10. Josiah #5
I brushed my thumb gently along her cheek. “Celeste, I don’t need you to pretend you come without history. I need you to trust that I’m not intimidated by a love that existed before me. If anything, it tells me what your heart can do when it feels safe.”
She closed her eyes, and another tear slipped free.
I wiped that one away.
“Beautiful woman,” I whispered.
Her breath caught.
I almost called her Pretty Red.
Almost.
But that name belonged to a place we hadn’t reached out loud yet. So I held it back and kissed her forehead instead, letting my lips rest there long enough for my own heart to calm down and act saved.
When I stepped back, I didn’t go far.
She wiped beneath her eyes with both hands and gave a shaky laugh. “I look a mess.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Josiah.”
“You look like a woman who told the truth and survived it.”
Her lips trembled into a smile. “That’s your way of saying I look a mess.”
“No, ma’am. If I thought that, I’d be asking God for wisdom and saying nothing.”
She laughed for real then, and the sound loosened the last of the fear pressing against my chest.
I picked up my tool bag from the floor and forced myself to remember why I had come. “I need to check the panel before I leave.”
She blinked. “You can think about electrical work right now?”
“No.” I walked backward toward the hall, keeping my eyes on hers longer than necessary. “But I’m trying to remain employable and holy.”
Her laugh followed me.
That laugh.
Lord.
I reached the back wall, set down my bag, and looked at the labeled wires, the opened panel, the bones of a building being made safe—one connection at a time.
Behind me, Celeste moved around the front of the shop, gathering receipts, locking cabinets, pretending she wasn’t touching her lips every few seconds.
I pretended not to notice.
I noticed everything.
And as I checked each connection, tightened what needed tightening, and tested the circuits until the readings held steady, I kept one request moving beneath my breath.
Patience, God.
Not distance.
Not fear.
Patience.
Because something had started between us, and I didn’t want to mishandle it.
I didn’t want to rush it into a shape it wasn’t ready to hold.
I didn’t want to make promises with my mouth and contradict them with my hands.
Celeste Coleman was not a prize for my ego.
She was a woman with roots, babies, memories, a dead husband who still mattered, and a heart brave enough to kiss me while still trembling.
She deserved more than attraction. She deserved covering.
When I finished, she walked me to the front door. For a few seconds, neither of us reached for words. We didn’t have to. Everything we’d said before the kiss still stood there with us, warming the air and changing the shape of everything.
At the door, she looked up at me. “So what now?”
I smiled. “Now you text your children the real update.”
Her eyes widened. “Josiah.”
“Not all the details,” I said, laughing. “Please spare Kayden my life. But no more hiding.”
She groaned. “He’s going to be dramatic.”
“Yes, he is.”
“You sound happy about that.”
“I’m not happy. I’m prepared.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling.
“And tomorrow, if you’re still willing, I’d like to take you somewhere that doesn’t involve emergency hunger or electrical damage.”
Her smile faded into something softer. “A real date?”
“A real date.”
She touched the edge of the doorframe. “I might need to talk to God about that.”
“You should.”
“You’re not going to pressure me?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
I leaned down, close enough to make her breath pause, but not close enough to kiss her again without permission. “Celeste, I want you saying yes because peace agrees with you. Not because I made desire too loud for you to hear God.”
Her eyes held mine.
Then she whispered, “You’re something else.”
“So are you.”
I stepped outside before my restraint started filing complaints.
The evening air hit my face, warm and damp with the smell of rain coming. I walked to my truck slowly, feeling her at the door behind me before I turned. She stood there in the glow of her shop, one hand near her chest, locs over her shoulder, mouth holding the trace of our first kiss.
I lifted two fingers.
She smiled, then she locked the door.
I sat in my truck for a while before I started it, hands resting on the steering wheel, heart still moving like it had somewhere to be. Through the windshield, the shop lights glowed steady. No flicker. No surge. No warning hiding in the walls.
For tonight, the current held.
I bowed my head.
“Big G, . . . thank You. Keep me patient. Keep me honest. Keep me from moving faster than You’re leading. Amen.”
I started the truck and pulled away from Celestial Crowns with rain beginning to dot the windshield, each drop catching the streetlight before sliding down the glass.
Behind me, the shop stayed lit.
Ahead of me, the road opened.
And somewhere in the middle of want, patience, and surrender, I felt God teaching me how to move toward love without stepping over what made it worth protecting.