His eyes stayed on me for a second longer than was polite. Then he nodded once and went back to his food.
But I felt it.
The unspokenI saw that.
The even quieterI won’t make you talk about it.
Delilah picked the conversation back up, eyes finding mine briefly—because she was the only one at this table who knew everything that had happened to me. “So Abel wants the church back? Under what grounds?”
“Legal shit,” Silas said. “Claims they’re invoking some emergency reinstatement clause in their original charter.”
I snorted, shaking my head.
Silas peered at me. “Somethin’ funny?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That isabsolutelynot a real thing—not in most ecclesiastical structures, especially not in churches that filed their paperwork in the ‘90s. If it’s a nonprofit corporation, the state would have required proof of continuity—board members, leadership, bylaws. He’d need to prove he’s still legally associated with that structure.”
Everyone stopped to look at me.
“Not that I’m a lawyer,” I added. “But I know enough about church politics to sniff it out when something is clearly bullshit.”
Rhett gave a slow nod. “Sounds like you know more than enough.”
“Had to,” I said. “I spent years studying the ways people use church law to hurt the people they’re supposed to shepherd, and groups like that? They bluff. They count on folks not knowing their rights, especially in small towns.”
Delilah grinned at me, looking around the table. “My best friend issmart, y’all. Be impressed.”
I blushed, noting that Silas hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
“You think we can fight it?” he asked.
“I think you barely even have to fight it,” I said. “They don’t have a right to the property, full stop. But if you want to strengthen your case…would be easy enough just to form a congregation. If you’re holding community events or services in the building, even if it’s just prayer groups or potlucks, that’s considered active use. It makes it harder for him to claim abandonment.”
Willow let out a pleased laugh. “That’s…actually brilliant.”
I shrugged, self-conscious. “It’s not magic. Just how the system works.”
Beau leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “You sayin’ we start our own church?”
“No,” I said, smiling faintly. “I’m saying you claim the one you already have. No fire and brimstone. No guilt. Just…show up. Open the doors. Make it a place peoplewantto be.”
Rhett glanced at Willow. “I don’t hate the idea,” he said. “Folks have been lookin’ for somethin’ new ever since the old guard fell apart, and I’m sure the old ladies in town who think we need Jesus?—”
“—can deal with it,” Willow said, then looked at me. “Sorry, June—no offense, but I don’t intend on going back to church anytime soon.”
“None taken,” I laughed. “Even if it’s just ten old folks who show up, I’ll be satisfied. You choose the way you worship, Mrs. Ward.”
Silas let out a low breath, dragging a biscuit through the jam like it had personally wronged him. “I don’t mind keepin’ him out,” he muttered. “Hell, I’d love to give him a reason to turn around and never come back.”
He didn’t look at me, but I could feel it again—that pulse of something under the surface. Not anger, exactly. Just heat. Contained. Controlled.
“But I didn’t sign up to play pastor,” he added. “Don’t want a bunch of nosy townsfolk up in my space, pokin’ around like it’s their right.”
“Well,” I said, voice light, “good news is, you wouldn’t have to say a word. You’d be the brooding caretaker who unlocks the door and glares at people until they behave. Very on-brand.”
That got a chuckle from Beau and even a smirk from Rhett, who nodded like he could picture it perfectly.
“I’m serious,” I continued. “This doesn’t have to be a full revival. Just show up. Make it open. Be visible. A few friendly faces go a long way.”
