Page 34 of Not Until I Found You

My answer is embarrassing, but I tell him the truth. “Not lately.”

He gives a slight nod and studies me. “Ashton told me y’all didn’t go to church a lot growing up.”

His question catches me off guard. “Yeah. I remember going as a child, but after Dad left, the church we went to sort of shunned us because my parents divorced, and they didn’t believe in that. It put a sour taste in my mouth about it all. We tried to visit a few places after that, but it seemed like we were constantly being judged, until my mom decided to quit going altogether. We haven’t been since.”

I glance down at my book just to escape his gaze. My heart races, caught between nerves or sheer embarrassment—I’m not sure which one. Braving a glance back at him, I catch him studying me again. His small smile carries no demands or potential lecture. It leaves me feeling a little less exposed, as if my uncertainty isn’t wrong or disappointing to him at all.

“I’m sorry for how those people treated you and your family. Church hurt is never easy to heal from.”

I shrug, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, unsure of what to say. My throat tightens at the memory of how my mom was treated back then. I know it still bothers her, even to this day.

He tilts his head so he can get a better look at me, his eyes remaining gentle. “They weren’t a good reflection of Jesus. They’re human, flawed and often afraid, so try not to let their actions shape your view of Him.”

I stare into the fire, considering his words. It’s a truth I hadn’t allowed myself to really hear before. Hope stirs in my chest that maybe my anger and resentment toward church isn’t a permanent mark on my heart. If that’s true, it could be the same for my mother too.

Sven sits down beside me and places his head into my lap. I grin down at him, giving his ear a scratch, before I glance back up at Zane. His eyes soften when he looks toward the fire. I’m curious about his faith, and how he’s survived the grief that still seems to linger around him. Something about the calm strength he radiates makes me wish I could hold onto it for myself.

Sven sighs, his head heavy on my knee, and I continue to stroke his soft fur absentmindedly, grounding myself in the motion.

Zane glances at me and clears his throat. “Do you remember what you said last weekend?”

I blink at him, trying to catch up. “About what?”

He gives me a half-smile, a glimmer of warmth breaking through his earlier heaviness. “About wanting to start living for yourself. Doing the things you love.”

“Oh, that. Well, I spent the weekend doing a whole lot of nothing.” I glance at the fire and shrug. “And this past week, I’ve been so focused on helping out at my dad’s that I haven’t really taken any time for myself.”

I peek up at him as he adds, “You should make time for yourself. What kinds of things would you want to do?”

“I’ve been wanting to go hiking again, maybe even try kayaking. I love being out in nature and surrounded by plants.”

“That’s fitting for you. There are a few trails around here I think you’d love,” he says. “There’s one near the creek that opens up to a view of the whole valley. Another out by the state park with fields of wildflowers.”

He stops there, his gaze drifting to the ground instead of me, his thumb brushing along the edge of the Bible in his lap. The silence stretches, as if he’s weighing whether to say something more but decides against it.

“They sound beautiful.”

“They are,” he replies, still not looking at me. His tone is kind but carries a faint distance now. “You should go sometime.”

I give him a nod. “I think I will.”

Chapter Nine

Zane

“If this doesn’t fix the old girl, are you finally going to buy a new truck?” I ask, using a rag to wipe the grease from my hands. “Preferably in another brand? You know what they say about Fords.”

“Don’t start⁠—”

“Found-On-Road-Dead.”

Ryland snorts. “First of all, she’s never died on me before this. Secondly, I’m not retiring her. This truck is a part of the family. I’m not about to toss her aside just because she needs a little TLC.”

“Part of the family, huh?” I glance at the faded-orange paint and dented fender then back at him. “You know, Ford trucks aren’t exactly known for their reliability.”

“Will you stop⁠—”

“Fix-Or-Repair-Daily. Fast-Only-Rolling-Downhill. The list goes on.”