Yet the thought of leaving Story didn’t bring the respite it had a few days ago. In fact, it brought only confusion.
His shoulders tightened, and he massaged the base of his neck. What had this town done to him? Here he was, stressed out and exhausted, helping set up a wedding, of all things—and hiding in a church from a blonde he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Peter had no idea what he’d sent him into.
Or had he? Suspicion pinched, and he frowned.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?”
Gerard jerked upright as a baritone voice filled the silent room.
A man in a blue running shirt and track pants strolled down the aisle toward him, his smile bright against a tanned face. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Pastor John.”
Interesting. He’d expected a suit—and someone taller, more imposing. Definitely grayer. This guy didn’t look much older than him.
Gerard stood and shook the pastor’s hand. “Gerard Fortier. I’m supposed to bring you some stuff for Casey’s wedding Sunday.”
“Oh, right, the vows and ceremony order.” John, his smile easy and genuine, took the papers Gerard held out. “You’re the travel writer, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Word gets around in Story, doesn’t it?”
“It doesn’t take much.” John crossed his arms, his laid-back manner easing the knot in Gerard’s chest. The man wasn’t a day over forty. “I’m looking forward to reading your article. The Pastry Puff has been a staple around here—and we all love Bri and Mabel and Agnes.”
Gerard’s guard edged up, and the knot tightened. So, he was another local with an agenda, only wanting to discuss the feature. “I’ll make them sound good, don’t worry.” He started to sidestep his way out of the pew.
“Oh, I had no doubt. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
He thought he did. But maybe not. Not with Bri looking at him with those trusting eyes and Charles slipping him undisclosed cash. He risked a glance at Pastor John, who stood unmoving, arms still crossed, eyes accessing.
“Where you headed next?”
Gerard rested one hand on the back of the pew, simultaneously ready to both flee and settle down for more of that peace he’d glimpsed. “I’m not sure, Pastor. Wherever the next assignment is, I guess.”
“Call me John. And that sounds pretty exciting. Always on the move.” John eased down on the pew.
Gerard sank back onto the end of the second row, facing him. “It can be.” And exhausting. But it kept him moving toward his goals. Lead writer. More voice. More impact. More money. “This assignment isn’t like the others, that’s for sure.”
“Not as adventurous, I’d imagine.” John quirked an eyebrow. “Though if you’re staying in the B&B, it might be.” He chuckled, and the knot in Gerard’s chest eased completely. “Red room?”
Finally. Someone in this town who got him. “Why does that room even exist?”
John tilted his head back and laughed. “Sometimes I think Mrs. Beeker is playing us all.”
He smiled, but it didn’t linger. The pastor was too close to the truth. Story did seem like a game lately—a chess game, and Gerard felt like the pawn. He refused to get caught up in Charles’s manipulative moves or Bri’s strategic plays with her vulnerability and innocence.
But she wasn’t playing, was she? Bri was different. Different from Charles, by far, but also very different from Kelsey. Kelsey was a knight—complicated, sneaky moves with swift side attacks.
Bri was a queen—straightforward, no matter which direction she moved.
Maybe it could be okay, loving someone like Bri.
Not that he did. Or was even sure he was capable of it anymore. Not after watching his mom and her train-wreck of a love life. At least he knew he got his lack of skill in that department honestly.
Enough. Gerard abruptly stood.
John followed suit and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“You too. I guess I’ll be seeing you at the wedding.” Gerard shook his hand, then edged into the aisle.
“Absolutely.” John gestured with the printed vows, his analyzing gaze once more sweeping Gerard’s face. It wasn’t as unsettling as it was convicting.
Gerard lifted one hand in a wave and started up the aisle toward the double doors. He needed air. Needed something he couldn’t really name anymore yet couldn’t stop wanting since the moment he’d ridden into Story.
“Is there anything I can pray about for you as you’re leaving town?”
Gerard stopped in his tracks halfway up the aisle. This definitely wasn’t John’s first rodeo.
He started to shake his head on default, then hesitated, the true answer burning in his heart. He only half turned to deliver his response. “My mom.”
He waited for the barrage of questions, the curious prompts hidden under the guise of caring. Of wanting to “pray specifically,” which in his experience, was just code for “tell the entire church.” No one gossiped like a bunch of parishioners holding weekly prayer sheets, standing in line for sheet cake and coffee.
But there was nothing. Nothing except John’s firm nod and quiet, assured answer. “I’m on it.”
And then he left the room first, leaving Gerard standing on frayed carpet and wondering if maybe there was something to the whole church thing again after all.
She hadn’t even kissed him, and yet somehow, she knew Gerard was an amazing kisser.
Bri piped yet another pink flower on top of yet another petit four and wondered how many she could complete before she actually went insane. Or maybe it just was the pent-up frustration that had yet to dissipate after that almost-kiss.
Had he pushed her away because of the interruption from Agnes? Or was it something else?
Was it her?
She squeezed the bag too hard, and a glob of icing tainted the next cake. She scraped it off with a plastic knife and tried again. She had to focus. Her friend was getting married in two days, and she still had many petit fours to make again. Thankfully Gerard had
