Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(40)

Or worse?

How I don’t want to stop at just kissing him twice.

Because the devil is at the gates.

And I’m about to let him inside.





Chapter Eighteen





Evangeline




Give us this day our daily bread.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I walk up the sidewalk. It’s dark out, and drizzling — the moon low, the clouds growing thicker across the stars, and the town of Shelter Harbor growing dimmer down below by the water as doors close and neon signs turn off.

Forgive us our debts and we forgive our debtors.

My heart beats like a drum inside my chest, and my hands clench into fists over and over by my sides until my wrists hurt.

I don’t know why I’m here.

Well, I do, but I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what devil or sin or wickedness possesses me that I’d come here at this hour.

And lead us not into temptation.

Temptation.

I swallow as I look up at the glowing sign to O’Donnell’s.

The lights are low inside, and I watch as the door opens. A man stumbles out, and I catch the quickest glimpse of him shutting the door after the drunk patron.

The neon sign turns off.

Lead us not into temptation.

The only leading here though is my feet, taking me one foot in front of the other across the rain-slicked street.

I stop outside the door, closing my eyes and trying one last time to tell myself to go home, or go back to the Congregationalist church where my parents and Chastity are having an impromptu Grace Church of Salvation and Divine Retribution service for anyone who could possibly know what that is in coastal Massachusetts.

The point is though, there are a hundred very very good reasons for me not to be here — a hundred reasons why I should turn and run right now.

Except I don’t. I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it instead.

Because I’ve already let the devil inside. I’ve already sinned in my heart even being here.

The place is dim, the lights off except the glowing Christmas lights behind the bar. Some sort of slow blues song grooves over the stereo from the neon jukebox in the corner as I step inside, the door shutting behind me.

“We’re closed.”

His back is to me, sitting at the bar with a pile of receipts, a calculator and a pen, and a beer.

I open my mouth to say something, but the words don’t come.

There’s still time to run away.

There’s still time to flee, and run as fast as I can to the nearest church and repent for my wicked, wicked thoughts.

My lies, my impurity in the eyes of God, and my lustful desires.

My temptations of the flesh.

But then he turns, and there’s no running away then.

Rowan gives me a funny look. “You are not the belligerent drunk I was sort of hoping I’d get to throw out of here.”

I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly.

He arches a brow at me, looking past me as if confirming that I — Evangeline Ellis, preacher’s daughter — am actually at a dive bar, alone, at midnight.

“If you’re looking for Dad’s Congregationalist church, you definitely pulled a wrong turn somewhere.”

I shrug, hoping it’s casual — knowing it’s probably not.

“What, it’s so weird that I’m here?”

He grins. “Uh, yes.”

“I just wanted to get a drink.”

He snorts, sliding off his stool and grabbing his beer before he pads towards me.

“Really.”

“Yes,” I say stiffly

“Well we’re closed.”

I bite my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat as he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be at Bible study with Chastity?”

“You still think you know me so well.”

“Not as much as I want to.”

I blush, forcing the heat down. “So, can I get that drink?”

“I told you we were closed.” He grins, taking a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine.

Drinking me in deeper than that drink in his hands.

“Lock the door.”

“What?” My voice cracks as the word tumbles out and I immediately cringe.

“The door,” he nods as he turns and walks back to the bar, “just make sure it’s locked so we don’t get any drunk assholes stumbling in.”

“Oh, right.”

Of course, “right.” What else would I possibly be thinking he meant by “lock the door”?

I turn, sliding the deadbolt shut before turning, taking a deep breath, and stepping towards the bar.

“Pull up a stool.”

I grin as I slide onto the stool, pausing only long enough to realize this is actually the first bar I’ve ever sat at.

“My father would have an attack if he saw me here.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he’d just attack me.”