I stayed buried in her, forehead pressed to hers, heart still pounding.
She was smiling. Wrecked and beautiful andmine.
“You still tired?” she asked softly, brushing her fingers throughmy hair.
“God, yes,” I muttered, still breathless. “But I’d give you round two if you asked real nice.”
She huffed a laugh, then kissed me—soft and slow, her body still trembling under mine. “Later,” she whispered. “Right now, just hold me.”
So I did. Wrapped her up in my arms, our skin damp, our legs tangled. The storm faded outside, birds beginning their morning chorus, and the whole world felt clean.
Whole.
Ours.
CHAPTER 31
June
I thinkI fell in love with Silas’s family before I ever fell in love with Silas…and now, I got to be one of them.
Mabel’s was packed—the kind of packed that only happened once a year, when cryptid hunters descended on Willow Grove for the annual Gloaming Festival. Every table was full; diners wore shirts that read “I Saw Bigfoot” or “Mothman is My Co-Pilot.” Someone sitting at the counter had brought a pair of homemade night-vision goggles and was explaining Bigfoot mating calls to a politely nodding Francine and Birdie.
It was chaos.
The wonderful, strange chaos ofhome.
I slid into the booth between Silas and Willow, Hazel already gnawing on a biscuit in her mother’s lap like she hadn’t eaten in days. Rhett passed me the coffee pot without even asking, Beau openly staring at a man in a cape who claimed to be a professional chupacabra tracker.
I poured a cup of coffee for myself and Silas, who leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.
“Thank you very much, Reverend Ward,” he murmured.
I smiled, glancing around to see if anyone had caught that. Everyone else was thoroughly distracted by the spectacle.
I just smiled wider. “You’re welcome very much, Mr. Ward.”
Whit slid into the booth beside Silas, clearing his throat like he was sick of the PDA. “Delilah’s parking,” he said. “She had to stop and take a picture of some UFO hunters with tinfoil hats.”
“Dear God,” Silas muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Oh, come on,” I teased. “You survived a tent revival with a rattlesnake-wielding madman. I’m sure you can handle a few cryptid enthusiasts.”
“Speaking of which…have you got something special planned for this week’s service?” Willow asked with a sly smile.
“I was considering a sermon titledThe Gloamhorn and the Shepherd: On Being Known and Not Seen,” I said, deadpan as could be.
Silas sputtered on his coffee.
Whit immediately perked up. “Now that’s a service I’d go to,” he said. “You could tie it into like…spiritual camouflage. Hiding from your calling. Avoiding eye contact with destiny.”
“Oh that’s good,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Isaiah in the wilderness, but make it cryptid-core.”
Delilah groaned and dropped into a seat beside Whit. “Please—don’t encourage him.”
Willow looked delighted. “Oh no, keep going. I think this is the most spiritual I’ve felt since the wexorcism.”
“I might even open with a reading from the Gospel of Mothman,” I said. “Lo, he did appear on the bridge, and the people were afraid. But the collapse was not his fault.”
