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It's early evening when I hear a soft knock at my door, so faint I almost think I imagined it. I glance through the peephole, surprised to see Father Charlie standing there, his expression shadowed in the dim porch light. My heart stutters as I open the door, trying to hide the confusion—and maybe a bit of excitement—that's caught me off guard.
"Father Charlie," I say, my voice softer than I'd like. "What... what brings you here?"
He hesitates, then offers a small, almost hesitant smile. "I wanted to talk, if that's all right." He glances away, his hand lingering on the edge of the doorframe. "And... please, just call me Charlie. At least when it's just us."
I nod, stepping back to let him inside. The warmth of my living room contrasts with the cool evening outside, and he seems to relax a little as he steps in, his gaze drifting over the room before settling on me again.
He clears his throat, looking down for a moment. "I wanted to apologize," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret. "For what happened with Sister Megan. I know she was... less than kind to you. That wasn't fair, and I'm sorry. I spoke with her and assured her that there's no need for suspicion. I... I didn't want you to feel unwelcome at the church."
I watch him, trying to process his words, feeling the sincerity in his gaze. "Thank you," I whisper, feeling a strange warmth bloom in my chest. "It wasn't easy to hear what she said, but... I didn't want to cause any trouble for you, either."
"You didn't," he replies, his tone firm yet gentle. "I take responsibility for the situation. She... she was acting on her own assumptions, and I should have handled it sooner."
A silence settles between us, thick with words we're not saying. He looks down, his fingers brushing the edge of the table, as if he's considering his next words carefully.
"I want you to know that... your presence at the church means something to me," he says softly, finally meeting my gaze. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome because of someone else's... misinterpretations."
The air feels charged, every word carrying a weight I can't ignore. I swallow, my heart beating faster as I search his face, feeling that pull I've been trying to deny for so long. "It means a lot to hear you say that," I murmur. "I didn't realize... I didn't think it mattered."
"It does," he replies, stepping a little closer. His eyes hold mine, filled with a depth of feeling that catches me off guard. "More than you know."
He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine, and I can feel my breath hitch, my pulse racing as he reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His touch is light, barely there, but it sends a warmth through me, a warmth that I know I shouldn't feel but can't seem to push away.
"Charlie..." I whisper, his name slipping out before I can stop myself. It feels strange, intimate, forbidden—and yet, so right.
He looks at me, his gaze intense, filled with a longing I didn't know he had. "I... I shouldn't," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. But he doesn't step back. His hand lingers, resting against my cheek, his thumb gently tracing a path along my skin.
Neither of us moves, I know we're crossing a line. And yet, here we are, both unwilling to pull away, both caught in something that feels inevitable.
He leans in, so close I can feel his breath, warm against my skin, his gaze flickering to my lips. My heart is racing, my mind a blur of emotions I can barely process. I can feel the pull, the overwhelming desire to close the distance, to let go of everything that's holding us back.
Just when I think he's going to close the gap, when I can almost feel his lips brushing against mine, he stops, his breath hitching. His gaze flickers up to meet mine, his expression torn, filled with both longing and hesitation.
"I... I can't," he whispers, his voice pained, as if the words hurt him as much as they hurt me. He pulls back, his hand dropping from my cheek, and the loss of his touch is almost unbearable.
I swallow, feeling the weight of everything we want but can't have. "I understand," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper, even though I know it's a lie. I don't understand, not really—not when everything in me is screaming for him to stay close, to close the distance he's just put between us.
He takes a deep breath, his gaze softening, filled with regret. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice rough, raw. "I just... I can't."
I nod, forcing a small smile, though my heart feels like it's breaking. "It's okay, Charlie. I... I understand."
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