Page 105 of The Rules We Broke
***
On the way to church, I kept wondering if I was overthinking everything. I loved Brady. Now that we were together, I couldn’t imagine being without him. No one made me laugh like he did. No one made me feel more like myself. And I knew he didn’t care that I wasn’t a domestic goddess.
But as we pulled into the church parking lot, I swore every neck turned in our direction. A few sweet older ladies even scurried inside—probably eager to spread the news that we’d arrivedtogether.
“Do you think this town will ever get used to us?” I asked. “That they’ll accept us?”
Brady took my hand and kissed it. “I’d like to say yes,” he said. “But after last night, I’m not sure. Still, it doesn’t matter to me. And I’m serious about looking for a job in Atlanta—if that’s what you want.”
“I love that you’re willing. I know how much you love this town. And your cabin. The cabin you built for us.”
He squeezed my hand. “I love you more.”
I knew that. But I also knew leaving this place would be hard for him. And I kept thinking maybe I should move closer to Aunt Lu. She wasn’t getting any younger. It was all so complicated.
“Should we go in and give them a show?” he teased.
“I’m sure my aunt’s phone is already ringing.”
“This town really is ridiculous,” he said with a grin. “I’ll come around and grab your door.”
By the time we entered the chapel hand in hand, the room was buzzing. Every eye was on us.
We hadn’t discussed where to sit. We’d never sat together in church before—our parents had never allowed it growing up.
I glanced to the left. His parents were there.
I didn’t want to sit near them. But if Brady did, I wouldn’t object. Honestly, I kind of wanted to talk to Mr. Jackson. I had questions. Not that I could ask them with Mrs. Jackson present. Still, I had a feeling he wanted me to know his story. Why choose that song last night or tell me I reminded him of Aunt Lu?
Gratefully, Brady led us to the right side, middle row. We sat down. His momma glanced over immediately. I think the chapel plants may have wilted. His daddy stared straight ahead—like it was a survival tactic. How sad. It was kind of unnerving, the sympathy I felt toward a man who had once disparaged me in the pastor’s office. I wouldn’t be mentioning it to Aunt Lu.
Dave Mayfield spotted us and walked over. “Elle, what do you see in this loser besides his good looks and money?” he teased.
I looked adoringly at Brady. “Where do I even begin?”
Dave laughed and sat behind us. Weird—more Jackson supporters on the right.
Then came my favorite five-year-old, Caroline, in her green plaid Christmas dress.
She and her parents walked straight over and sat in our row.
Kendra and Benjamin gave me conspiratorial smiles as they walked past us to sit down. For some reason, I had a feeling this was a coordinated plan.
I braved a peek at his momma. I could’ve sworn steam came out of her ears. Her sons had just broken protocol. Their momma wasn’t the only one having a reaction to the turn of events. Mrs. Jackson’s friends seemed to be rallying around her, and there was a low buzz of whispers that could be heard.
But one person looked genuinely delighted: the pastor. He came over, greeted us warmly, and gave a subtle nod of approval.
I liked him.
Caroline gave Brady and me a big hug before trying to wedge herself between us.
Her uncle scooped her up and settled her on his lap. “I don’t think so, darlin’. I’m sitting by Miss Ellie today.”
She gave him a look—arms folded, chin lifted. She was going to make a fine sassy Southern woman someday.
“I love her, too, you know,” she huffed.
I tried not to laugh out loud. We were in church, after all.
