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I get up from my barstool and start to move to the other side of the bar. I can’t ignore him, not when he clearly recognizes me as well. It would be rude. Yes, that’s definitely the only reason I’m approaching him right now. To be polite. I do have Southern manners, after all.
As I make my way over to where he waits for me, his stare sends chills up my body. I don’t know what chokehold this man has over me, but when his green eyes focus on me, I can’t look away.
I want him, but it’s so bad to be feeling this way. I’m on day one of finding out that my husband is officially trash, and now, this new priest has some kind of authority over my body.
As I near, he begins to shift slightly on his stool. At least I’m not the only one affected by this.
Wait? What if I make him uncomfortable? No, no… that can’t be it. You don’t blatantly stare at someone this many times in one day if there isn’t something more there. He has to feel this palpable chemistry between us too.
This is more than staring at me like I am an annoyance or even a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Every time I feel his gaze on me, it’s as if he’s looking at me naked. He’s stripping away my fake smile and neatly pressed dress and looking at me bare.
I don’t know how I feel about someone I just met having the ability to do that.
My body squirms as I continue to round the expansive rectangular bar. It’s relatively empty for an early Sunday afternoon compared to other bars in the area. This spot is known as a locals-only place, and most of them are likely still at Sunday brunch. A Charleston locals’ favorite activity.
As I finally reach Father Lachlan, he flashes me a full-faced smile. I can’t help but turn my pretend smile into a genuine one in return.
When was the last time I really smiled? I don’t think I could tell you.
“Hi,” I chirp with a small wave.
Great—real smooth, Avery.
“Hello again, Mrs. Matheson,” he answers in that deep, gravelly voice I’m slowly becoming addicted to.
“Please, call me Avery, Father Lachlan.”
My pretend smile is making its way back after being referred to as Mrs. Matheson. Please call me literally anything other than that. I might enjoy some of the other names you could call me.
Lachlan studies me for just a moment.
“If we’re forgoing formalities outside of church, we can drop the ‘Father’ as well,” he says, grinning.
His smile is devilish. Is this an acknowledgment of the current sweeping between us?
“Lachlan, then.”
Any sign of my pretend smile has vanished again. My face feels warm as his name spills from my mouth. I’m blushing like a nervous teenager just by being in his presence.
“I think I like you better this way,” he muses before taking another sip of his drink.
A whiskey drinker… I like that. Another point added to his hotness scale.
“Like what?” I ask, trying to refocus.
Looking down briefly, I see an empty barstool and take a seat.
“Smiling.”
“Oh,” I say as my eyebrows furrow together, and that smile he likes turns down momentarily.
“Maybe I don’t.”
My eyes dart up to meet his. What does he mean by that? I definitely don’t need to be unpacking this conversation right now.
He’s looking at me with such… desire, perhaps? This is the most cryptic conversation I’ve had in a while.
The heat is palpable between us. I’ve never felt this type of intensity from someone who is basically a stranger or wanted it to continue. Today should be one of the worst days of my life, and instead, I’m smiling like a schoolgirl at the new, sexy priest.
