It’s Isaiah. It’s my husband. He found me already.
Haven
Immediately,Istumblebackward,tripping on a decorative stone and flailing. Just as I’m about to crash into the garden, he grabs my arms and pulls me back onto the path.
With a terrified yelp, I claw at his arms. He’ll hurt me—he’ll take me back to Cornerstone. He’ll lock me up, or worse, he’ll kill me.
Can’t go back. I can’t go back.
I manage to slip free from Isaiah’s grasp, but as I spin around to run, he grabs me again. A thick, muscular arm clamps around my waist, and he claps his free hand over my mouth before I can scream for help. I stomp on his foot, but he must be wearing his work boots because he doesn’t even flinch.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and his voice sounds much younger than Isaiah’s. “Just calm down.”
The faint scent of lemon penetrates my panic, followed by something woodsy. It takes me a second to realize it’s coming from the boy holding me still, and then another to remember that Isaiah smells nothing like that. When he comes home from work, his clothes are covered in sweat and oil stains, and after a shower, he smells like the natural pine soap he likes.
My knees buckle, and I sob into the boy’s hand with relief.
Not him. Not Isaiah. He hasn’t found me.
“Wha—Jesus!” With his arm still around me, the boy pitches forward from my weight sinking to the ground. He balances himself out and scoops me into his arms before we both fall, and he carries me to a nearby stone bench.
It’s the exact way Isaiah carried me over the threshold of his house the day we got married. Except this time, I’m not frozen, tears streaming down my face, terrified of what’s about to happen when he closes the door behind us.
Gently, the boy sets me on the bench. The stone is cool and rough on my thighs without a skirt acting as a barrier. It feels so strange, yet it’s comforting at the same time.
“You always this jumpy?” the boy asks. He’s standing in front of me, so tall I have to tilt my face up to meet his gaze.
“N-no.”
“Damn. So it was me, then? I’ve never had a girl react that way to seeing my face. I mean, look at me.” He gestures to his face, grinning.
Oh.He seems quite confident, but not in the same way some of the boys and men back at Cornerstone are. They act like you’re supposed to worship the ground they walk on—like they’re above everyone else. This boy is acting like he’s simply stating a fact without an expected reaction from me.
He does look fairly attractive, I suppose.
Plopping down on the bench next to me, he tilts his head and takes me in. I do the same to him. Now that he’s closer and my thoughts aren’t tinged with panic, he looks nothing like Isaiah. Sure, he’s tall and has the same blond hair, but his facial structure is completely different. It’s too dark to make out his eye color well, but I swear I see a golden ring around his pupils that fades into green.
“You’re pretty,” he says softly.
His words stun me into silence. Isaiah never bothered to compliment me, and it would’ve been a sin for another man to say something like that to a married woman. My mother called me beautiful on occasion, as did Ruth, but it’s difficult to believe them when your own husband barely looks at you.
“Jesus. Has no one ever complimented you before?”
I wince. That’s the second time he’s taken the Lord’s name in vain. I don’t know if that matters to me anymore—don’t know if God even exists—but it still strikes me as wrong.
“Seriously. You look like you’re about to cry.”
“What? Oh. I—no, people have. It’s just been a while, I guess.”
He’s still watching me. In fact, I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off me since he first spoke to me. There’s a part of me that’s disturbed by it, but I also find I like it. It makes me feel… special, almost.
“Well, I’m sure that’ll change now that you’re here.”
I’m not sure I understand what he means, but I feel silly asking, so I just nod and drop my gaze to my lap.
“So,” the boy says in an almost coaxing manner, “what was on your mind before I scared you half to death?”
“That’s… Um, it’s a lot.”