As if she can hear me, Romilly turns her gaze onto me while she sings. Something in my chest does a little dance.
“She does,” says Logan. I turn to look at him, and he’s staring at her too.
When Romilly’s song ends, applause rings around me like an alarm—wake up, you idiot!I shake off the stupor I’ve somehow managed to fall into. Romilly may be beautiful and have a voice like I’ve never heard before, but the last thing I need right now is to let a woman distract me. This is my chance to show everyone I can make something of myself as a fighter, and that it’s not just a foolish whim on my part, or a rebellious streak.
Besides, this is the first time I’ve ever been free. Do I really want to start something that might tie me back down?
The reminder hits me like a brick wall.
It’s what I repeat to myself when she disappears backstage, replaced by the pastor, a fifty-something man. It’s what I try to remember as my thoughts drift to her over and over throughout the service. It’s what I cling to while scribbling on my pamphlet, drawing little animals and even writing my phone number down like a presumptuous fool.
The service finally ends, and when Logan and I stand to leave, Romilly Westfall herself begins to make her way over to us.
My thoughts scramble as she approaches, each step closer making me feel more like a madman than before.She’s easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“Hey, Romilly,” Logan greets her.
“Hey, friend,” she says. She hugs him, squeezing her eyes shut. I give her face another once-over now that I’m certain she won’t notice. She has prominent cheekbones and a cute, round nose with a straight bridge. Her top lip is somehow just as full as her bottom lip, and—I can’t help but notice—she has an elegant, long body slightly hidden under her modest but trendy clothing. She’s even more beautiful than I remembered. Too beautiful.
When Logan releases her from the hug, she opens her eyes and looks right at me. I expect her to mention the soup incident, but instead, she says, “I’m Romilly. What’s your name?”
Something about her tone is confident, but soft—a pairing I can't help but admire. But knowing she might not recognize me from our soup-spill encounter in the car park knocks me into silence and I fail to remember how to speak.
Logan clears his throat and says, “This is Sebastian Black. It’s his first Sunday here.”
“Bash,” I choke out, finding my voice again. “Everyone calls me Bash.”
“Oh, nice.” She beams. “You should come to men’s breakfast on Tuesday, too.”
Instead of stating that I’ve already been attending the dreaded event more often than I’d like, I ask, “Will you be there?” The implication is unashamedly present in my tone.
She arches a brow. Regards me like she's worried for my competence. “No,” she says carefully. “It's for men.”
Ah. She has a point. And now I feel like a complete and utter fool. Where my typical charm has run off to, I have no clue. I turn to Logan for help, but he’s wandered off to talk to someone else across the room. I could strangle him right now.
“It’s a really cool event, though,” Romilly continues, unaware she’s wasting her breath. “There’s delicious food, and lots of great people, and the message is always so?—”
“I’ve been to the men’s breakfast,” I finally tell her. “I go every week. It’sthisI don’t do very often. Sundays. Not really my thing anymore.”
“Oh.” For some reason, I want to kick myself as the glowing smile on her lips dims. “I understand.” She pauses and takes a step forward. “And here I was, hoping to see you around here next Sunday.”
I note the way her lips remain parted, those lips so plump and pink and irresistible. I want to bite the bottom one. I don’t know how to answer her, because after the way I’ve been treated in the past, I’d rather eat cheese off a dirty shoe than start coming back to church. But the way she’s studying me is fogging up my brain. Making me reconsider. A strand of shorter hair on her forehead threatens to fall into her eyes, which now that we’re standing closer than before, I can see with certainty are bright green with brown flecks throughout. “I’ll come back on Sunday if you let me take you out for coffee.” The words escape before I can think things through.
She blinks in surprise. “Oh. Sure.” A small smile appears. “We can go to Logan’s house. He makes the best coffee.”
“Actually, that would defeat the point. I say coffee, but what I really mean is a date."
She purses her lips, her eyebrows drawn together in worry. "Then I'm very sorry."
Did…did she just politely turn me down?At first I can’t be sure, because I’ve never actually been turned down before. Though I’ve never dated too seriously, I’vedated—of course I have. And it’s never been challenging for me to secure a date with a beautiful, single woman before.
Maybe she isn’t single.My gaze darts to her left hand. I expect to see a wedding ring resting on her finger, but there’s nothing other than a simple gold band on her thumb. How odd. It’s almost as if she’s not interested.
I know the best thing to do would be to forget about her and quit while I’m ahead. I came to the service today, fulfilling my end of the bargain. Logan is going to take a look at my car in a moment. I shouldn’t be spending my dwindling cash on overpriced coffee, anyway. But if I wanted to, there are plenty of other beautiful women in the world. If I really wanted to, I could pursue someone who’s actually interested in me.
But that’s the thing.
I don’t want a relationship right now.
