Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jude
Every afternoon around five, like clockwork, I wandered into The Chalice & Cherry for my daily ritual: one cocktail, one conversation, and a moment of stillness before the rest of the world came knocking.
The air inside was always cool and dusky, lit by strings of little white bulbs that cast a soft glow over the worn brick walls and polished wood. The owner, Percy, kept it dim on purpose, said it made people behave. Or at least feel like they were behaving.
Percy, for his part, stood behind the bar in his usual uniform—black T-shirt, thick silver rings, and a face like he’d seen everything twice and was unimpressed both times.
His salt-and-pepper hair was always a little rumpled, and his sharp blue eyes could cut through bullshit like a hot knife through organic, gluten-free butter.
I liked him. Percy didn’t care about crystals or chakras or the fact that people sometimes cried when I touched them.
He liked money, old movies, and gin. I respected that.
“…so I told her, ‘If your aura’s green, sweetheart, that just means you need more fiber.’”
I nearly choked on my drink, a smoky mezcal cocktail Percy had dubbed the “Holy Smoker.”
“That’s cruel,” I said, laughing into the rim of my glass.
“That’s honesty,” he said, wiping down the bar with one hand and flipping me off with the other. “And don’t pretend you’re above it, Reverend Sparklepants. You’re the one who brought the chakra mafia to town.”
“I didn’t bring anyone,” I said, swirling my drink. “They showed up. I just… didn’t ask them to leave.”
“You didn’t discourage them either,” Percy muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the low indie track playing in the background.
I was about to argue—gently, playfully, the way we always did—when something shifted.
It wasn’t a sound or a scent. More like a ripple, a change in temperature. The kind of change you don’t notice until it’s already pressing against your skin. I turned my head instinctively.
And saw him.
Tall. Sharp features. Tousled hair like he’d fought the wind and let it win.
His black jeans were road-worn, and his leather jacket had scuffs that told stories, not fashion statements.
But it was his eyes that held me still. Cool, steady, and scanning the bar like he didn’t quite trust any of it—especially not me.
God help me, he was beautiful.
And the worst part? He knew it. Not in a cocky way, not exactly. But in that quiet, dangerous way that meant he’d broken hearts without meaning to—and probably left a few people still thanking him for it.
My breath caught in my throat.
I, Jude Brooks, local miracle man, was speechless.
And I hated that.
I shifted on the barstool, suddenly aware of my body in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Of how my shirt clung to my chest. Of the warmth blooming under my collarbone. I could feel the flush rising from my chest. Ridiculous.
Percy, of course, noticed immediately.
He gave me one of those slow, knowing looks, like a cat who’d just caught a mouse stumbling into the trap.
“Well, hey there,” he said, turning to the stranger. “You drinking or just here for the vibes?”
The man blinked, startled, then cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. A drink.”
Percy nodded, like that was the right answer. “What’ll it be?”
He hesitated, then said, “Old Fashioned. If you’ve got good bitters.”
Percy reached for the bottle. “We’ve got the best bitters. Name?”
“Julian,” he said. “Julian Reed.”
Percy glanced sideways at me. “Julian, this here’s Jude Brooks. Town’s most eligible bachelor and official supplier of holy water, miracle cures, and, allegedly, multiple orgasms.”
I nearly spit out my drink. “Percy!”
Julian turned to me. Those eyes. God, they were dangerous. Curious. A little wary. But interested.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said.
His voice was low. Measured. A voice that could make a person confess things they hadn’t even admitted to themselves yet.
I swallowed, heart stuttering behind my ribs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m here to check out Cosmic Grace Ministries.”
Fuck.
I smiled because that’s what people expected from me. The gentle smile. The “blessed day” smile. The smile I’d practiced more times than I could count until it fit like a second skin.
But inside? I groaned.
Of course, he was here for that. Not for the scenery, or the hiking, or even Percy’s cocktails. He was here for me. For the ministry. The miracles. The spectacle.
God, I hated that part.
Not because it wasn’t real—I still wasn’t sure what was real half the time—but because it meant I was never just a man at a bar. I was always the prophet. Always the myth. People didn’t see me. They saw what they wanted from me. Healing. Hope. Closure. Forgiveness.
And all I wanted was someone who didn’t ask me to fix anything.
I wanted someone to binge movies with on a rainy day. Someone who’d hike the Blue Ridge with me and get lost on purpose. Someone who’d kiss me like it meant nothing at all and everything at once.
I wanted to be touched for the man, not the miracle.
But Julian? He looked at me like he was trying to figure out which kind I was.
I shifted in my seat, praying my blush wouldn’t betray me.
Percy set the drink in front of Julian and leaned in with a smirk. “You’re gonna like this one, Jude. He’s got bite.”
Julian raised his glass. “Only when provoked.”
I caught his eye again.
That spark was still there.
And I didn’t know what it meant.
But I wanted to find out.
Julian took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving mine.
I was trying very hard not to squirm under the weight of that gaze, but damn—he was inspecting me like I was something to be unwrapped, dissected, or devoured. I couldn’t tell which, but all three options made heat curl low in my belly.
I crossed one leg over the other, leaning a little toward him, my arm brushing the bar. “So,” I said, voice softer than usual, “what brings a stranger like you to Riverbend? Lost? Or just chasing ghosts?”
He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching at the corner. “I chase stories,” he said. “And Riverbend’s got one hell of a reputation.”
“You don’t say,” I murmured, my gaze dipping to his lips for a moment longer than necessary.
Julian caught it. I know he caught it. His smile deepened, slow, cocky, and sharp.
“I do say,” he said, resting one elbow on the bar. His jacket opened a little, revealing a worn T-shirt that hugged his chest in all the right ways. “Especially about you.”
I arched a brow. “Me?”
He shrugged, eyes trailing from my mouth to my chest, pausing just below my sternum. His gaze wasn’t shy. It was deliberate. Measuring. Like he was sizing up how I’d react if he touched me.
“I mean, Jude Brooks, the miracle man. Touches hands, heals the sick, makes grandmas weep. You’re either the real deal… or one hell of a showman.”
I let out a breath that was half amusement, half challenge. “Is that why you came? To decide which?”
“Something like that.”
We stared at each other, locked in a dance neither of us quite knew the steps to, but were damn sure we wanted to learn.
From behind the bar, Percy was still polishing the same glass. I caught his smirk reflected in the mirror behind the liquor bottles and rolled my eyes.
Julian glanced his way. “Is your bartender always this nosy?”
“Only when he smells sex in the air,” I muttered.
Percy didn’t even flinch. “I live in this town. What else do I have to do but observe the mating rituals of the spiritually inclined?”
Julian let out a short laugh. It was rough, genuine, and for some reason, it made my chest ache.
I wanted to ask him a hundred questions. Where he was from. What he believed in. What kind of man made him blush, or moan, or come undone?
Instead, Julian asked, “So what is it, really? Cosmic Grace Ministries? Some kind of church?”
I sighed, letting my fingers drag along the rim of my glass. “It’s not a church,” I said carefully. “It’s a space. For healing and connection. For letting go.”
He watched me as if I’d just spoken in tongues.
“I host healing circles,” I added, trying to ease the moment. “Meditation, storytelling, sometimes singing. Tonight’s one of those nights, actually. Full moon energy and all that.”
He didn’t laugh. Just tilted his head again, studying me like I was a page he couldn’t quite read.
“Do you give frequent flyer miles for miracles?” Julian asked, both him and Percy smirked, and I said nothing. A moment later he spoke again.
“You inviting me?”
My throat tightened.
I didn’t want him to come because of the spiritual reasons. I wanted him to come because… because the way he was looking at me made me feel like more than a symbol. More than a story.
“Yes,” I said, softer than I meant. “I’d like you to come.”
Julian’s gaze dropped to my lips.
Then lower.
His eyes skimmed my body again, slower this time, like he wasn’t even pretending to be subtle. When they returned to mine, they were darker. Hungrier.
“I’d love to come,” he said, voice low and edged with heat.
Percy choked on a snort.
I didn’t even look at him.
I smiled instead, letting a hint of wickedness curl the edge of my lips. “We’ll start at sunset, out behind the ministry. There’ll be a bonfire. Blankets. Tea, if you’re lucky.”
Julian leaned in just a little, his voice barely a murmur now. “Will you be there?”
I nodded. “I never miss one.”
His eyes met mine again and held. It was like electricity had coiled between us—live, crackling, waiting to arc.
God, he was dangerous.
And I couldn’t wait to be ruined by him.
Julian tilted his head toward me, and for a split second, I thought he might kiss me right there, with Percy watching and the whole town ready to gossip by morning.
But instead, he bit his lower lip.
Bit it.
And then whispered, “What should I wear?”
I felt a smile bloom slowly and sinfully on my face.
And before I could answer, I asked myself the one question I hadn’t dared until now:
Was I ready to let someone see the real me?