Page 110 of Divine Temptations

I hesitated, then asked, “Where do you work?”

For the first time since I’d met him, Noah actually looked flustered. Color rose along his cheekbones, and he mumbled, “It’s… a bar. Called Babylon.”

The words slipped out before I could stop it. “That’s very biblical.”

That earned me another blush—deeper this time—before he ducked his head, gathering his notes and shoving them into his bag. “Yeah. Guess it is.” He gave me a quick grin, more shy than his usual smirk, and then he was gone, moving through the library with easy strides until the doors closed behind him.

I stayed where I was, staring at the space he’d left behind.

The thing was, I’d never had many friends growing up. No one stuck around long enough to get past my nose-in-a-book, homework-over-weekends personality. School had always been my companion, my project partner, my safety net. People were… complicated.

But Noah didn’t feel like a complication right now. Then an idea slid into my mind, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

Go to Babylon.

It was a bar, which meant he was probably a bartender. I could sit at the counter, order a glass of wine, and we could keep talking. Pick up where we left off about Winesburg, Ohio or argue about whether every novel was secretly a love story.

But showing up at his job might send the wrong message.

Then again… was it the wrong message?

Chapter Five

Henry

Song of Songs 2:9 — Behold, he stands behind our wall, looking through the windows, peering through the lattice.

The city bus rattled along, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and my knee bounced like it was trying to drum a hole through the grimy floor. I kept telling myself this was a good idea—surprising Noah at work, showing him I wasn’t afraid of where he lived his life. He’d smile when he saw me, right? That easy, mischievous smile that made me forget to breathe for a second. Maybe he’d even pick up our conversation about books like we hadn’t been interrupted, as though this was perfectly natural: me visiting him, him welcoming me.

Or maybe I’d walk through the door of this place with the biblical name—Babylon, for God’s sake—and my brain would turn to static. I’d stand there like some lost Sunday school teacher, clutching my bag and sweating through my shirt.

I tried out lines in my head like a deranged rehearsal.

“So, Noah, I figured if you wouldn’t stay at the library, I’d bring the library to you.”

No. Too weird.

“Funny running into you here. What are the odds?”

Except the odds were one hundred percent because I tracked him down.

“Do you serve communion wafers with those drinks, or is that just a Sunday night thing?”

Good Lord. That one made me snort out loud.

I must’ve laughed harder than I realized, because the woman next to me—a middle-aged lady in a cardigan with a reusable grocery tote on her lap—snapped her head around. She blinked at me, expressing a blend of suspicion and concern, like she’d accidentally sat beside a madman. A beat later, she gathered her bag, stood up, and shuffled down the aisle to take another seat.

That did it. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but nervous giggles still bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest. Holy hell. Maybe I was losing my marbles.

No—no, not losing them. Just… delayed. I was going through stuff I should’ve figured out as a teenager. How to talk to people. How to flirt. How not to look like I’d been raised in a monastery and released into society on a trial basis. Back when other kids were fumbling through crushes and heartbreaks, I was burying myself in theology textbooks, praying for certainty, praying for a future where my doubts would vanish if I just worked harder. And here I was, nearly thirty, laughing like an idiot on a city bus because I had no idea how to talk to a man I liked.

I was still chuckling when I caught sight of the window. The bus stop I needed slid right past.

“Crap.”

I scrambled to my feet and pressed the plastic strip along the wall. A chime dinged, the bus wheezed to the curb, and amoment later I was out on the sidewalk, retracing my steps with the late summer heat pressing down on me.

A block later, Babylon appeared.