Chapter 12
SOFIA
‘The Sanctuary serves as a lifeline for people living on the streets. Most of them have hit rock bottom and lost their families and savings to addiction.’
Jude made the rasped statement as he pushed open a set of double doors.
‘After you.’
We walked into a converted brick warehouse in East Nashville three days after we arrived in the city.
Those first seventy-two hours in his home passed in fleeting conversations and short, polite exchanges.
That said, Jude never let me feel like an intruder. He always nodded when he saw me and urged me to enjoy his home.
‘Eat, there’s too much food for one person, and please use the pool, TV, media room.’
I’d no right to demand more from him.
We’d established the terms of this arrangement, and I had to stick to them.
He spent most of his time out of the house, leaving me to tiptoe through his luxury rooms alone.
I passed the hours figuring out how his television worked, cooking solo dinners, and texting my friends to maintain my sanity.
I soon discovered his library and read a few books, but boredom hit hard for someone used to being occupied.
So when he confirmed the gig at The Sanctuary, I was hit with massive relief.
Now, I shivered as his hand brushed the small of my back, leading me further into the bright, well-lit space.
‘We provide them with temporary housing, food, and connections to find a job,’ Jude went on. ‘We also work with migrants in crisis.’
In the expansive lounge area to our right, a woman stacked ceramic mugs by the industrial coffee maker.
To our left was a games space with comfortable sofas, and people huddled in groups chatting.
A bearded man in an army-surplus jacket sat on a folding chair. He was adjusting the pegs of an old acoustic guitar while a pair of women played the piano in a corner and sang a soft ballad.
A woman with short, purple-streaked hair, a red-and-lavender pantsuit, and ruby-and-black Doc Marten boots waved at us.
Her name tag read Misty, and her face lit up as she spotted the man standing beside me.
‘Judah, you gorgeous man,’ Misty said, tossing the notebook in her hand onto a nearby table and pulling him into a fierce hug. ‘The pantry shelves were empty and dismal till that wire transfer your business manager sent through yesterday saved our bacon.’
‘Good to hear, Misty,’ Jude rasped, gazing down at me. ‘This is Sofia. My wife. She’s the one I talked to you about. She’s willing to volunteer at The Sanctuary until her I-9 identity and work eligibility form comes through in a few weeks.’
Misty turned her attention to me, her brown eyes softening as she took my hand in a firm grip.
‘It’s an honor to meet you, Sofia. Your husband is far too modest ever to admit it. But half the staff salaries and three-quarters of the chow we feed a hundred people daily happens because of Six Sinners. They pour a good percentage of their earnings right back into this place.’
Is that right?’ I asked, still tingling from Jude’s public claiming of me as his wife.
‘They’re saints with guitars. They also volunteer on street teams and maintenance. In fact, Jude spent five weeks last winter rewiring our entire basement grid himself just so our residents wouldn’t freeze during the ice storm.’
I glanced up at my husband, my heart fluttering as a flush of crimson crept up his neck beneath his beard.
‘He keeps his good deeds quiet, signora.’
‘Please, call me Misty,’ she replied, gesturing for us to follow her past the bustling kitchen where two volunteers were chopping giant sacks of onions.
‘We don’t do titles here, and we don’t do stuffy protocols.
We’re just a bunch of broken souls trying to extend a little unconditional love without tripping over our own feet.
Now, let’s get you set up at your station. ’
Misty led me into a bright, sunlit space at the back of the office block, where three desks sat, each piled high with intake folders and statutory compliance handbooks.
While Jude lounged in a stuffed chair nearby and scrolled through his phone, Misty took me through the role.
‘We’ll start you off volunteering as our new administrative assistant. Jude told me you’re qualified as a social worker?’
‘I have a degree from University of Milan, also referred to as La Statale. I speak Spanish as well as Italian.’
‘Excellent,’ she beamed. ‘Then you’ll focus on bridging the gap for the growing population of immigrant guests who arrived at the shelter seeking refuge, legal aid, or addiction recovery resources.’
I shot her a shy smile. ‘That’s fantastic, I think I’ll really understand their needs.’
‘I hope you do. Many of them have zero paperwork. They’re paralyzed by the fear of deportation, unable to advocate for themselves in a system that views them as statistics rather than human beings.’
We chatted until Jude surged from his seat with a jerk of his chin, with a rare wry smile.
‘Sounds like you two are right into it that you forgot all about me.’
‘Oh, you poor man,’ Misty teased. ‘How do you survive without attention?’
‘I’m a snowflake, I wither and die. Keep teasing me, and I’ll pull next month’s check,’ Jude faux-threatened.
The pair grinned as I studied them, awed at the prospect of starting a new job.
Also, at the handsome, tall, muscled man whom I still couldn’t believe I was married to.
He locked eyes with me, and I blushed at being caught staring.
‘I’ll love and leave you,’ Jude drawled. ‘Pick you at 5, babe?’
I nodded. ‘That’ll be awesome.’
Babe.
I wondered if it was an Australianism that came so naturally that he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
Or that he was very good at keeping up appearances.
Still, he used it in private with me, so I dismissed the thought of him calling me babe for show.
My eyes followed him as he sauntered away, stopping to chat with some of the staff and residents before disappearing down the hall.
I turned to find Misty’s eyes on me, warm and knowing.
‘That’s a good man you bagged, honey, never let him go,’ Misty murmured. ‘I can tell how much you two adore each other and that’s money in my book.’
‘I - we,’ I muttered, then shut up, not sure whether to share that we were not a conventional match made in heaven.
The moment passed, and Misty smiled and launched into more of my onboarding.
A routine of sorts emerged between Jude and me as the humid Tennessee summer progressed.
Every morning at seven, we woke, showered, and dressed.
Most times, I went downstairs and found him in the kitchen, by the counter, nursing a mug of black coffee.
He always raised his chin to me in acknowledgment.
Sometimes he continued to eye me over the rim of his mug in silence before rinsing his cup and prowling away; other times, he exited the room without a sound, taking his mug with him.
When we passed in the corridor of his house, he shifted his shoulders just enough to avoid brushing my sleeve.
He sat two seats away from me at the dining table and was always on his phone if he wasn’t in the studio.
He was moody too; sometimes he shared, other times he lapsed into silence.
I got the memo: all professional and polite, no boundaries crossed.
The drive into work on weekdays was much of the same.
Jude was not much of a talker, preferring to keep his eyes locked on the road ahead.
When the silence got suffocating one morning, I reached out to tap on the radio station tab.
Jude hit the display power button, killing the music.
‘Don’t,’ he muttered. ‘I like the quiet.’
I withdrew my hand, staring out the passenger window at the passing view.
Yet, a subtle shift occurred as the days went by.
Jude stopped walking away from me in the kitchen.
He stayed, leaning on the counter, and drank his coffee while I prepared breakfast.
We ate at the marble kitchen island before heading out, the silence between us shifting from cool wariness to a cautious truce.
The Sanctuary sat on the way to the band’s headquarters, so we continued to commute into the city together.
One morning, without a word, he turned the radio on to a local station playing a selection of country, contemporary rock, and hip-hop.
Three songs in, one of his own tracks started playing.
The opening chords of ‘Redemption’s Call’ filled the cabin.
I recognized the track at once because I’d started listening to Six Sinners at work. Misty blasted their discography through The Sanctuary’s speakers on a daily loop.
I began humming the melody, leaning back into the passenger seat.
Jude sliced his eyes toward me, a brow arched in surprise.
With a smirking grin, I sang the final line right back at him.
‘No more in shackles, now I walk free!’
My voice blended with his recorded vocals ringing through the speakers.
‘Nice alto,’ he rasped, a rare, breathtaking smile transforming his hard features. ‘If we ever need a backup singer, I’ll keep you in mind.’
Seconds later, his expression flattened back to its usual brooding mask, but inside, my spirit danced at his compliment.
He dropped me off with a terse nod, and I tracked his car as he pulled into the street traffic.
A sullen, introspective Jude was dangerous enough, but a smiling, relaxed Jude was lethal to my sanity and alluring as fuck.
Over the following few weeks, The Sanctuary became my second home in Nashville.
I spent my days translating complex medical forms, scheduling pro bono legal consultations with law firms on our registry, and listening to clients who were desperate for their stories to be heard.
Every evening, Jude pulled his truck up to the loading dock of the warehouse to pick me up. He always stepped out of the driver’s seat to hold the passenger door open for me.
His demeanor remained detached, save for those flawless gentlemanly manners.
Maggie raised him right, even if he made it clear he preferred to keep me at arm’s length.
One dusk over dinner, as we sat at the marble island, cutting into a platter of grilled flank steak.
Jude set his fork down and leaned back, sipping his beer.
His deep emerald eyes locked onto mine, studying my face over the rim of his bottle with a quiet intensity.