Page 66 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 27
Present Day, Florida
Olivia shifted the car into park and peered down at her phone to check the address. Yep. She was at the right place. She lifted her head and looked out the front windshield just in time for the wipers to swipe away the droplets of rain cascading down the glass, only to be quickly replaced by the steady downpour.
Who would have thought Adam lived in an RV park? TheNo Vacancyneon sign she’d seen as she turned into the site was redundant. The slots were packed. Large coaches, midsized RVs, fifth wheels—the recreational vehicles one would expect to find on acreage set apart for the vacationing populace. Except site 219.
The wipers swished again, clearing her view. The house built on a twenty-or-so-foot trailer could be pulled by a truck but looked out of place among the weekend dwellings. She knew tiny homes were a thing, but she’d never actually known anyone personally who lived in one—until now.
Her throat tightened as she sat there. The house looked homey. Like the cutest dollhouse in the history of pampered little girls. Beachy with light-gray siding and a silver tin roof. She could imagine the gentle pinging sound the rain made on that roof. The long rectangular windows, which must be in the loft, slanted half open to let in the cooler weather of the evening shower.
But no matter how cute the little house appeared, her gut twisted. The gentle prodding that had been poking at her pushed a little harder. She sighed and laid her head back against the headrest, tired of fighting the constant insistence and knowing from whence it came.
From memory, she recited, “The Lord said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’ Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountain apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.”
Olivia knew why God hadn’t tried to use wind, lightning, earthquake, or fire when He spoke to her, and maybe the reasons were the same for the prophet Elijah. A flash of lightning or crack of thunder, even the shaking of an earthquake or the heat of a fire—they were but momentary. Something she could either justify away or allow time to fade them from her memory. But a gentle, stirring, constant whisper? A voice that was unrelenting until one acknowledged the sovereignty of the source? That was something she couldn’t ignore.
The wipers swished again.
She could procrastinate, but not ignore the prodding.
She dumped her phone into her purse, then turned the key to shut off her car and tossed her key ring in as well.
“Give me the words.” Because heaven knew she didn’t have a clue how to broach this subject with Adam, and the selfish side of her, the one that just wanted to bask in the happiness of a budding relationship and employ her lips with kisses instead of words, didn’t want to be the reason his smile would fall victim to that haunting look that had come over him more than once.
She’d even convinced herself she could do it too—be the person to chase away that darkness for good. But no matter how tender her touch or how funny her jokes, the shadow remained behind the brightness of his silvery eyes.
Rain splattered her head and shoulders as she sprinted the short distance to his front door and knocked. The door opened, and she was pulled in—into the house and Adam’s arms. Her nose buried into his cotton shirt. He smelled fresh and clean, the scent of his soap registering before the aroma wafting from the kitchen.
She lifted her head and gave an exaggerated sniff. “Italian?”
He wiped a raindrop from her cheek. “Homemade noodles with a fresh marinara sauce.”
“Smells divine.” It did. But the aroma couldn’t be blamed for her tumultuous gut at the moment.
“It’s almost ready. Want a tour of my place first?”
She grasped the suggestion like a lifeline. “Sure.” She couldn’t very well spring the truth on him—that he was running away from his calling and hiding out in the food truck, not to mention his complete misunderstanding of the theology of atonement—right when she stepped through the door. Those things would settle better on a full stomach.
He took a step back and opened his arms wide with a grin. She rotated in place. Bright shiplap walls were painted white, and a small ladder led up to the sleeping loft. The kitchen resided under the loft, also painted a bright white with butcher-block countertops. A half-sized gas stove sat in the middle, with a mini stainless-steel fridge off to the side. She continued her slow spin, taking in the built-in bench with a padded seat and throw pillows, storage underneath.
It was the cutest prison cell she’d ever seen, and it hurt that she immediately recognized his home as such. Her heart pinched as that gentle prompting pushed her spirit. She had to tell him. Now. Remind him of the freedom in forgiveness and the blood already spilled to make atonement.
Adam’s dark brows pulled low over his eyes. “What? I know it’s small, but…”
At his voice trailing off, she wondered what he would’ve said. Would he have made excuses? Would he have voiced what he so obviously felt? That he deserved even less. That if he could, he’d likely sell this place too and live in a cardboard box if it would ease his guilt or make what he believed a wrong choice right.
She touched his hand. “Adam, there’s something I need to say to you.”Please don’t be angry with me.This—her fear of his rejection—had sealed her lips up until then. She felt like she was backing him into a corner, forcing him to see things he’d stubbornly clenched his eyes against. But he needed to hear. To see. And be set free. Even if it meant he’d walk away from her.
He threaded his fingers through hers, his throat bobbing. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, tortured. “Is it something I want to hear?”
She stroked her thumb over the length of his forefinger, not able to reassure him any other way. A man running rarely felt relief over being caught.
“Can it wait?” His pleading was like a fist to a cookie, leaving her heart in crumbs. How she hated to hurt him. But after pain came relief, didn’t it?
With her other hand, she reached up and combed her fingers through the hair at his nape. She searched his eyes, reading the sorrow along the corners and sick with herself for putting it there. Gently, she tugged his head down and pressed her lips to his in a light touch. That a man as strong and capable and jovial as Adam could have a stamp on his soul that readhandle with carestirred within her a longing to do just that.
Withdrawing from the kiss but keeping her face only a breath away, she squeezed her eyes tight, surprised when something damp trailed down her cheek. His breath, warm and minty, tickled her lips, and she pushed up on her toes to meet his again. Her touch was firmer this time, and she hoped that while her first kiss relayed she would be tender with his heart, this second promised she would also fight for it.
