We come together fast and heavy.
We’ve waited too long, kept our distance for too long. Our lovemaking is almost violent in its urgency, but neither of us can seem to care.
The fact that we could be caught at any second only highlights our urgency.
31
CHARLIE
I arrive at St. Michael’s before dawn, unable to sleep after another night of tossing and turning in my small apartment above the rectory. The church is quiet, peaceful in that way only empty sacred spaces can be.
My footsteps echo on the stone floor as I make my way toward the choir loft, drawn by the faint sound of piano music drifting down from above.
Elijah sits at the piano, his golden hair catching the early morning light streaming through the stained glass windows.
He’s wearing jeans and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.
There’s something mesmerizing about watching his fingers dance across the keys, the way his whole body moves with the music.
He senses my presence and looks up, those crystalline blue eyes finding mine across the space. The music stops mid-phrase.
“Charlie.” My name sounds different in his voice, rougher than usual. “You’re early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I climb the spiral staircase, hyperaware of how my dress swirls around my thighs with each step, how his gaze tracks my movement. “Thought I’d help set up for rehearsal.”
He stands as I reach the top, moving toward the filing cabinet where we keep the sheet music.
I follow, and suddenly we’re standing too close in the small space.
His hand reaches past me for a folder on the top shelf, his arm brushing mine, and electricity shoots through me at the contact.
“This one,” he says, his voice dropping lower. His breath is warm against my ear, and I can smell his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. “The Fauré Requiem. It’s haunting.”
I turn slightly, and our faces are inches apart. His eyes drop to my mouth, then lower, tracing the curve of my neck visible above my cardigan.
I watch his throat work as he swallows, his pulse hammering beneath his skin.
“Elijah,” I whisper, and his pupils dilate.
His free hand rises, hovering near my face like he’s fighting himself. I can see the battle in his expression, the desire warring with everything he’s supposed to be.
His fingers finally make contact, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with excruciating gentleness.
“We can’t,” he says, but he doesn’t move away. “Not here. Not now.”
“I know.” But I lean into his touch anyway, just for a moment, letting myself feel wanted despite the chaos surrounding us.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs breaks the spell. We step apart quickly, both breathing harder than we should be.
Elijah turns back to the piano, his movements deliberately casual, while I busy myself arranging chairs for the choir members who’ll arrive soon.
The rehearsal is emotional in ways I don’t expect. The Fauré piece Elijah chose is achingly beautiful, full of longing and loss and desperate hope.
I watch from my position near the filing cabinet as the choir members pour their hearts into the music, as Elijah conducts with his whole body, as the sanctuary fills with sound that makes my chest tight.
When it’s over, there’s a moment of profound silence before everyone begins gathering their things.
I notice Sarah Chen lingering near the piano, her dark eyes fixed on Elijah with an intensity that makes my stomach clench.
