Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“You know how many women I’ve told those words to? Do you?”
I shook my head.
“Three.” He held out three fingers, ticking them off one by one. “My mother, my sister, and you. That’s it. In my whole godforsaken life, there have only been three. And I didn’t have a choice when it came to the first two. I chose you, Cynthia. Only you.”
I stared at him, the cup of coffee spilling as I let it dangle at my side. Preacher was on me in a heartbeat, his big, rough hands pulling me up and cupping my face as he stared into my eyes.
“Marry me, Cynthia. And let’s make lots of babies. Or not. It’s up to you. It is your body and your decision. You are more than enough for me, either way.”
“So, you wouldn’t care if we . . . didn’t have any?”
“Not a bit. A baby would just be the icing on a cake that I never thought I’d even get a bite of. You are everything to me. Don’t you know you’re so much more than I ever expected out of life? Let me take care of you. Let me love you. Forever.”
I was too choked up to do more than nod shakily and whisper, “Yes.” Then he was kissing me. Not just kissing, he was devouring me with his lips and hands. It was almost like Preacher wanted to inhale me.
He moved without my even realizing it, pressing me against the exterior wall of the parsonage, the cool stone pressing into my back.
Time stopped. It seemed like a year passed, with our tongues tangling and our bodies straining to get as close as possible. In another way, it felt like only a few seconds before Preacher lifted his head, staring down at me like I was something precious.
“Let’s take this inside.”
I nodded breathlessly. I was more than ready to tumble back into bed with Preacher. I was desperate to get into his worn-in jeans.
That’s when I heard it.
Giggles. Very young sounding giggles. I peered over Preacher’s shoulders to see half of my dance troupe watching us.
“Preacher and Cynthia, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Little Preacher in a baby carriage. Sucking his thumb, wetting his pants, doing the hula-hula dance.”
“Haven’t they changed the words in all these years?” he asked me with a grimace. I shook my head, unable to hide my smile, even though the kids were kind of a bucket of ice water on the passionate moment.
It didn’t matter, though.
He loved me. He wanted to marry me. He meant everything he had said.
I had sensed in his touch that I was special to him. Precious, even. But hearing the words out loud did something to me. I felt the worry in my heart start to ease up, those deep, old worries that I was so used to, I had forgotten they were even there. It was like this big, tense ball inside me finally relaxed and expanded to its normal shape.
Preacher groaned and let me go, turning to face the crowd that had gathered.
“All right, volunteers. I have you until your performance. We are on trash and setup duty.”
“Garbage?” Marcus said with a wrinkled nose.
Preacher nodded.
“We’re going to make these streets sparkle before the street fair, and again after. That’ll be the hard part. We are bringing people from all over the city here, and we can’t leave it messy for the folks who live here.”
He winked at me.
“We’d best let Miss Cynthia get to work. Lock up for me?”
“Okay,” I said, finally noticing my coffee cup rolling on the ground beside me. Miraculously, it hadn’t broken in the fall. I scooped it up and took both cups inside, putting them in the sink. I hummed, making myself a fresh cup with a clean mug. I locked up, heading over to the annex, which was where all the vendors would come to sign in and all the volunteers would get their assignments for the day.
Basically, my job was making sure everything and everyone stayed on track.
You’ve got this, Cynth.
Folks were already in the kitchens, making coffee and sandwiches for anyone who needed them. Aunt Julia pressed a pastry wrapped in a napkin into my hand when I popped my head in.
“Chocolate croissant,” she said with a wink. “Did I ever tell you my mama was French?”
“All the time, Mademoiselle,” I teased. I sniffed appreciatively. “This smells delicious.”
“Is that one of Preacher’s mugs I spy?” She arched a brow at me, and I blushed, mumbling something about vendor check-in. Does everyone know? I wondered worriedly as I shuffled down the hallway. Not that it mattered. Preacher loved me. He wasn’t some teenage boy who was going to start nailing my best friend on the side.
Though I am pretty sure Clarice would be 100% okay with that, I thought with a chuckle. Not the cheating part. Just the big, tattooed biker in bed part.