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I can still feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, the way his touch lingered just a second too long, like he wasn't sure if he should have done it at all. It was so subtle, so easy to brush off as nothing. But it wasn't nothing.
I take another step, my shoes scuffing against the pavement as I move toward the parking lot, but I don't make it far. My legs feel heavy, my mind too full to focus on anything other than him—his voice, his eyes, the way he looked at me like he was trying to understand something.
What am I even doing here?
I've never been the type to linger in church, let alone spend my Sunday mornings thinking about a priest. But there's something about Father Charlie that makes it hard to stay away. I can't stop thinking about the way he looked at me during the service, that glance that felt like more than just a passing moment. And now, after speaking with him, after that brief touch, I'm left with this strange feeling like I'm waiting for something to happen.
I stop near the edge of the parking lot, leaning against a low stone wall that surrounds the church grounds. My heart is still racing, my mind buzzing I can't even begin to answer. Why does it feel like this? Why does being near him feel so... intense?
I'm sure it's all in my head. It has to be. He's a priest, after all—devoted, bound to something higher, and I shouldn't be feeling this way.,
I glance back at the church, half-expecting to see him standing at the door, watching me leave. But of course, he's not. He's probably inside, already back to his duties, speaking to someone else with that same calm, kind demeanor. The thought makes me smile, He's kind.
I shouldn't come back. That much is obvious. This feeling—whatever it is—can't lead anywhere good. But as I stand there, staring at the familiar stone walls of the church, I know I will. Next week, and the week after. I'll keep coming back, and I don't know if it's for the food drive or for him, but I know I won't be able to stay away.
With a sigh, I finally push off the wall and make my way toward my car, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound in the quiet of the morning. I can't shake the feeling that I've crossed some invisible line I didn't even know was there.
As I pull open the car door and slide inside, I glance back at the church one last time. The sun is starting to rise higher in the sky, casting a soft golden light over the stone facade. It feels peaceful.
I take a deep breath and start the car, the engine rumbling beneath me. I need to go, to clear my head, to figure out what's happening inside me. But even as I pull out of the parking lot, leaving the church behind, I can't shake the feeling that this— whatever it is isn't over.
Not by a long shot.
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