14. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Nancy
F or the first time since I met him, I feel like I’m really seeing him.
Not Luke Evans, the gruff, reserved newcomer who reluctantly joined a walking group. Not John Brooks, the famous, guarded crime writer.
Just Luke.
And I like what I see.
The side that admits he doesn’t like being alone, the side that secretly loves Christmas, the side that, despite all his cynicism, lets himself hope for something more.
It unsettles me how much I like it.
I want to know more.
I want to ask about his childhood, about his favourite books, about whether he’d ever owned a cat or if he just dislikes dogs. I want to hear more of that deep, careful voice telling me things that feel so much bigger than they should.
But before I can say anything, he beats me to it.
“I more than like you, Nancy,” he says, voice low and steady.
I freeze, my fingers tightening slightly around my mug.
His eyes stay locked on mine, unreadable, unblinking. Certain.
“I think I’ve fallen for you.”
I swallow hard, my heart racing like I’ve just sprinted up a hill.
A thousand butterflies explode in my stomach.
He says it so simply, like it’s just a fact. Like he’s stating the weather. I think I’ve fallen for you.
I open my mouth, then close it again. Because what do you even say to that?
Before I can gather a single coherent thought, Luke exhales and leans back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “There’s something else,” he says.
His voice is different now. Hesitant.
I grip my mug a little tighter. “Okay…”
He shakes his head. “No. I need to show you.”
Before I can even process that, he takes my hand and pulls me up from my chair, leading me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
His grip is firm but not hurried, like he’s decided something and now there’s no turning back.
I follow, my pulse thundering, my mind spinning through a thousand possibilities.
We stop outside a room, and he pushes the door open.
It’s an office. His office.
It’s what I’d imagined: bookshelves lined with more crime novels, legal texts, and hardback editions that I assume are his own. A large wooden desk, an expensive-looking chair, a coffee mug half-full and forgotten beside a stack of notebooks.
Luke strides to his desk, opening his laptop. I watch as he scrolls purposefully, his eyes flicking across the screen until he finds whatever it is he’s looking for.
Then, without a word, he turns the laptop towards me.
I step closer, my breath catching as I read.
Character Description: Reverend Nancy Ward
Reverend Nancy Ward carries herself with an effortless confidence, the kind that makes people instinctively trust her—or fear they can’t get away with anything. At 5’10, she stands taller than most, with an easy grace that makes her presence known without demanding it. Her long golden-blonde hair is usually pulled back into a loose ponytail or tucked behind her ears, though it never quite stays in place. Bright blue eyes (sharp, watchful) miss very little, and when she tilts her head in consideration, it usually means she’s already figured something out before the other person has finished their sentence.
She moves through the village with a natural ease, her coat swishing around her long legs as she strides over damp cobblestones, greeting shopkeepers and parishioners alike with a warm smile. People notice her, not just because she listens, but because she sees. Really sees.
Her features are striking and delicate with a natural warmth she carries. She’s a woman of presence, with a lean, toned frame, strong from years of walking the hills and dales that surround St Claire. Despite her height and elegance, she’s never intimidating, unless she wants to be.
Nancy is the kind of person who makes people feel comfortable, yet completely unable to get away with half-truths and nonsense. A habitual perfectionist, she furrows her brow when she’s deep in thought, and her lips twitch in amusement when someone tries and fails to charm their way out of a situation.
Her warmth is steady, unwavering, not the fragile kind that disappears when things get difficult, but the kind that soothes as easily as it scalds. She’s kind, but not naive. Thoughtful, but relentless. She asks too many questions. People tell her this often. She doesn’t stop. She isn’t the type to sit quietly on the sidelines, waiting for life to happen around her. She digs in, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp, determined to find the truth, whether she’s welcome to or not.
Nancy doesn’t go looking for trouble. But trouble finds her.
I stare at the words, my heart pounding.
“Is that me,” I whisper.
“Yeah. Until I met you, I had a terrible case of writer’s block and then, words were just flowing. I didn’t even realise I was writing about you until Philip pointed it out,” he says sheepishly, like he’s just confessed something far more scandalous than accidentally making me the lead in his new book.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “So… I’m your vicar-turned-detective?”
His mouth twitches. “Looks like it.”
I glance back at the words, at the way he sees me… not just as some passing inspiration, but something deeper. Something undeniable.
I turn to face him again, but he’s already watching me, his body tense with uncertainty.
Then, softly, he says, “You’re my muse, Nancy.”
My breath catches.
His voice is steady now, certain. “You’ve given me something I didn’t realise I’d lost.” His fingers drum lightly against the desk, like he’s searching for the right words. “Joy. Light. A reason to actually get up in the morning instead of just… existing.”
Something presses against my ribs, something terrifyingly warm.
“I want to see where this goes,” he continues, his dark blue eyes locking onto mine. “Because I’m not done. Not with you. Not with this.” He swallows. “I want more of your joy in my life. And maybe… one day… you’ll find me worthy of your love.”
I want to swoon and melt into a puddle right here, right now. His words make me feel giddy and excited, more excited than I have ever been.
I step closer, my body moving before my mind catches up.
Luke watches me, his jaw tight, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, like he’s bracing for impact, like he half-expects me to bolt.
I don’t.
Instead, I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my palms.
He gives me a shy smile.
I move in closer, linking my fingers behind his neck, pressing myself against him, my forehead coming to rest gently against his.
His body stills.
Not pulling away. Not pushing forward. Just… waiting.
I exhale softly, my lips just barely brushing the air between us.
“I want to see where this is going, too,” I whisper.
His fingers skim along my waist, hesitating before tightening ever so slightly.
I shift closer, my nose grazing his, my heart hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears.
Luke exhales shakily, his breath warm against my skin.
And then, finally, he closes the space between us.
His lips brush against mine, a slow, careful kiss, like he’s still testing the weight of what we are… what this could be.
I press closer, fingers threading into his hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. His hands settle firmer at my waist, his thumbs tracing slow, absent-minded patterns against my skin. There’s something deliberate about the way he holds me, like he’s telling me without words: I’m not letting go.
A smile tugs at my lips, breaking the kiss just slightly. “You do realise that as my boyfriend, you now have to come to every Ramblers meeting, right?”
Luke stills, mid-breath, his forehead dropping against my shoulder with a quiet groan.
“Of course there’s a catch,” he mutters.
Laughter bubbles in my chest. I drag my nails gently through his hair, feeling the way he melts just slightly under my touch. “Fresh air, great company—”
His grip tightens at my waist. “And Bernard’s ability to clear a field with one fart.”
I bite my lip, shaking with silent laughter. “Think of it as an endurance challenge.”
Luke lifts his head, giving me a flat, unimpressed look. “I’d rather take my chances with a mountain lion.”
I tilt my head, pretending to consider. “Mrs Higgins could probably take one in a fight.”
“I’m never getting out of this, am I?”
I grin, looping my arms around his neck. “Not a chance.”
Luke hums, voice lower now. “Reckon I’ll find ways to make it worth my while.”
Before I can retort, he claims my mouth again, cutting off whatever nonsense was about to escape me.
His kiss is slower this time, deeper… less teasing, more certain. His hands slide down, pulling me flush against him, and I swear I can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest. My fingers curl against his shoulders, my breath coming uneven, my whole body tilting towards him like he’s some kind of gravitational force.
Everything else—Bernard, the Ramblers, even Mrs Higgins—fades to nothing.
All that’s left is this. Him. Us.
Whatever this is between us…
It’s only just beginning.