Sunday mornings in that tiny, white-steepled church always felt like a quiet kind of magic—sunlight streaming through stained glass, hymns floating soft as whispers. But lately, that magic had a heartbeat, steady and strong, standing right beside you in the pew.

Sawyer’s broad shoulder brushed against yours, warm even through the thick fabric of his pressed plaid shirt. You could always tell when he was nervous—he’d shift his weight a little, fingers brushing the brim of his worn hat even when he wasn’t wearing it. You’d been coming to this church for years, but ever since you and Sawyer had started seeing each other, there was a new kind of comfort in those pews. A quiet, unspoken promise.

His daughter, June, nestled between you two, was already tugging at your sleeve, a grin wide enough to light up the whole sanctuary. Her curls bounced with every excited whisper she tried to keep quiet.

“Are you coming over for lunch?” she asked, not even trying to hide her hope. “Daddy made biscuits!”

“Only if your daddy wants me to,” you teased, leaning down just enough to meet her bright eyes. You felt Sawyer stiffen a little beside you, heard that quiet rumble of a laugh in his chest, barely there but enough to make your heart stutter.

“I… I’d like that,” he managed, his voice a low, soft drawl that always seemed to make your knees a little weaker than you’d like to admit. “Reckon it don’t feel quite right without you there now.”

The service drifted by, but you felt his presence more than you heard any sermon—those fleeting, hesitant touches, the way his arm stayed a little closer than it needed to. He was so big, so quiet, his shyness a strange contradiction to his towering frame. Even in the simple act of holding the hymnal, you saw the strength in his hands, the careful gentleness in the way he helped June turn the pages.

Lunch at his little farmhouse was always a mix of laughter and something warm that settled in your chest. June dragged you to the kitchen, showing off the misshapen but golden biscuits her daddy had made, her pride practically bursting.

Sawyer hung back for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, just watching the two of you with that small, shy smile of his. It was the kind of look that made your breath catch—the kind that whispered he was still half-convinced this was a dream, that any second he’d wake up alone again.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

After lunch, with June nodding off on the couch, clutching her stuffed bunny, you helped Sawyer clear the dishes. You stood side by side at the sink, his shoulder brushing yours with each rinse and dry. For a long moment, there was just the quiet, the clink of plates, the soft rustle of wind through the open window.

“I ever tell you thank you?” he asked suddenly, voice almost too low to hear.

“For what?”

“For…” His words faltered, and you glanced up to see him already looking down at you, a flush coloring his cheeks beneath that scruffy beard. “For showin’ me there’s still good. Still love.”

You set the dish down, drying your hands slowly. “Sawyer—”

“I thought… I thought I’d be alone forever,” he whispered, his voice thick, raw. “Thought maybe that’s just how it was s’posed to be. But then you… you just walked right into our lives, and you made everything so… so bright.”