Page 15 of Devil's Advocate
“Two, actually,” Sean said.“Truck’s dead, but Jimmy here came to the rescue.”
“Appreciate that, son.”Stuart’s handshake was rough but kind.“You’ll have to excuse the mess.Been sorting out what’s still good from what’s bound for the compost heap.”
Lucien nodded toward the crates.“Same deal as usual?”
“Yes, sir.”Stuart wiped his brow with a handkerchief.“Taters, squash, and enough zucchini to make your eyes roll.Too ripe to sell, but still fit for good eating.Better folks get it than it goes to waste.”
Sean hopped up onto the tailgate.“We’ll take all of it.”
I hesitated, unsure of what to do with my hands.
Lucien caught my eye.“You don’t have to help.You already saved us a trip.”
“Of course I’ll help,” I said before I could stop myself.“Can’t just sit here and watch y’all work.”
Stuart chuckled.“Now that’s the spirit.You hear that, Reverend?This young man’s got more manners than the last three volunteers you dragged over here combined.”
Sean grinned.“Wait till he sees the kitchen.He might change his mind.”
I followed their lead, grabbing boxes that smelled of dirt.The work steadied me—the scrape of cardboard, the rhythm of lifting and passing.But every time Lucien’s hand brushed mine, that steadiness wavered.
We loaded the last crate, and Stuart clapped the dust off his hands.“Y’all come back next week.Might even have some peaches if the birds don’t beat me to ’em.”
Lucien smiled.“We’ll hold you to that.”
Stuart winked.“And if you ever want to preach the good word about eatin’ local, I’ll lend you my megaphone.Can’t promise it’ll reach heaven, but it’ll get the Methodists.”
Sean laughed.“We’ll settle for the Episcopalians.”
“Ha!Same difference.”Stuart waved as we climbed back into the truck.
As I started the engine, I caught Lucien watching me again—steady, thoughtful, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
I looked away fast, pretending to check the mirrors, but my chest still ached from the way his gaze lingered.
Was this temptation?
We loaded the last crate, said our goodbyes to Stuart, and piled back into the truck.Sean took the passenger side, scrolling through his phone, while Lucien slid into the middle again, the scent of sun and sweat following him.
“Back up to Church Hill,” Sean said.“I’ll navigate.”
“Sure thing.”My voice came out rough.
Lucien shifted beside me as I turned the key.The truck rattled awake, and the vibration moved through the seat like a heartbeat I couldn’t escape.His thigh brushed mine again—closer this time, solid and warm—and the contact lit a fuse straight down my spine.
I eased onto the road, trying not to think about it, but there was nonotthinking about it.Every turn jostled us closer.The city rolled by in flashes—brick storefronts, old churches, banners for some art festival—but my focus tunneled down to the inch of space between us that kept vanishing and reappearing.
Sean leaned forward, pointing ahead.“Take a left up there.No, next one.This street’s a nightmare.”
Lucien laughed softly.“Don’t scare him.He’s doing fine.”
“Fine,” I muttered, though my hands were white-knuckled on the wheel.
Traffic had thickened downtown, cars bunching up at every light.Horns blared, and sunlight caught on windshields in blinding bursts.My nerves frayed like a loose wire.Lucien shifted again, his thigh pressing into mine, deliberate or not, I couldn’t tell.The warmth bled through my denim, slow and insistent.
I swallowed hard, my chest tight.Daddy’s voice whispered through the noise in my head:The Devil tempts with beauty.He’ll use the body to corrupt the soul.
Sean’s phone rang.He cursed under his breath and answered, his voice rising above the noise.“Yeah, we got it.Headed back now.”
