Love is not a Sin

Chapter 1 - An unusual Encounter

[Y/LN] = Your last name
[Y/EC] = Your eye colour
[Y/HC] = Your hair colour

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Your POV

The funeral was well attended. No wonder. Old Reverend Abraham Jones had finally slumbered peacefully into the hereafter five days ago, having bedridden his old age for some time.

However, he simply refused to go. He said his community would be vulnerable without him.In fact, the Archbishop of Canterbury had to come in person, witness the final anointing, and promise Reverend Jones on his deathbed that he would find a suitable replacement shepherd for his herd of sheep.

You couldn't have cared less - but as a reporter for the local newspaper - the "Wye Daily Chronicle" - you naturally had to report on this almost once-a-century event.
With the camera dangling from your shoulder and a small notepad in hand, you stood to one side and jotted down notes.

Everything was very solemn and of course everyone came in their best black clothes.And since it was best for a reporter to go unrecognized, you naturally blended in with the crowd.
You were wearing a knee-length black skirt with a black blouse and black low-heeled pumps. At least you didn't want to risk getting your heel stuck on the English lawn.
So, you stood in the shade of a chestnut tree while the other guests stood in the full August sun and listened to the priest from Ashford.

A clearing of a throat next to you snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up.
Yet, you immediately had to grip your pen tighter so as not to let it fall out of sheer amazement.
Next to you was probably the most beautiful man in the whole world.
Have you already got sunstroke?
"W-who are you? I don't think I've seen you in Wye before?"

The man looked down at you with a faint chuckle. He had unruly, curly, red-brown hair that he probably tried to comb back and bright blue-green eyes that sparkled mischievously. A five-day beard adorned his prominent chin and accentuated his face, but that was hardly necessary since his high cheekbones did that part enough.
He was at least 1.80 maybe even 1.90 tall and towered over you quite a bit.
"I'm new here. Are you a reporter?" he asked now and when he smiled – oh heaven help you! – slight laugh lines formed next to his eyes.

Damn... He was hot.

You nodded, unable to form a word. God dammit! Pull yourself together!
"I-I work for the "Wye Daily Chronical". Well... I'm actually the only real employee. Then I have another colleague – David. He takes care of the typesetting and the layout. And the print."

"Wow. That must be a full-time job then, right?" He came a little closer and leaned against the same tree you were standing in front of. The scent of his aftershave drifted gently towards you and paired with another scent emanating from him: sandalwood, musk... and something citrusy...

But you snorted slightly at his statement.
"Oh yeah. Extremely exhausting. The new types of cakes at Gerald's. The Wye Primary School Children's Reading Competition. The installation of the umpteenth bench."

"The Reverend's funeral?" He nodded to the cluster of black-robed mourners, and you swallowed. His tone wasn't judgmental, but was there something... admonishing in his voice? It was dark and harmonious... And you were sure... even if he'd read the Yellow Pages back and forth you would be hanging on his lips for every word.

"Of course. Reverend Jones was a Wye institution. Even if he didn't always make it easy for the press... Let's see how the new one turns out..."

The handsome stranger raised an eyebrow in interest. "The new?"

"Well, the one who's going to take Reverend Jones' place as Reverend. Certainly, I think he will also be old, conservative, anti-feminist and backward... Any progress was a thorn in his side. Women belonged at the stove and should ideally be married at 18. Having children and being happy... We've often clashed... But I always get my opinion on everyone here anyway."
You crossed your arms, snorting in frustration.