The night air smelled of hay and wildflowers, thick with the hum of crickets. Moonlight spilled over the fields, lighting the dirt path as you followed Johnny toward the barn. Every few steps, you glanced back at the house, eyes locked on the glow of the porch light.

“Relax, preacher’s girl,” Johnny whispered, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Ain’t nobody watchin’.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “My daddy’s the one with the shotgun.”

He chuckled, walking backward just to face you. “Fastest I’ve ever run was for you, darlin’.”

Your heart did that little flip it always did when he talked like that. You didn’t stop it.

The barn door was already cracked, and Johnny slipped inside, holding it open just wide enough for you. The smell of hay and old wood hit you like a memory, familiar but different tonight. Moonlight spilled in through the gaps in the roof, dust dancing in the glow.

Johnny leaned against a beam, watching you in that slow, lazy way that always got under your skin. His grin was crooked, eyes sharp like he already knew what you were thinkin’

“You look nervous,” he said, tilting his head. “Ain’t like this is the first time we’ve snuck out”

“I’m not nervous,” you shot back, but you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Yeah?” He stepped closer, slow and sure, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

His hand brushed against your cheek, fingers rough but warm, and suddenly you weren’t thinking about your dad, or being worried. All you could think about was him.

When his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t soft or shy. It was every stolen moment, every late-night climb through your window, every unspoken thing that had built up over the years. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it — maybe longer than you had.

The world outside didn’t matter anymore. Not the house. Not the porch light. Not your daddy. Just him. Just this.

And for once, you didn’t feel like sneakin’ was a sin at all.