Elijah is patient as he teaches her the pronunciation, his voice gentle and professional.
But I notice how he maintains distance, how his body language stays carefully neutral.
When Sarah asks him to demonstrate proper breathing technique, standing close enough that her shoulder touches his, I see his jaw clench.
“That’s good, Sarah,” he says, stepping back. “Practice those phrases before rehearsal. The other choir members will be arriving soon.”
Sarah’s face falls slightly, but she recovers quickly. “Of course. Thank you so much.” She touches his arm again, her fingers lingering. “You’re such an amazing teacher.”
After she descends the stairs, I cross to where Elijah stands by the piano. He’s gripping the edge, his knuckles white.
“Elijah,” I say quietly. “You need to be more careful with her.”
His gaze finds mine, confused. “What do you mean?”
“The way she looks at you. The coffee. The touching. She’s not just an enthusiastic student.”
“Charlie.” His smile is indulgent, dismissive. “She’s seventeen. She’s just excited about music.”
“She’s seventeen and in love with you.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “And she sees me as competition.”
Elijah’s expression softens as he reaches for my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. The touch sends electricity up my arm despite the warning bells ringing in my head. “You’re reading too much into it. Sarah is a good kid with a crush on her choir director. It happens. I’ll handle it appropriately.”
I want to argue, to make him see what I saw in Sarah’s eyes. But his hand is warm in mine, and the way he’s looking at me makes my breath catch. Like I’m the only person in the world who matters.
“Just be careful,” I whisper.
He pulls me closer, his free hand finding my waist. We’re standing too close for propriety, but the choir loft is empty, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “I’m always careful. Except when it comes to you.”
His mouth finds mine, and I melt into the kiss despite knowing we shouldn’t. His lips are soft, gentle at first, then hungry as his control slips. My fingers tangle in his golden hair, and he groans against my mouth.
The sound of voices below breaks us apart. We step back quickly, both breathing hard, my lips swollen and his hair mussed. The choir members are arriving for rehearsal.
“Tonight,” he whispers, his eyes dark with promise. “Come to my quarters after everyone’s asleep.”
I nod, unable to form words, and flee down the stairs before anyone can see my flushed face.
That evening, I find Adrian in his office, the door open but his attention completely absorbed by the newspaper spread across his desk.
The late afternoon light streams through the window, illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the way his jaw clenches as he reads.
He’s still in his cassock, every button fastened, but his rosary beads are wrapped so tightly around his knuckles they’ve left red marks on his skin.
I knock softly on the doorframe. “Adrian?”
His gray eyes lift to mine, and the intensity in them makes my stomach flip. Even angry, even stressed, he’s beautiful in that severe, untouchable way that makes me want to mess him up completely.
“Charlie.” My name sounds rough in his voice. “Come in.”
I cross to his desk, reading over his shoulder. The headline makes my chest tight.“Victory Life Church Sees Explosive Growth.”The article is glowing, praising Pastor Whitmore’s modern approach, his community outreach, his vision for contemporary worship. But it’s the sidebar that makes my blood run cold.
“Meanwhile, traditional churches like St. Michael’s Catholic struggle with declining attendance and aging congregations. The historic building, while architecturally significant, requires extensive repairs the parish can barely afford.”
“Sponsored content,” I say, noticing the small disclaimer at the bottom. “Victory Life paid for this.”
“Of course they did.” Adrian’s voice is ice wrapped in barely contained rage. “They’re not just competing. They’re trying to destroy us.”
I move closer, my hand hovering near his shoulder. I want to touch him, to offer comfort, but we’re too visible here.
