We made a choice. A good one. A necessary one. The right one.
But it doesn’t make it easier.
Not when I’m sitting next to him in the church café, watching the way he laughs with Micah like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. Not when his hand brushes mine by accident during group prayer, and I feel the tremor in both of us when we pull away. Not when he walks me to my car at night, keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, and says goodnight with his eyes instead of his lips.
And when he does kiss me, it feels less like temptation and more like a promise. Like he’s telling me with hisrestraint that I’m worth waiting for, worth honoring, worth every boundary we’ve drawn together.
It’s like we’re holding our breath in slow motion.
And I don’t know how long we can stay in this limbo without bursting.
I want to ask him—what happens next? Where do we go from here?
Because if the only way to be closer is through marriage…and I’m not ready for that yet, then what? How do we grow when we’ve drawn a line in the sand and put everything physical on the other side of it?
In every past relationship, getting closer meant more physical touch. That was the rhythm. The unspoken rule. Holding hands. Kissing longer. Staying the night. It was how we marked progress, how we felt seen, wanted, chosen.
But maybe that was the problem.
Because now that I think about it, really think about it, those relationships never grew in the ways that actually mattered. The closeness was surface-level. Temporary. A substitute for something deeper we never really built.
And maybe that lack of real love, the kind that protects and honors and actually knows the other person—maybe that’s why the intimacy always felt a little bit hollow. A little bit like chasing something that kept slipping away.
So now, with Gray…it’s different. Slower. Harder. Yet better.
And I don’t know how to do this.
But I think maybe…that’s the point?
I press the brakes a little too hard pulling into the church parking lot, exhaling as I shift into park. A few cars are already lined up near the front entrance, all staff and volunteers on a Thursday morning. I grab mysketchbook and laptop from the passenger seat, trying to shake the restless energy buzzing in my chest.
It’s just a meeting. No big deal.
But I know better.
Because Gray’s probably inside with rehearsing.
And we won’t be alone.
And somehow, that still doesn’t make it easier.
I climb the front steps slowly, the chill of the September wind nipping at my cheeks. Inside, the warmth of the building hits instantly.
I paste on a smile, the one I reserve for being “fine,” and push through the door.
Let’s do this.
The meeting goes well.
Better than well.
The team loved the final Christmas Eve designs, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can actually breathe. Like maybe I’m doing something right.
I walk out of the conference room clutching my empty coffee cup like it’s some kind of trophy. The hallway is quieter now, most people already headed out or lingering in small groups near the exit.
And then I see him.
Leaning against the wall in the lobby, hands in his pockets, head tipped slightly like he’s been waiting. When his eyes catch mine, that crooked smile breaks across his face and my heart does that ridiculous flip thing it always does around him.
