Beth was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping on her shoes, when the last texts came through.
Her head jerked up, and sure enough, there he was—casually leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place—okay, technically, he did—tie hanging loose around his neck, sleeves rolled up as he adjusted his watch.
He looked maddeningly good. Effortless. Confident. The kind of handsome that made her stomach dip. Beth expected to feel uncomfortable with how easily her eyes drank him in…but she didn’t.
That, more than anything, rattled her.
“How did she get your number?”
Bryce shrugged. “No clue.”
“You ready?” he asked.
Beth hesitated. “Actually… can we talk for a sec?”
Bryce gave a playful groan. “That’s never a comforting phrase coming from a woman.”
Beth rolled her eyes but smiled. “It’s nothing bad. I’m nervous about the unknown of people at work finding out we’re married and want to have a plan in place for when questions come up. So I don’t feel taken off guard or put on the spot like last Sunday. And now I know people are going to assume things, I don’t want to lie, but it’s not like we can tell them the truth.”
“And we can’t tell them the truth why?”
“Bryce, I’m serious. Just thinking about what people might ask has had my stomach in knots all week.”
“Do you really want to know what I think?”
“Uh, I think so?” Beth said hesitantly.
“Sweetheart, I think most of your stress comes from trying to find a narrative to spin the fact that you got married without admitting how we got married. Like you have to find the one perfect way of telling people that tiptoes around the line of honesty.”
He paused, then continued, “You don’t have to tell people anything. You can tell people we wanted to keep our relationship quiet because of the gossip mill. They should get it. Or tell them the truth: three years of pent-up attraction for one another led us to the altar. Darlin’, tell them it took two drinks for me to convince you to marry me.”
“I think it took four,” Beth interrupted with a smile.
“Well shoot, I must not be as charming as I think I am.”
“You’re really not,” Beth quipped.
Bryce moved to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He winked. “I get why you’re not eager to tell people we got drunk and married. But trying to find ways to hide it or gloss over what happened—or borderline lies—is just trying to cover up a sin Christ has already wiped clean.”
With his knuckle, Bryce brushed away the tear that slipped down Beth’s cheek.
“You don’t have to hide. We don’t have to hide. Sunday—the way you were treated—would make anyone want to hide. But Christ tells us to bring our brokenness to Him. He doesn’t want us to sweep it under the rug, hide our mistakes to save face with others, or worst of all, convince ourselves that if people really knew us or our struggles, that it would somehow weaken our witness as Christians. God’s character—who He is—is not reliant in any shape or form on our actions. He’s plenty strong enough to handle our mistakes. Rely on His strength.”
Beth exhaled, the weight of his words still pressing gently on her heart.
Then, in an effort to lighten the mood, she teased, “Thank you, Pastor Bryce, for that heavy sermon.”
Smiling tenderly, Bryce leaned in and pressed his lips to the stitches along her hairline—absently noting they would need to come out soon.
“One last thing?” At Beth’s nod, he continued.
“You look at our marriage—at me, to an extent—and feel shame and wonder how you could have done somethingso foolish.”
Beth lowered her gaze as the truth of his words registered.
“I look at our marriage—and you—and feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude that the miracle God used to bring me back to Him…” Tilting her chin up so she would look at him, he finished softly, “… was you.”
