Chapter 3
June
It’s easy to forget what home feels like when you’ve been on your own for so long…but this?
This felt like home.
I stood at the stove and turned bacon with a fork while Willow moved behind me, setting out plates and stirring grits.
Baby Hazel was still cackling like a tiny little witch, and Delilah was infinitely entertained by her honorary niece, holding up a wooden spoon like it was a wand.
Milo sat patiently beside them, wagging his tail and panting, seemingly willing to give patience and gentleness only to the little girl.
“Say abracadabra,” Delilah said, mirth in every freckle on her face. “Turn Uncle Beau into a possum.”
Hazel squealed and kicked her tiny feet, clearly in favor of the spell.
I smiled, catching Willow’s eye. Her gaze flitted to her daughter, then back to me.
“I hope it’s not strange to say it feels right having you here,” Willow said. “After everything you did for us…wondered how you’ve been and if you’d come back.”
I took a deep breath. “Mostly good. Some…things have happened, but such is life, right?”
She didn’t seem judgmental, just nodded. “Understood,” she said.
She didn’t have to offer to listen; it was implied.
That was nice.
I turned the bacon again, the pan sizzling. Hazel laughed again and I heard Milo whine softly.
“No problems with the house since I left?” I asked. “Just want to do my due diligence as your resident exorcist.”
Willow snorted. “Still a few things that go bump in the night, but only things that are welcome,” she said.
“You know…glimpses of strange women in mirrors—not me, other strange women—and the occasional blooming flower in places they don’t belong.
Didn’t take any unwelcome guests home with you, right? ”
I was about to answer with a definitive no—New Orleans had its own flavor of haunting, but my apartment back in the city was no such place—then I stopped short.
“Didn’t think so…but my phone seemed intent on me coming back here,” I said.
Willow cocked her head. “How do you mean?”
“Not sure if Delilah mentioned it,” I said, “but…I wasn’t planning a trip. Navigation just decided I should come here.”
Willow’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s…” she paused. “That’s actually how I got here too, sort of. My GPS rerouted me off the highway that night and sent me straight to Rhett’s driveway. I think—”
The door swung open before she could finish her thought, and the sound of men’s voices filled the room.
Milo was on his feet and ready to mug Beau in seconds, trotting over with his tongue lolling as Rhett came over and took Willow in with one arm to kiss her temple.
With his other hand, he passed over a bunch of zinnias—and it reminded me of the ones I’d placed on my mother’s grave a week ago, my heart rattling.
Flowers blooming in places they don’t belong, Willow had said.
I shivered despite myself.
Silas came in last, quiet…but loud with his presence, purely because it was impossible to ignore him.
He was the tallest of the three of them, the most wild—beard unkempt, hair messy and pulled back into a topknot.
He’d sweat through his shirt and I could see every hard, lean line of muscle—and he saw me looking, storm grey eyes meeting mine.
“June,” he nodded.
“Silas,” I rasped.
Delilah snorted from her seat at the table, leaning in to whisper something conspiratorial to Hazel. The baby, for her part, didn’t seem to understand a word of it—which was good, because I was sure it wasn’t age appropriate.
“Y’all wash your hands before you touch anything,” Willow announced, bending to pull the biscuits out of the oven. “I swear, if any of you start eating with construction dirt under your nails, I’ll hex you.”
Beau smirked.
“Oh, I ain’t worried about dirt,” he said, swaggering toward the sink. “After what I’ve seen happening on that table, a little soil’s the least of our concerns.”
Rhett didn’t even flinch. “If you don’t want to see things you can’t unsee, maybe you should learn to fuckin’ knock.”
I was still taking it all in, enjoying the family noise, when Silas stepped close—close enough that I could feel the Georgia summer heat rolling off his body, the clean scent of shampoo from his hair. He didn’t say anything; just grabbed a coffee mug off the shelf behind me, shoulder brushing mine.
It was nothing.
It was everything.
My hands itched, my throat was dry, my whole body tight with the memory of his hand at the small of my back as we’d danced the last night I was here.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Uh…I’ve already got some,” I stuttered, “but you could top me off.”
He had me so dang rattled, and Jesus…this wasn’t me. Or maybe it was—but only with Silas Ward.
I slid my coffee cup toward him and he topped it off as promised. “You take sugar?” he asked, and damn if it didn’t sound like a proposition.
“Yes please,” I murmured.
We lingered side by side as the others kept setting up the table, in our own little world by the coffee pot.
To their credit, the others left us alone—even Delilah, who was constantly meddling.
I watched Silas in profile, examined the stray curl that had slipped from his top knot to form a graceful spiral at his temple.
“You always this friendly in the morning?” I asked, attempting to tease when I felt entirely off-balance.
He glanced at me sideways, a smile curving the corner of his lips. “No.”
That one word went through me like a match to dry kindling. I gripped my mug too tightly and took a sip just to have something to do. Coffee, thank God, was safe. Familiar.
Not like Silas.
“Guess I should feel special then,” I said, aiming for snarky but landing somewhere closer to breathless.
Silas didn’t answer; just looked at me again, fully facing me now. We were so close that I could feel his breath against my cheek. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something—
“Y’all gonna hoard the coffee or share with the rest of us?” Beau called from the table.
I stepped back quickly—too quickly—and nearly sloshed coffee down my shirt. Silas didn’t move; just filled a second mug with all the stoicism of a man who didn’t just witness the near-spiritual meltdown of a newly minted reverend.
Delilah glanced over from the table, head tilted. “June, you alright over there?” she asked, and I knew full well she understood exactly what was going on. “You look…warm.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just hot in here.”
Yeah—that was it. I was fine.
Definitely not considering hauling Silas Ward into the pantry to find out exactly what his lips tasted like.
We all settled in around the kitchen table—Hazel in her high chair between Willow and Rhett, Delilah and Beau across from each other and already fighting over the honey butter, Milo thumping his tail against the floor underfoot as he waited for someone to drop something.
Silas took the seat beside me without asking, his knee brushing mine.
I tried to focus on buttering a biscuit.
I did not succeed.
“So Silas,” Willow said, passing him the bowl of scrambled eggs. “Rhett mentioned you got a letter—seemed pretty important.”
Silas took the bowl, scooped a helping onto his plate, then set it down with a little too much force. “Yeah,” he said. “From Abel Trent.”
I had no idea who this Abel Trent guy was, but everyone else seemed well aware. Delilah froze with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth, while Beau shook his head in clear disapproval.
“Told y’all,” Beau said. “Should’ve salted the earth when they left.”
I frowned. “So…not a good guy, I presume?”
Rhett blew out a breath. “Silas’s ex-future-brother-in-law,” he said.
“The Trents used to run the old church—called it the Remnant Fellowship. Got into some hot water in town when their pastor, Abel’s dad, got accused of harassing a bunch of local girls…
then they all skipped town and left Amelia here. That’s how Silas got the church.”
The room buzzed with quiet outrage, familiar names and long-held bitterness slipping into the conversation. But I didn’t hear much after harassing a bunch of local girls.
My throat closed. My pulse kicked hard in my ears. The smell of bacon and butter, so warm and comforting just a minute ago, turned cloying, making my stomach roil.
I stared at the biscuit on my plate, uneaten. My hands were steady, my expression didn’t shift. I was good at that—at holding still and pretending I wasn’t shaken.
Old instincts.
I felt like I was seventeen again, tied to a chair, the smell of mildew and cheap aftershave thick in the air, a preacher’s voice telling me to beg for God’s forgiveness while his hand—
“June?”
Silas’s voice pulled me out of it, quiet enough that I was sure only I could hear. I looked up too fast, and I knew he saw it in my face: the tell. The proof that something about this conversation had put me off-balance.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m good. Sorry…just spaced out.”
His eyes stayed on me for a second longer than was polite. Then he nodded once and went back to his food.
But I felt it.
The unspoken I saw that.
The even quieter I won’t make you talk about it.
Delilah picked the conversation back up, eyes finding mine briefly—because she was the only one at this table who knew everything that had happened to me. “So Abel wants the church back? Under what grounds?”
“Legal shit,” Silas said. “Claims they’re invoking some emergency reinstatement clause in their original charter.”
I snorted, shaking my head.
Silas peered at me. “Somethin’ funny?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That is absolutely not a real thing—not in most ecclesiastical structures, especially not in churches that filed their paperwork in the ‘90s. If it’s a nonprofit corporation, the state would have required proof of continuity—board members, leadership, bylaws. He’d need to prove he’s still legally associated with that structure. ”
Everyone stopped to look at me.
“Not that I’m a lawyer,” I added. “But I know enough about church politics to sniff it out when something is clearly bullshit.”
Rhett gave a slow nod. “Sounds like you know more than enough.”
“Had to,” I said. “I spent years studying the ways people use church law to hurt the people they’re supposed to shepherd, and groups like that? They bluff. They count on folks not knowing their rights, especially in small towns.”
Delilah grinned at me, looking around the table. “My best friend is smart, y’all. Be impressed.”
I blushed, noting that Silas hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
“You think we can fight it?” he asked.
“I think you barely even have to fight it,” I said.
“They don’t have a right to the property, full stop.
But if you want to strengthen your case…
would be easy enough just to form a congregation.
If you’re holding community events or services in the building, even if it’s just prayer groups or potlucks, that’s considered active use.
It makes it harder for him to claim abandonment. ”
Willow let out a pleased laugh. “That’s…actually brilliant.”
I shrugged, self-conscious. “It’s not magic. Just how the system works.”
Beau leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “You sayin’ we start our own church?”
“No,” I said, smiling faintly. “I’m saying you claim the one you already have. No fire and brimstone. No guilt. Just…show up. Open the doors. Make it a place people want to be.”
Rhett glanced at Willow. “I don’t hate the idea,” he said. “Folks have been lookin’ for somethin’ new ever since the old guard fell apart, and I’m sure the old ladies in town who think we need Jesus—”
“—can deal with it,” Willow said, then looked at me. “Sorry, June—no offense, but I don’t intend on going back to church anytime soon.”
“None taken,” I laughed. “Even if it’s just ten old folks who show up, I’ll be satisfied. You choose the way you worship, Mrs. Ward.”
Silas let out a low breath, dragging a biscuit through the jam like it had personally wronged him. “I don’t mind keepin’ him out,” he muttered. “Hell, I’d love to give him a reason to turn around and never come back.”
He didn’t look at me, but I could feel it again—that pulse of something under the surface. Not anger, exactly. Just heat. Contained. Controlled.
“But I didn’t sign up to play pastor,” he added. “Don’t want a bunch of nosy townsfolk up in my space, pokin’ around like it’s their right.”
“Well,” I said, voice light, “good news is, you wouldn’t have to say a word. You’d be the brooding caretaker who unlocks the door and glares at people until they behave. Very on-brand.”
That got a chuckle from Beau and even a smirk from Rhett, who nodded like he could picture it perfectly.
“I’m serious,” I continued. “This doesn’t have to be a full revival. Just show up. Make it open. Be visible. A few friendly faces go a long way.”
“Friendly faces,” Silas repeated, finally glancing at me. “You countin’ yourself in that number?”
My heart did that embarrassing little flutter. “Maybe.”
Willow raised her eyebrows and Delilah made a very quiet, very suggestive ooh noise around her coffee mug. Beau didn’t say a word, but I could feel the Ward brother smirk radiating from across the table.
Silas leaned back in his chair, elbow resting on the table as he considered me. “You’d help with this? The…fake church?”
I tilted my head. “You mean the very real church that exists legally and spiritually and just needs a little bit of elbow grease and strategic signage? Yes. I’d help.”
Rhett nodded slowly. “Start with something light—community garden blessing, maybe a storytelling night, hell, potluck would be easy.”
Willow grinned. “You just want June’s cornbread again.”
“That cornbread was heavenly,” Delilah agreed. “Praise be.”
They all laughed, and I smiled too—but I was watching Silas. Watching the way his shoulders relaxed just a little now that the problem had a shape, a path forward. Even if it wasn’t perfect. Even if it meant other people in his space.
“I’ll think on it,” he said. “Don’t like people.”
“You like me,” I said before I could stop myself.
The table went silent.
Beau let out a cough that might’ve been a laugh. Delilah’s eyes got real wide, like she couldn’t believe I said it out loud. Willow shot me a quick, amused glance and said nothing, bless her.
Silas didn’t flinch.
He just looked at me, long and unreadable, and then said, voice low: “Yeah. I do.”
And then he went back to his biscuit.