Emily hadn’t stepped into a church in years. The last time, she’d been a teenager, her heart a tangle of rebellion and curiosity. Now, in a town two thousand miles from home, standing in the dimly lit sanctuary with an old friend she hadn’t seen in years, she wondered why she’d agreed to Daniel’s suggestion. Perhaps it was nostalgia—the memory of Sunday mornings with her grandmother, the scent of old hymnals, and the warmth of worn wooden pews.

Stray strands of Daniel’s tousled blond hair glinted under the stained glass as he led her down the aisle. His hand on her bare shoulder felt comforting. More than that. Her own hand brushed his bottom, the briefest touch, but a naughty thought flashed through her mind. What if she snaked a hand into his pants? What if her fingers...?

Daniel ushered her into an empty row. The pew felt like a slab of granite, and Emily shifted uncomfortably. She glanced around, taking in the sparse congregation. A few elderly women in floral hats, a man with a cane, and a restless child who eyed the exit.

“Is the preacher one of those fire-and-brimstone types?” Emily whispered to Daniel. “You know, the ones who predict eternal damnation for every misplaced thought?”

Daniel chuckled. “Not this one. Reverend Caldwell is more like a lullaby than a thunderstorm. He’ll talk about love and forgiveness. No snakes, I promise.”

Emily sighed. She’d half-hoped for drama, for a sermon that would shake her soul awake. Instead, Reverend Caldwell droned on about community outreach programs and the church bake sale. His voice blended with the creaking floorboards, and Emily’s mind wandered.

Beside her sat the reason for her disquiet: Daniel. They’d been friends since college, their connection forged in late-night conversations and shared secrets. But somewhere along the way, friendship had blurred into something deeper—a longing she’d buried beneath practicality and fear.

Daniel shifted, brushing her arm. His touch sent a jolt through her, and she wondered if he felt it too. The preacher’s words blurred into nonsense as Emily’s mind replayed stolen glances and missed opportunities.

“Emily,” Daniel whispered, leaning close. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, her pulse racing. “Just—restless. This isn’t my scene.”

He smiled, and for a moment, Emily glimpsed the boy she’d fallen for—the one who’d held her hand during thunderstorms and danced with her under moonlight. But life had woven them into separate threads: Daniel, the scientist, Emily, the restless artist.