Chapter 30
Sanctuary
“Decker, I need another barrel of Northern whiskey opened!” Laurie called to him, balancing five empty glasses as he joined him in the back room.
TheLoose Goosehosted an endless stream of patrons once the bridge was finished. With Safine and Willa down South, and Gibson’s kid swearing at the bar with a line of thirsty patrons, Laurie stepped in to help.
Decker would never tell him, but he thought Safine looked better for their image than a liquor-juggling, white-collared preacher.
“Coming right up.” Decker took the glasses from him, stacking them next to the washtub.
Before he could open another, Laurie caught him in a kiss, backing him against the wall of casks. They had forever to be love-sick fools, yet Laurie still insisted on doing it during business hours—theGooseclosed at midnight now that its owner was occupied with other things at night.
Decker kissed him back, cupping his face and leaning into him. Laurie’s moment of boldness wavered when Decker kissed himmore deeply, fingers lacing through his curls and capturing the faint sound that slipped from him.
There’s my Laurie.
Long-lived or not, he still flushed when Decker locked the door behind them or distracted him when he was trying to work at the chapel until he cast his work aside and their pleasure was the only form of worship God witnessed.
Decker’s hand crept along his waist and he finally broke away, bright-eyed as he cast a glance towards the door of the storeroom.
“We have patrons,” Laurie said breathlessly, fixing his collar as if this wasn’t his idea.
“Don’t bother, your hair still looks like my hand was in it,” Decker said dryly.
He groaned and tried to desperately tame it.
Decker smiled and brushed away the frizzed curl that always brushed his nose when they kissed.
“I’m the only preacher in this town, I have to have a reputation,” Laurie protested.
“You have one.”
“Decker, don’t.”
“I happen to like your reputation.”
“I won’t come over for a week.” Laurie tried to punctuate his empty threat by straightening, chin cocking jauntily.
Decker scoffed at his attempt. “You live upstairs.”
“I would use the back door.” Laurie gave in, his collar hopelessly crinkling and the grin on his lips fading into Decker’s as they kissed, long and deep and slow. When he pulled away, Decker set about getting another cask ready.
The silence between them felt suspiciously like it was waiting for something. And so did Laurie, as he hovered behind Decker.
Suspicious, quiet. Coming up with another idea for our town?
He sighed. “What is it?”
“I got a letter today. We’ve been too busy. I haven’t had a chance to talk.” He seemed nervous, and Decker stopped, propping a hand against the barrels and waiting for him to continue. “From Bishop Fontaine, in Angers. He was at my university for a brief time and now he’s back in France. I…took the liberty of sending him a letter.”
Decker frowned, failing to see how this was big news.
“About your parents,” Laurie rushed to finish, apprehension stretching his words between them. “He’s one of us, and—and I thought he might be a place to start, if you wanted to find them.” A hesitant smile flickered to Laurie’s lips and he slipped a letter from his pocket and held it out to him.
The letter cradled Decker’s childhood. His memories, his mistakes, his mournful decisions. He’d left it all behind. He could take the letter, never read it, never know.
Continue his life here.
