She smiled against my lips. “Food can wait,” she said, fingers slipping under my shirt.
“Yeah?” I rasped. “After I got all dressed up for ya and everything…”
Her smile turned wicked as she met my eyes again. “You know I prefer you naked.”
She kissed me again, deep and unhurried—then she pulled back just enough to murmur, “You wanna see the rest of the house before I strip you down right here?”
I laughed low against her throat, dragging my nose along her jaw. “I want whatever you’ll show me.”
“You’re not just talking about my boobs?”
I barked out a surprised laugh. “No, June, I’m not just talkin’ about your boobs.”
She grinned, then tugged my hand. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s do the tour, then.”
CHAPTER 23
June
Barefoot,wild, and in love, we made our way deeper into our house.
222 Main Street wasn’t much…but it was perfect for us. Built in 1933, with solid wood floors, white walls, and a brand spankin’ new AC—an absolute must in the Georgia summer—I’d gotten it for a complete steal with a little help from the church ladies. Birdie had gone personally to talk to Jamie and Cooper, the previous owners, about how much hope they had for the church…and my role in making sure the Remnant Fellowship never came back. Loretta Evers had contributed a little nest egg of savings she’d been keeping handy in case we ever re-established a congregation. Francine had pitched in with appliances, calling on connections in Savannah.
And now…me and Silas had a house.
Our house.Our home.
Maybe our child’s home someday.
I glanced over my shoulder to look at Silas, catching him watching me like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. He gave me a hapless smile, shaking his head.
“You’re really somethin’, June Fontenot,” he said—aphrase I was getting accustomed to whenever I did something that surprised him.
My smile faded for a moment, nerves hitting me hard. “Are you sure you like it?”
He huffed out a laugh. “I love it…just constantly in awe of you, baby.”
I gave his hand a little tug and kept moving, heart fluttering. “Come on,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Let me show you the rest.”
The kitchen was the first thing on the menu—food warm on the stove, though it might not be by the time we were done. It didn’t matter; not when he was here, when I wanted so much more from him. I’d already put up a bookshelf courtesy of Delilah, and my most prized possessions were lined up there: recipe books from back home for all the good Cajun cooking, plus a collection of texts on sacred sexuality, holy bodies, and women prophets.
Silas reached out to skim his fingers along the spine.
“You gotWomen Who Preach Fireright next toThe Joy of Crawfish,” he said.
“I like balance,” I replied. “And I saved a shelf here—for your occult shit and your westerns.”
He huffed a soft laugh, eyes still locked on the books. “I don’t think anybody’s ever shelved folk demonology next to gumbo before.”
“I’m pioneering a new classification system,” I said.
He eyed me. “I can’t tell if you’re jokin’ or not.”
I leaned in. “That’s part of my mystique,” I said. “Now, come on…let’s go see the bathroom.”
I tugged on his hand again, and we crossed the living room to the tiny hallway—bathroom on the left, extra bedroom on the right, main bedroom straight ahead. I flicked on the light in the bathroom to reveal what the Wrights had clearly done the most work on: a renovatedclawfoot tub, corner shower, and shiny new vanity. Silas blew out a breath.
“Well, it certainly beats the standing shower at the parsonage,” he said, stepping in to slide his hand along the edge of the tub. “This thing’s huge.”
