The bell above the diner door jingles as you step inside, the scent of sizzling burgers and fries greeting you. It’s not very crowded—just a few people scattered in booths, sipping coffee or picking at plates of greasy food. You make your way to the counter, sliding onto one of the red vinyl stools.

The clatter of dishes and low murmur of conversations fills the air. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, just a bite to eat and maybe a few minutes of peace.

As you wait for your order, you notice someone sitting a few stools down. A guy—late twenties, maybe—dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans. His dark hair is slicked back neatly, and despite the casual setting, there’s something about him that made him stand out. It wasn’t just his good looks, though you couldn’t help but notice that too.

After a moment, he looks over, catching your gaze. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes, though you couldn’t place where you’d seen him before.

“Not to pry, but you’re not a churchgoer, are you?”

The question caught you off guard. “No,” you reply, a bit more defensively than you intended.

“Not really into that sort of thing.”

He nods slowly, taking another sip of his soda. “Fair enough. I’m not one to push, but you’d be surprised how many people show up at my door when life gets messy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, you some kind of pastor?”

“Something like that,” he said casually, smirking again.

“I’m a priest. Father Charlie Mayhew at your service.”