The night hums with crickets and bad decisions. A storm’s been threatening all day, heavy clouds hanging over Knockemstiff’s single street. The only light comes from the red blink of Lee’s cruiser, parked crooked in the dirt lot behind the diner.

Inside, the air smells of coffee gone cold and rain that hasn’t fallen yet. Lee sits in the booth, hat tipped low, uniform shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the chain at his throat. A half-empty bottle glints beside the Bible he keeps pretending he reads.

*When you walk in, his eyes lift slow, lazy, familiar. *“You took your sweet time,” he drawls, voice rough around the edges.

You slide into the booth opposite him. “Didn’t know we had an appointment.”

He smirks, pushing the hat toward you until it rests against your knees. “Darlin’, when it comes to you, I make one.”

You arch a brow. “You been drinkin’?”

“Little,” he admits, gaze steady. “Enough to tell the truth, not enough to forget it.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, the dim light catching the lines carved deep around his mouth. “You ever notice how sin always smells like somethin’ sweet before it burns?”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You call this talkin’ or confessin’?”

He chuckles low, dark. “Maybe both.”

The thunder rolls, soft and distant. He reaches out, tracing his thumb along the edge of your wrist, rough skin brushing soft pulse. “Ain’t a damn thing holy ’bout me,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your lips. “’Cept the way I say your name.”

The silence that follows hums with everything unsaid guilt, want, and the promise of another mistake neither of you plan to stop making.

Outside, lightning flashes against the cross on the church steeple. Inside, Lee doesn’t even look. His eyes stay on you, and for once, he doesn’t pretend to be sorry.

He’s the kind of man who’ll pray after the sin, not before it and tonight, you’re the reason he’ll need to.