“The most meaningful thing about you is that you are loved by God,” the pastor continued. “You’re a child of God. That’s the only identity that can bring satisfaction.”

At the close of the sermon, he prayed along with the pastor, asking God to forgive him, to help him find his identity as a child of God.

It didn’t help. His spirit remained distracted and frayed.

When Leah’s phone rang the next night, her heart wedged into her throat, just like it had every time her phone had rung for the past seven days. On each occasion, one name had sprung into her head.

Sebastian?

She wanted it to be him.

She didn’t want it to be him.

But mostly, as in ninety percent mostly, she did want it to be him, despite her belief that going their separate ways was for the best.

She moved her attention from the paper she was grading to her phone, and for the first time since she’d argued with him in Atlanta, the caller ID displayed the name Sebastian Grant.

She covered her mouth with her hand and listened to it ring again. What should she do?

Her body decided for her. Without permission, her fingers shot out and answered. “Hello?”

“I miss you.”

“Who did you say was calling?”

“Are you still angry?”

She gathered her thoughts. “No, I’m not still angry. However, I do stand behind the concerns I verbalized.”

He made a sound of frustration. “You know what? Talking on the phone with you isn’t going to work.” She heard rustling. “We need to talk in person.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to drive there.”

“What? It’s eight o’clock. On a school night.”

“I’m locking my apartment now. I’m already on the way to my car.”

She spluttered. “You have work in the morning, don’t you?”

“I don’t care.”

“Round trip, the drive will take you more than three hours.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m not sure if it makes sense—”

“I’ll see you in less than an hour and forty minutes,” he informed her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Concentration proved impossible after Sebastian’s phone call. So impossible that she couldn’t finish grading. She ended up funneling her nervous energy and conflicting thoughts into cleaning.

“What’re you doing?” Dylan asked during one of his kitchen snack breaks.

“Straightening up.”

“When you clean, you make me help. And you never clean at this time of night. Plus, you’re moving at, like, twice your usual speed.”

“Sebastian is going to stop by.”

“Even though he lives in Atlanta?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And isn’t your boyfriend?”

“It’s complicated.”

He chuckled all the way back to his room.