My Hope Next Door by Tammy L. Gray Page B

Jillian had cured him of that particular ailment.
    The first hint of pink shot out in rays from the thinning clouds.
    Katie didn’t pry, like he had. She just watched the sun dip lower in the sky. When the ball of orange had disappeared beyond the horizon, she pointed to one of the fence posts.
    “Is this your next project?”
    He sensed disappointment behind her question. “Nah. I’m gonna wait. I still have to build some benches and the countertops around my grill. I want the outdoor kitchen done before we start hitting three digits.”
    Katie pushed off from the railing and walked toward the side of the deck where the kitchen equipment and countertop would go. He’d built out areas for the mini fridge, a stainless sink, and the industrial-sized grill he planned to install. Right now, though, the wood framing had more holes than appliances.
    “Where did you learn how to build this stuff? Your dad?”
    Asher’s snort made him feel a little guilty. His father really did try. “No, my dad should never be given a power tool. See those three posts over there?” He pointed to the area his father had helped with. The posts all leaned several degrees to the left, and while it wouldn’t ruin the fence line, it would forever bug him. “He was supposed to use a level after pouring the concrete. He eyeballed it instead. My dad is gifted with big-picture vision, but the minute details? Well, they tend to annoy him.”
    Katie grinned and tilted her head to study the posts. Even in shorts, a faded T-shirt, and hair that encircled her head like a mane, she had a presence. An aura, almost, that in one sense screamed back off and in another begged to be rescued.
    “It’s still weird for me to think of Pastor Powell as having flaws. My whole life he’s been this beacon for goodness. Even people who hate religion seem to respect your dad.”
    He cleared his throat. Her comment had slipped under his skin, even though he doubted that was her intention. “There are no perfect people, Katie. Just some who try harder than others to do the right thing.”
    She circled back to him and stopped a foot away. “And what is ‘the right thing’?” She made furious quotation marks in the air, her hands trembling.
    “What do you mean?”
    Her entire demeanor had changed. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe all that pacing and fidgeting had simply distracted him from the blaze of exasperation in her eyes.
    “How does one define ‘right’ when everyone is raised with a different standard? ’Cause I’m trying to do the right thing. And yet I keep hitting this wall. So maybe I don’t know what the right thing is. Maybe because I didn’t get the memo early, like you, I’m doomed. Trapped by a lifetime of making choices I can’t take back.”
    The accusation filled the void between them, heightening his senses, and wrapped chains of defensiveness around their standoff. This was the battle he’d always fought. This idea that being a pastor’s kid made him immune to sin.
    He laid hands on her shoulders and resisted the urge to shake her. “You’re not being fair. I struggle just like you do. I face the worst parts of myself every day.” His voice felt full of gravel, and a rising ache brought with it every failure. “Growing up in church doesn’t give me a magic cloak that protects me from mistakes. I make them all the time.”
    Katie blinked as if he had pulled her out of a haze, then returned her focus to the west, where the sun had long ago disappeared. A break from the tension. Or maybe just from him.
    He dropped his hands and rubbed one over his face, wishing the motion would ease his frustration. If this was where a friendship with her would take him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go. Despite everything, all they’d shared, she still saw him as a stereotype.
    “We may be from different worlds, Katie, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have things I wish I could take back. It doesn’t mean I’m without my own share of