Chapter 24
A Week Later
Peace came in whispers now. Long enough to think this might be real.
The morning sun filtering through painting stripes against tossed sheets, had become a common visual.
She loved her daily reminder that she had another day.
Taylor stirred, consciousness slowly returning as she registered the solid weight of Brooks’ arm draped across her, anchoring her to him even in sleep.
She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light, taking in her surroundings, the sleek furniture, the high ceilings, the black and gold accents that screamed Brooks Bishop in every detail.
She was at his place.
Again.
A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the past week, after their dinner at Blake’s, the walls had finally come down. No more pretending this wasn’t exactly what it was. No more running from what they both wanted.
Taylor shifted carefully, trying not to wake him as she checked the time on her phone. 7:15 AM. She had morning service at 10:30. Plenty of time, but she needed to start moving if she was going to make it home to shower and change.
She tried to slip out from under Brooks’ arm, but his grip tightened reflexively, pulling her back against his chest. His voice, rough with sleep, rumbled against her ear.
“Where you think you’re going?”
“Church,” she whispered, unable to keep the smile from her voice. “It’s Sunday, remember?”
Brooks groaned, burying his face in her neck. “It’s also early as hell.”
“Not for church folk,” she teased, turning in his arms to face him.
The sight of him in the morning light never failed to steal her breath, face relaxed in sleep, the hard edges softened, his usual mask of cool control nowhere to be found. This was a Brooks only she got to see, vulnerable, unguarded.
He cracked one eye open, taking her in, his expression shifting from sleepy to appreciative in an instant. “Damn, woman.”
A breathy laugh escaped. “What?” She shifted, suddenly aware of just how he was looking at her.
“Nothing.” His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his touch reverent. “Just thinking about how good you look in my bed.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks. “Stop it.”
“Never.” The word was a statement as he leaned in, touching his lips to hers in a gesture that began gently but soon became more intense.
Her body responded instantly, melting against him like it always did. Taylor felt herself slipping, getting lost in the way his hands moved over her skin, the way he muttered her name against her lips.
It was tempting to stay, to lose herself in him for the rest of the morning, but the responsible voice in her head, the one that had gotten quieter lately but never fully disappeared, reminded her of her commitments.
She pulled back, breathless. “I have to go. For real.”
Brooks sighed dramatically, though the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “You know, all this shacking up is probably a sin.”
The absurdity of it, Brooks Bishop, of all people, teasing her about sin, made her laugh out loud. “Oh, now you’re concerned about my soul?”
“Nah.” His grin turned wicked. “Just saying there might be ways we could make this less sinful.”
Taylor paused, catching his meaning. Her heart skipped a beat. “Brooks.”
He kissed her again, quick and soft, before releasing her. “Go on, get ready for church. We can talk about making an honest woman out of you later.”
The casual way he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made her stomach flip. Taylor slid out of bed, pulling on his discarded shirt from the night before. It hung to her thighs, swallowing her small frame in a way that made Brooks’ eyes darken appreciatively.
“I like that look on you,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to watch her move around the room, gathering her things.
“Don’t get used to it,” she tossed back, though the smile on her face took any sting out of her words. “I’m going home to change.”
“You could leave some more stuff here, you know,” Brooks said, his tone deliberately casual despite the weight of the suggestion. “Save you the trouble of running back and forth.”
Taylor paused, a spark of warmth spreading through her chest. It wasn’t exactly moving in together, but it was another step toward something permanent, something real.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could do that.”
His answering smile was worth every moment of her previous reluctance.
Taylor showered, dressed in her clothes from the night before, and found Brooks in the kitchen with coffee brewing and bacon cooking. She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene Brooks Bishop, shirtless in sweatpants, cooking breakfast like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said, moving to stand beside him.
He glanced down at her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I know. I wanted to.” He nodded toward the coffee maker. “Grab a cup. Food’s almost ready.”
Taylor did as he suggested, the comfortable domesticity of the moment clouded her judgment.
This was what she’d been afraid of, she realized, not that it wouldn’t work, but that it would.
That she’d get used to mornings like this, to the easy way they moved around each other, to the simple joy of sharing space and time.
That she’d get used to loving him and wouldn’t know how to stop if she had to.
They ate breakfast at the island, knees touching, conversation flowing easily between them. When Taylor glanced at the time again, she sighed.
“I really do have to go now,” she said reluctantly. “Church starts at 10:30, and I need to go home and change.”
Brooks nodded, gathering their empty plates. “Go. Do your thing. ”
Taylor hesitated, a thought occurring to her. “You could come with me, you know. If you wanted.”
The invitation hung in the air between them, weighty with meaning.
Brooks had been clear about his complicated relationship with church, with faith in general, since his mother passed.
She wasn’t asking him to believe what she believed, just to be part of her world in the same way she’d become part of his.
“Maybe next time,” he said after a moment, his expression unreadable.
Taylor nodded, swallowing her disappointment. She hadn’t expected him to say yes, not really. But something in her had hoped he did. “Okay. No pressure.”
Brooks walked her to the door, pulling her into his arms for one last kiss before letting her go. “You coming back to me?”
“Maybe,” she teased, grabbing her purse. “If you’re lucky.”
His low chuckle followed her out the door.
∞∞∞
Greater Praise Missionary Church stood proud against the clear blue sky, its white columns gleaming in the late morning sun.
Taylor made her way up the familiar steps, nodding and smiling at faces she’d known her entire life.
She was cutting it close, arriving just fifteen minutes before service was set to begin.
She knew her mother was going to have something to say.
She’d been living on the edge. Not as heavy in church, sinning, but healing. She was trying.
Inside, the sanctuary hummed with pre-service energy, the choir warming up, ushers directing people to seats, old friends greeting each other with hugs and laughter. Taylor slipped into her usual pew about in the front, grateful she’d made it in time and that she’d beat her mother to their seats.
Mrs. Versey, her sixth-grade English teacher, settled in beside her, patting her hand affectionately. Not only was she her teacher, but Mrs. Versey was also her mother’s very best friend.
“It’s good to see you, Taylor,” the older woman said warmly. “Feels like it’s been a minute.”
Taylor smiled, guilt pricking at her conscience. She had been attending less regularly these past few months, caught up in the whirlwind of her divorce, her job, and her evolving relationship with Brooks.
“Good to see you too, Mrs. Versey. How’s Mr. Versey doing? I’ve been praying for him”
They fell into easy conversation, Taylor genuinely interested in catching up with the woman who’d been a fixture in her life. When the first notes of the organ sounded, signaling the start of service, Mrs. Versey squeezed her hand one last time before turning her attention to the front.
Her father took the pulpit, his booming voice filling the sanctuary as he welcomed everyone to worship. Her mother came and took a seat in the front right next to Taylor.
“Glad you could make it honey. Your daddy gon show out today.”
Taylor laughed because he had been on her list of people to avoid but she missed him a little.
“I bet he will, watch he change his sermon to be about me or something,” she whispered.
Taylor let the familiar rhythm of the service wash over her, the prayers, scripture readings, and hymns that she knew by heart.
She was comforted by the routine and the community, knowing that no matter what else changed in her life, this remained constant.
The choir had just finished their second selection of “We’re Blessed” by Fred Hammond, when Taylor noticed a ripple of movement at the back of the church. Her eyes automatically drifted toward the disturbance, and her heart nearly stopped.
Brooks. Standing in the doorway, dressed in a charcoal gray suit that made her mouth water. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching, until they landed on her. He should have known his church girl would be in the front.
The small, almost shy smile that curved his lips made her smile. She was so happy to see him.
He nodded to an usher, who led him down the aisle and to Taylor’s simultaneous mortification and delight directed him to the empty spot right beside her and her mother in the pew.