bouquets of flowers, but nothing spoke to the part of her that was pure woman like the music Seth played just for her.

With a few slower strums, like the winding down of a music box, the notes trailed off.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked quietly, without turning around.

“Because you’ve washed that bowl three times already.”

Her cheeks burned at being caught. She whipped around to face him. “I didn’t want it to end. It was so beautiful.”

He stood up and came to stand in front of her. Her mouth dried at his closeness, and her grip on the bowl tightened.

She swallowed. “What’s the song called?” she asked, wondering if she could download it and relive this precious evening over and over again. She’d thought she was giving him a chance to feed his soul, and instead, he’d fed hers.

“I played you,” he whispered softly as he brushed her cheek.

“Me?”

“I thought about all the beauty that’s inside of you, and I played that.”

“Seth.” His name came out like the soft whisper of a kiss.

He ran his thumb down her jaw. His eyes swept over every inch of her face, drinking her in with such tenderness that it filled her up. “Good night.” He leaned slightly forward, and for a breath, she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Night,” she managed to get out.

Even as he walked down the hall, his steps matched the beat of the music that still hung in the air. Gulping, she looked around the room, taking in the dried and stacked dishes and the feeling of love.

She was in love with him. All of him.

If only he felt the same.

Chapter Seventeen

Seth

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Seth tugged at his tie and then tightened it again, nearly choking himself.

Evie gave him an indulgent look. “It’s a board meeting.” She sat in the front room, a ball of yarn on the floor and a crochet hook in her hands. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’m the one who has to learn a new language.” Her brows came together in an adorably confused expression. “What is an HDC again?” She leaned closer to the page and then looked at the small square in her hand. It wasn’t exactly a square. It was more of a squarish circle with a bulb on one side.

“What’s that going to be?”

“A disaster.” She met his gaze and rolled her eyes at herself. “Do you think I can talk Mrs. Farmly into bread lessons instead of this?” She shook the knotted mess in front of her.

Seth held back his chuckle. Evie wanted to give Mrs. Farmly company, but Mrs. Farmly wouldn’t abide by just a visit—said they wasted time. Instead, she’d offered to give Evie crochet lessons. Evie had agreed, thinking it would be easy. It wasn’t. Which meant she spent an awful lot of time counting under her breath and perhaps uttering a few naughty words while she was at it.

He liked that about her. She was a preacher’s wife, and a darn good one, but a ball of yarn had gotten the best of her.

“I think you’re doing a wonderful thing.” The urge to lean over and kiss her head was so strong that he had to force himself to step back.

“Then why do I feel so horrible?” She glanced at the instructions and then back at her work and began yanking it apart, the rows melting away.

He picked up the ball and wound the excess. “Because you’re trying something new and stretching your abilities.”

She stopped yanking and looked down at him where he worked. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

“Me? What are you talking about?”

She considered him a moment, a tiny line appearing between her brows. He tried his best to not look guilty. She should be going with him to the meeting. This was the big day—his moment to convince the board that a youth program was more important than whatever else they wanted to spend the money on. There had been whispers about a new parking lot. It wasn’t that they didn’t need it; he just couldn’t justify the expense when there were kids out there who could benefit—kids as lost as he had been who needed mentors.

They needed women like Evie to look up to.

The youth program would include her too—in a major way. She should be at the meeting to present her ideas. But he wanted to do this for her. She