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Luke was married?
    â€œIt was too easy to hold myself blameless, to not see that God was leading us both to a better place. I had to take a look at myself, not just her.”
    Intriguing. I wonder what he saw.
    What would it be like to have Luke look at you with affection crinkling those beautiful blue eyes? He’d given me a similarly friendly smile when he first walked into The Fountain. I frowned as I realized he hadn’t been as judgmental then as I’d thought. After all, he’d walked in and ordered a beer. He’d enjoyed the music, even looked at me with respectful admiration, not like I was a slab of meat.
    And you played that song and winked at him like a world-class flirt.
    No. I wasn’t going to feel guilty about that. I hadn’t known who he was. Even if I had known, I would’ve still played the song.
    So I probably would’ve skipped the winking part. Maybe the double entendre at the end. But I still would’ve played the song.
    He looked to his left again, and I studied his profile. Why would any woman leave him? Sure, he was too uptight for my tastes, but there was an undeniable integrity about him. Or was it his decency that had ultimately repulsed her? Lots of women went after bad boys, but I could testify that bad boys were overrated. Still, I’d never survive a relationship with someone like Luke. He was too good and too perfect, the sort of man who would always emphasize how I fell short.
    The congregation bowed their heads for the closing prayer, but I looked straight ahead. I might have fallen from grace so far as those people were concerned, but no way was some freaky off-kilter hymn going to wrap up this sermon. Luke said his amen, and I scribbled a number on a sheet of paper and passed it over the choir loft railing to the song leader who sat below me. Jason Utley looked at me like I had lost my mind. I pointed to the paper, and he shrugged his shoulders. Best I could tell, there wasn’t a song leader alive who could resist “Just as I Am.”
    Jason stood, and I turned to face the piano. He announced the change of hymn, and I could feel daggers in the back of my head, courtesy of one Luke Daniels. They were daggers of Christian love and fellowship, but they were daggers nonetheless. Jason’s tenor warbled through all six verses of the song, and I struggled not to add one flourish, my concession for changing his song. I wrapped up the last verse and chanced to turn around. There stood a new family, three of only seven new faces, and they wanted to join the church. The daggers, I noticed, had subsided.
    When I finally finished, Ginger clapped. Her lips twisted in that way that suggested she was somewhere between pleased and perturbed. “You played spectacularly. You even found a little heart there in those last numbers.”
    â€œThanks, Ginger.” I came down from the loft and gave her a hug. “Mexican?”
    â€œOf course,” she said as I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a Sunday, isn’t it?”
    â€œPerhaps I could join you?”
    I looked up to see Luke still standing at the front door from where he had shaken the last hand. My gut twisted. How would you feel if someone changed your songs?
    Luke rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting for an answer. I wondered if he got nervous energy like musicians after a concert or athletes after a big game. This was his big performance of the week. And, of course, thinking of rock stars reminded me of Luke in nothing but tighty whities underneath his robe. I managed to convert that giggle into a cough as I looked at the floor and was irrationally disappointed to see sharply creased trousers hanging underneath.
    For the love, Beulah. The man just admitted his first wife left him.
    â€œI think we might need to speak about my expectations.”
    All of my goodwill dissipated. He wasn’t keyed up or lonely; he wanted to ream me out for having the audacity