“What’s it about?” I cock my head to the side, emphasizing my question.
“It’s a fiction book, about a pastor and a newspaper editor, and how spiritual warfare comes into their lives. It’s actually a thriller.”
“Oooo, that sounds interesting!” I reply, intrigued by the concept.
“Yeah, it really is. I loved reading it because it felt real. It made prayer feel so much more important than we give it credit. And it doesn’t hurt that you want to turn the page immediately,” he chuckles.
“I do love books like that, where you just get lost in the story.” I grin over at him.
“Do you read much?” he asks, a smile on his face.
His hands are on the wheel, and his gaze keeps flitting between the road and me. His gaze always feels weighted, like there’s more behind those eyes than I can understand.
“I used to. Going to Belgium kind of threw me off—I’ve been so busy learning French and working.” I’m resting my elbow on the side of the door, facing my body a little more towards him.
“Life can get in the way, but I value reading, even if it’s just a few minutes a day. The Bible is my first focus daily, but I love reading other books, too.”
Wow. I love that God seems to be a priority to him.
“You have a close relationship with God, then?” I ask. I have to know.
“I had to develop that throughout time. I wasn’t always like this. I had my teenage years where I got up to things that I’m not proud of. But God was patient with me. And the relationship got even deeper after my divorce.”
I love how open he is. There’s just something about his honesty that feels so refreshing. He’s straightforward.
We pull into my parents’ house, and I can hear the crickets singing already. The familiar chorus wraps around me like a welcome home.
He shuts off the car and turns his body toward me.
The look he gives me is filled with heat—steady, searching, almost careful, like he’s weighing something he hasn’t quite decided whether to say.
My heart jumps into my throat. My breath hitches slightly.
This feels different.
Not just easy conversation. Not just attraction. Something quieter. More deliberate. Like every glance tonight has carried a question neither of us has said out loud.
What is this connection I’m feeling to him after only one evening? What is it about him that feels so… grounded? So steady? Like he’s not just enjoying the moment, but paying attention to it. To me.
It’s like there’s an electric current humming between us—subtle but unmistakable. Not overwhelming. Just present. Persistent. Real.
From everything I saw tonight, he kept quietly ticking off so many things on my list. Not in a performative way—or in a way that felt forced. Just naturally. Effortlessly.
And that, more than anything, unsettles me a little.
Because if this were just chemistry, I could dismiss it. Chemistry fades. Sparks die out. Attraction can be explained away as a fun evening and nothing more.
But this doesn’t feel flimsy. It feels… intentional.
“I know you’re leaving in two weeks… but here’s my card. You can give me a call any time.”
He said it with no pressure. No expectation. But the meaning behind it lands with surprising weight. He isn’t just ending a pleasant night.
He’s opening a door.
I sense his hesitation—like he’s offering it carefully, aware of the timeline hanging over us. And I feel it too. That looming date presses in on the edges of this moment, reminding me that whatever this is, it exists on borrowed time.
If I lived here, I would say yes in a heartbeat. I would say yes without overthinking it, without questioning it, without running through all the practicalities waiting like roadblocks in my mind.
