Sunday Morning (Sunday Morning, #1)

by Jewel E. Ann

“If you touch something of mine, I get to touch something of yours, but I guess you tried to get me to feel you up during prayer, so that counts.”

I need someone who loves me enough to want to see me following my dreams, who supports me.”

If it was good, you’d find time and space. You’d crave it like your next breath. He’d be on your mind twenty-four seven, and you’d risk everything to be with him. Your hands would itch to touch him the way they yearn to wrap around my guitar.”

“I know the tenth commandment is Thou shalt not covet. And I’ve been breaking that one a lot lately,” he said. “How so?” I asked as Isaac physically brushed past me. “Sunday Morning, I’ve been coveting the fuck out of you since Easter Sunday,” he said, strolling out of the barn. I died and went straight to Hell.

Which is more important, honesty or kindness?”

And I know this because you fucking fell in love with a guitar. And my brother has thousands of dollars saved up, but he’s never given you the one thing that makes your heart sing. He doesn’t see you. How can you take off your clothes for someone who doesn’t. Fucking. See. You?”

The bear didn’t need to be poked anymore, but I had a proverbial stick in my hand, and I couldn’t resist.

“You think you should love him. But you’re going to let him go. It’s the only way you’ll be able to chase your dreams. And in another year, you’ll both look back at your time together with fondness. However, neither one of you will regret not staying together.” At first, I thought he knew. I thought Matt said

something to him, but that was unlikely. Isaac just had an eerie sense of the truth, so I scoffed. “So which is it? Will we be broken up, or will I be your sister-in-law?” “You mean, will you be happy or miserable? I don’t know, Sunday Morning. That’s up to you.”

“Hot. That’s so hot. And awful. And …” Her face wrinkled. “Weird. Messed up. Sarah, your boyfriend’s brother wrote his name on your boob!”

But sometimes, the things we couldn’t see made a deeper impact and the most permanent mark.

flipped to Leviticus, barely registering my dad preaching about apologizing for not being enough

and the importance of repentance. In hindsight, I probably should have listened better.

All parents complained about the difficulties of parenting. Surely God wouldn’t make procreation so easy. Making a human needed to be hard, like trigonometry, pull-ups, and brain surgery.

“Sunday Morning, you could wrap me around your little finger if only you knew how to wield the power I’m giving you.”

“I love Matt because he was my first love. I love music because it’s my endless love. Isaac is just a transition—a bridge to a new road.”

“It’s Friday Morning,” I said. “Every day is Sunday Morning in my world.” He’s just a bridge. A bridge that could collapse.

And that totally sucks to not love someone the way they love

The less he demanded, the more I wanted to give him. Isaac held me with open arms.

“I want absolutely anything you’re willing to give me.”

“Sarah, I’m not having sex with you because you feel obligated to return the favor. I’ll sneak a cigarette later and call it good.” The door clicked shut.

I loved Isaac more than anyone. He didn’t earn it the way Matt earned my love. It wasn’t bestowed by genetics. I didn’t fall in love with Isaac. I found myself in love with him.

In him, I found myself.

You can’t suffocate someone’s dreams without losing them.

Open your mind to see their flaws, knowing that someday you will inevitably fuck something up, and you’ll beg for understanding and forgiveness.”

Music is so much more than notes and lyrics. It’s an emotion, like when something moves you so deeply or gets you so excited that you can’t just speak the words; you have to sing them because you don’t want people to just hear the words. You want them to feel them. Music is what happens when your body and soul speak at the same time.”

He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him, but I felt him. And that was enough to hold it together.

Take your time. Be vulnerable. Feel everything. Then find courage in the face of fear. I love you, Sunday Morning. —Satan

can’t pray my way out of this awful feeling that everything I’ve believed about God is wrong. Is He indiscriminate or calculated? Is everything part of a grand plan or by chance? Because I can’t wrap my head around the idea that I’m here by God’s grace, and Heather and Joanna are not. Good people die every day, and evil people live. The only way I can imagine forgiving God is if I can believe that He did nothing. That He does nothing but give us free will to live. To make mistakes, even if they cost us everything. But if you want me to believe He has a hand in it, then I’m out. I cannot worship that kind of god.”

So, if you really want to know, I want to spend the rest of my life with this woman. I want to watch her put her feet on my dash while jotting down lyrics to songs on fast food bags. I want to fall asleep to her playing the guitar. I want to get drunk on the outpouring of love from crowds of people when they hear her sing. And I want to die in her eyes while she smiles at me every time I look at her.”