Free A Season of Eden by Jennifer Laurens Page A

Christian wasn’t there. This was his church after all, and he walked here.
     
    Sliding into the last row, I sat, shivering. The inside of the building looked relatively plain and simple as far as churches went. The only church I’d ever been to was the Catholic church where Dad had Mom’s funeral. He’d taken me there for three months after, said we needed it.
     
    No one spoke now. Everyone listened to the old man play, his body moving like a wave at the organ. It was freeing being there, not knowing anyone. Not caring if anyone saw me or what they thought because I was there.
     
    I could see why people went to church.
     
    Leaning back against the bench, I closed my eyes. Song after song played. Most of them had the sound of classical music but the shortened verses were that of their cousins, hymns.
     
    What were the words?
     
    Had Mr. Christian written any hymns?
     

     
    My clothes slowly began to pull away from my skin as they dried. Still damp, they kept my flesh too chilled to fall into deep relaxation. I wanted to sleep. The music echoing off the tall walls and stained glass windows lulled and warmed me from the inside out.
     
    “Eden?”
     
    My eyes shot open. My heart pounded. James Christian stood in the aisle next to the pew in which I sat.
     
    I sat up. “Hey.”
     
    “What are you doing here?” Confusion mixed with something else I couldn’t read on his face.
     
    I hadn’t thought through what I would say if I were to see him. My mind tumbled with stupid replies. Because I was in a church, I tried honesty. “I wanted to see your church.”
     
    He blinked, surprise on his face then. “Wow.” He glanced around, so I did too. Some parishioners were watching us. I wasn’t sure if it was because we were talking, interrupting the music, or because they knew him. I slid over, making room for him. For a minute he looked as if debating the idea of sitting. Then he sat next to me.
     
    The heat of his body electrified me. His cologne mixed with the smell of rain. Unlike me, he’d used an umbrella. He held it clutched in his left hand and now it dripped onto the carpet strip beneath our feet, wetting the red plush to blood.
     
    “I hope that’s okay,” I said, not wanting to offend him.
     
    “Of course it’s okay,” his voice dropped to a whisper.
     
    I shuddered when he leaned close so our voices would remain intimate. “Church is for everyone, any time.”
     
    “I just wanted to see it.” I stretched out as I had been when he’d found me. My arm brushed his. “The last time I was in church was for my mother’s funeral.”
     
    I felt his gaze on me even though I kept mine on the organist.
     
    “I’m sorry.”
     
    His soft tone almost opened an old well I had purposefully sealed shut. Tears started but I blinked them back. Sorrow was on his face. “It was a long time ago,” I said.
     
    “Not that long for a girl in need of a mother.”
     
    He was so insightful. “You’re right.”
     
    “This is a good place to come think of her,” he said.
     
    “I hadn’t been thinking of her at all.”
     
    A line formed between his brows. “I’m sorry if the suggestion brings you pain.”
     
    “It doesn’t.” His face was so serious. I sat back up. “It was a long time ago. Yes, I have moments when I think of her and when I do, it hurts. But I don’t dwell on it. I can’t.”
     
    That was real hell.
     
    I faced forward.
     
    “You’re soaked.”
     
    “I didn’t have an umbrella.”
     
    “I can see that.” His gaze traveled the length of my body and I shivered again. Instantly, he took off his coat.
     
    “Here, take this.”
     
    My mouth fell open. Eyeing the elbow-patched coat, everything inside of me leapt with the eagerness of putting it on. I slipped my arm into the warm sleeve as if I was putting on the Pope’s robes. Enveloped in his warmth, I wanted to close my eyes and revel in his scent warming my nose, filling my head. “Thank you.”
     
    “You