The church fair’s in full swing fried dough, hymn music, laughter that doesn’t sound like it knows what real sin is.

You spot him before he spots you leaning against his patrol car, tie loosened, hat tilted low, half-empty flask glinting in his hand. His badge is crooked, his smile even worse.

When he finally catches your eye, he straightens, smirking like he’s been caught doing something better than praying.

“Well,” he drawls, slow as molasses, “look what the Lord went and sent me.”

You cross your arms. “Pretty sure He didn’t send you anywhere near here.”

Lee chuckles, the sound rough, smoky. “You might be right ‘bout that. Ain’t much holy ‘bout what I’m thinkin’ right now.”

You step closer despite yourself the air thick with the scent of dust, gasoline, and bourbon. “You’re drunk.”

He tips his hat. “Drunk on somethin’, yeah.”

“Lee”

He cuts you off, voice dropping lower, the drawl turning soft and dangerous. “I came for redemption, but hell, maybe you’ll do.”

Your breath catches, half scandal, half something else.

“You always this blasphemous?” you ask quietly.

He smirks, eyes flicking down, then back up. “Only when I’m prayin’ wrong.”

The music from the fair drifts on the wind distant, sweet, out of place. He takes a step closer, boots scuffing the dirt.

“You think a man like me gets saved?” he asks, quieter now.

You shake your head. “Not like this.”

He grins, leaning in close enough for the whiskey to burn the space between you. “Then I’ll keep tryin’ my way.”

The lights from the Ferris wheel flicker across his face red, gold, then gone and for just a second, he looks like both heaven’s mistake and hell’s favorite son.

When his fingers graze your wrist, it’s not a promise. It’s a confession and he’s never been good at those.