The pain in his expression, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides, the careful distance he’s maintaining between us now. This is the woman who almost made him leave the priesthood. The woman he was prepared to destroy himself for.
The woman he might still love.
Of course, I think bitterly.Of course she’s beautiful and sophisticated and age-appropriate. Of course she’s everything I’m not. I’m just the girl who stole from the church, the charity case living in the rectory, the distraction he’ll eventually outgrow.
“Charlie,” Marcus starts, but I shake my head.
“I need to go.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “I have a shift at the diner.”
I flee before he can respond, before the tears burning my eyes can fall, before I have to watch him choose between his past and whatever this thing between us is supposed to be.
The church is crowded after Sunday service, parishioners lingering in the nave to chat and share coffee.
I weave through the crowd, trying to make myself invisible, when I spot Elijah near the choir loft stairs.
He’s talking to Sarah Chen, and something about the scene makes me pause.
Sarah is holding a gift wrapped in expensive paper, her face flushed with excitement as she presents it to Elijah. Even from across the room, I can see how her body angles toward his, possessive and intimate. How her fingers linger when he takes the package, how her eyes never leave his face.
Elijah looks uncomfortable, his angel face carefully neutral as he tries to refuse. But Sarah’s eyes fill with tears, and I watch other parishioners turn to look, drawn by the drama.
She’s insisting it’s just gratitude, her voice carrying across the space, and Elijah reluctantly accepts rather than embarrass her publicly.
My stomach drops as I recognize the manipulation. The public setting, the tears, the way she’s positioned this so Elijah has no choice but to accept.
This isn’t a harmless crush.
This is calculated.
I watch Elijah unwrap the gift—a book, clearly old and expensive.
His blue eyes widen with genuine appreciation, and Sarah’s face lights up with triumph.
She touches his arm, stands too close, and I see the same possessive body language I witnessed weeks ago.
He doesn’t see it, I realize.He thinks she’s just an enthusiastic student. But I see the way Sarah’s watching him, the hunger barely concealed beneath her teenage sweetness. The same warning feeling from before intensifies, making my skin crawl.
I should go to him, should warn him again.
But Isabella’s appearance has shaken me more than I want to admit, and I can’t face another conversation about threats and danger and all the ways our lives are falling apart.
Instead, I escape to kitchen, my hands already reaching for flour and sugar before I’ve fully processed the decision.
Stress-baking is my therapy, the only thing that quiets my racing thoughts.
I work the dough with practiced precision, kneading out my anxiety about Isabella’s return, about the rosary bead warning, about Sarah’s increasingly concerning behavior.
The kitchen fills with the scent of cinnamon and butter as brownies bake. I’m frosting them when my phone buzzes with a notification. Social media.
I almost ignore it, but something makes me check.
Sarah Chen has posted a photo of the poetry book Elijah accepted, the expensive binding catching the light. The caption makes my blood run cold.
Found the perfect gift for someone special.
Comments are already piling up. Sarah’s friends asking who the lucky guy is. Sarah responding with a blushing emoji andHe’s amazing.
The post is public. Visible to anyone.
