Page 4 of Divine Temptations

“Welcome to Meadowgrove,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. “We got one gas station, no stoplights, and half a church.”

Ethan gave me this polite preacher-smile like he was used to dealing with bullshit politely. “Thanks.”

We stood there for a beat too long, hands dropped, neither of us moving.

“So,” I said, rocking back on my heels. “You want the fifty-cent tour? I know this place better than the folks who worship here.”

He blinked. “You attend First Light Fellowship?”

I laughed. “God, no.” Then I cleared my throat. “Sorry. That came out real... Old Testament.”

His eyebrows ticked up, just enough to make me think he’d heard worse but still felt obligated to comment. “I take it you’re not a believer?”

I shrugged and looked toward the roof like it might offer divine cover. “Let’s just say me and the Big Guy have an agreement. I don’t bother Him, and he doesn’t smite me.”

Ethan didn’t laugh, exactly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

I opened the heavy side door and motioned for him to go in. “After you, Preacher Man.”

He hesitated like he was bracing himself, then stepped inside.

The sanctuary smelled like old wood, wax, and hymnals left out too long in the sun. The air was stale but quiet in that churchy way, like the building was holding its breath.

“It’s... charming,” Ethan said, glancing up at the cracked stained glass that let in strips of colored light.

“Charming if you’re into mold and mice.”

He ran a hand along one of the pews, looking thoughtful. “You said you don’t come here, but you know the place?”

I nodded. “Been fixing it since I was seventeen. Roof, plumbing, pew legs, busted doors. You name it, I’ve patched it.”

He looked at me then—really looked—and I saw the curiosity behind the calm. The preacher had eyes that didn’t just see, but searched. Like he was trying to figure out if I was a threat or just a smartass in a tool belt.

“You’re the caretaker?”

“Unofficially. They hire me under the table. Guess it’s easier than paying a real company.”

“And they don’t... mind your beliefs?” he asked, careful-like.

I smiled. “They don’t ask. And I don’t tell ‘em I hit up The Park in Roanoke twice a month, order whiskey sours, and tip the drag queens after a great show.”

That finally got a genuine reaction. Preacher man coughed into his hand and glanced away.

“Sorry,” I added, not sorry at all. “Too much?”

“It’s... enlightening,” Ethan said after a second. “Though maybe not exactly what I’d share in Sunday announcements.”

“Fair.”

I started walking toward the little raised pulpit at the front of the room. The microphone was taped together, and the altar cloth had a burn mark from a Christmas candle incident nobody liked to talk about. I glanced back to see him following, head tilted slightly, like he was trying to see the place with grace despite the rot.

“You preachin’ your first sermon this Sunday?” I asked, more curious than I meant to sound.

“Yes.”

“Well,” I said, leaning against the railing, “good luck. You’ll need it.”

He looked at me, unsure if I meant that as encouragement or warning.