“In that case, you can chop the garlic.”
He moved to the sink to wash his hands, and I tried not to watch the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. We’d established our boundaries this morning. Things between us were just sex, nothing more. But standing here in my kitchen, watching him dry his hands on the dish towel like he belonged here, those boundaries felt as flimsy as tissue paper.
I handed him a knife and a few cloves of garlic, our fingers brushing in the exchange. His eyes met mine for just a moment, and I saw my own struggle reflected there. This thing between us was supposed to be simple. Uncomplicated. But nothing about the way he looked at me felt simple.
“So,” I said, needing to break the tension before I did something stupid like kiss him right here against the counter, “You coming to church tomorrow?”
Cash raised an eyebrow as he started peeling the garlic. “Me? Church? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Sorry,” I laughed, shaking my head. “I know you said you weren’t really the religious type.”
“It’s your first sermon, right?” he asked unprompted.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I’m a bit nervous to be honest.”
“What’re you gonna talk about?”
I stirred the sauce, considering. “Healing, I think. Second chances. How sometimes the thing you think you don’t want turns out to be exactly what you need. I figured it would be a good bookend for this entire tornado business.”
Cash’s knife stilled against the cutting board. “Sounds a little more personal than that.”
“All the best sermons are.”
He resumed chopping, the rhythmic sound of the knife filling the comfortable silence between us. I snuck glances at him as I cooked, noting the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the careful precision of his movements. There was something deeply attractive about a man who took even simple tasks seriously.
“You ever regret it?” he asked suddenly.
“Regret what?”
“Becomin’ a pastor. Givin’ up... other possibilities.”
I knew what he was really asking. Whether I regretted choosing a life that made relationships complicated, that came with expectations and judgments and a whole community watching my every move.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “It’s not an easy life. But I’ve never regretted helping people. I think it’s my one real calling in this life.”
Cash finished chopping the garlic and slid it across the cutting board toward me. The smell of it filled the kitchen, sharp and earthy.
“That’s admirable,” he said quietly. “Sounds like you actually have somethin’ figured out.”
I scraped the garlic into the pan, watching it sizzle. “What about you? Did you ever have something like that? Something that felt...right?”
He was quiet for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. When I glanced over, he was staring out the window at the darkening sky, his jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out.
“Maybe,” he said finally. “Long time ago.”
“What was it?”
“This,” he gestured vaguely at nothing and everything. “Ranchin’. Workin’ with animals. Before everything went to shit, I used to think... I used to think I’d take over the ranch someday. Run cattle like my dad did, like his dad did.” His laugh was bitter. “Stupid kid dreams.”
The pasta water started boiling, and I dumped in the spaghetti, stirring it absently while I watched his face. There was something raw there, something he was trying to keep buried.
“Doesn’t sound stupid to me,” I said. “Sounds like you were good at it.”
“Was,” he emphasized. “Past tense.”
“Is that what Rowan said today? That you’re no good at it anymore?”
He turned to look at me then, his dark eyes searching my face like he was trying to figure out what angle I was working. “No. Why do you ask?”
