Page 6 of Preacher Man
“It’s...cozy,” Ethan said.
“Yeah.Cozy like a coffin.”
We both stepped inside and instantly realized our mistake.Two adult men did not fit in this space without brushing shoulders.I caught a whiff of his sweat—just faint, but clean and earthy and...fuck, it was attractive.I rarely went for the buttoned-up type, but there was something about how tightly wound he was.Made me want to see what would happen if he unraveled.
“This desk’s sturdy, though,” I said, knocking my knuckles on the surface.“You could probably survive a tornado under here.”
He arched a brow at me.“Good to know.”
I grinned.“C’mon, Preacher Man.Let me walk you back to your trailer.I’ve repaired enough of that place to know where the floorboards creak.”
He hesitated, then nodded.“Alright.Thanks.”
We stepped back into the hallway, and as I reached for the church’s front door, he added, “Perhaps...you want to put a shirt on first?”
I stopped mid-step.
Well, well, well.
Straight men don’t say that.Not with that tone.And definitely not with that look.
I turned to face him, fighting back the smirk.“Noticed that, did you?”
He said nothing, but his ears were pink, and he glanced away like he was mad at himself.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
When we got outside, I grabbed my t-shirt from the pile of tools and supplies where I’d tossed it earlier and slipped it on.
We walked in silence, the summer sun hanging low and mean behind us as we made our way down the dusty gravel path to the trailer out back.The silence didn’t feel awkward, though.Just...watchful.Like, the air between us had turned thick enough to chew on.
I glanced sideways more than once, just to steal a look.He walked with purpose, head high, shoulders straight, but I could tell his mind was somewhere else—processing everything, probably.The church.The town.Me.
When we reached the trailer, Ethan slowed.His hand hovered for a second over the rusted handle, then gripped it.The metal screeched in protest as he yanked the door open.
He flinched.Not a lot.Just enough for me to catch it.
He stepped inside first, and I followed behind him like I’d done it a hundred times.Hell, I probably had.I’d fixed the busted plumbing twice.Rewired the electricity once.Replaced two floorboards and the back screen door.The smell hit me right away, like it always did.
Neglect.Mildew.Forgotten sins.The place reeked of bad history and budget cuts.
Ethan didn’t comment, just walked toward the tiny kitchenette with that paper bag of cleaning supplies cradled in one arm like a sad housewarming gift.He didn’t complain, didn’t curse, didn’t even sigh.But the stiffness in his shoulders told me everything I needed to know.
He was too proud to say it.Too damn kind to admit he deserved better.
I pulled my business card from my back pocket.It was creased and smudged from riding around in my jeans for weeks, and held it out.
“If you ever need anything...”I paused, cleared my throat.“Anything at all, just give me a ring.You know.Repairs.Or, whatever.”
He looked at the card, then up at me.
The smallest smile ghosted over his face before he took it.“Thanks.I appreciate it.”
He looked down again, reading the name—Jake Bishop, General Contracting & Repairs—then said, softer this time, “Call me Ethan.Not Preacher Man.”
That made me grin.“Alright, Ethan.”I put just enough drawl in it to make it stick.
