Page 3 of Divine Temptations

But I couldn’t. Not here. Not with the grease and grime clinging to the laminate countertops and the faint, unsettling hum of something living under the sink.

I set my food on the counter and wandered the place in search of cleaning supplies. I searched under the sink, in the narrow hallway closet, even in the little bathroom with its salmon-pink tiles and cracked mirror.

Nothing. Not even a half-used bottle of bleach or a sponge hardened into stone.

I rubbed my face with both hands and sighed again. “Okay,” I muttered, “the Lord helps those who help themselves.”

Maybe the church had supplies. They probably used them to wipe down pews and clean up after potlucks and toddler meltdowns. It was worth a shot.

I stepped out into the blazing sun, letting the screen door slam behind me, and started walking toward First Light Fellowship. The cicadas were in full swing now, buzzing like a warning siren in the trees. I was halfway across the patchy yard when something stopped me.

Music.

Soft, delicate. Classical. Something piano-heavy and wistful. Chopin, maybe? It floated through the air like it didn’t belong here. Too beautiful for this dusty, broken place.

Then came laughter. Rich, full-bodied, male. A warm, effortless sound that curled around me and pulled me closer without permission.

I glanced up.

There was a man on the church roof, crouched down near the edge. Shirtless. Tan skin gleaming in the sun, shoulders broad and sculpted like a Greek statue left out in the Southern heat too long. He was wearing worn jeans that rode low on his hips, and a red bandana was tied around one wrist. His hair, black and wild, curled at the ends, damp with sweat. There was a tool belt slung around his waist, and he moved with serene confidence, like he’d been doing this kind of work forever.

Oh no.

I stopped dead in my tracks, pulse stuttering like a bad transmission.

No, no, no. Don’t do this, Ethan. Don’t start this again.

But it was already happening. The heat in my chest, the clench low in my gut, the inexplicable sense that I’d just seen something dangerous and holy at the same time.

“God,” I whispered, “please. Not now.”

And I meant it. But prayer’s a funny thing. It doesn’t always work on your schedule.

Because right then, the man looked down and caught me staring.

His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but I knew he saw me. Knew it by the grin that spread across his face, slow and playful, like he’d just caught a cat sneaking into a fish market.

“Hey there!” he called, voice deep and twangy. “I’m Jake. Fixing the roof. Are you the new Preacher Man?”

Chapter Two

Jake

The new preacher looked like he just stepped out of a damn Calvin Klein ad, and he had eyes like he’d seen too much.

I was halfway through hammering a stubborn shingle back into place when I saw him. Tall, buttoned-up, hair too nice for this humidity. He stood out here like a piano in a pigpen. One hand rested on his hip, the other shading his eyes as he stared up at me, squinting into the sun like he wasn’t sure if I was part of the scenery or a hallucination.

“Be down in a minute!” I shouted, setting the hammer down with a clunk.

He gave a brief nod, stiff as a fencepost.

I climbed down the ladder, slow and easy, making a point not to trip and bust my ass in front of the preacher. When I hit the grass, I dusted my hands on my jeans and took a few steps forward, trying not to make it weird. Which meant it was already weird.

The guy looked good. Like real good. Slim-fit slacks, pressed shirt rolled at the sleeves, skin just golden enough to suggest he got sun without trying. His jaw was firm and tense, like he washolding something back. Grief, maybe. Or temptation. Not that I was projecting or anything.

I stuck my hand out. “Jake.”

He took it after a second’s hesitation. His grip was warm, and his voice careful. “Ethan.”