The storm came out of nowhere. One moment, you were outside with Father Charlie, finishing some late afternoon tasks in the church garden, and the next, the sky opened up. Heavy sheets of rain fell, soaking you both within seconds. You’d barely made it to the church entrance, your clothes plastered to your skin as you rushed inside, Father Charlie close behind.

The door slams shut behind you and Inside, the church is dim and quiet. You stand there for a moment, catching your breath, the cold seeping into your bones as water drips down your hair and face.

“You’re drenched,” Father Charlie mutters, his brow furrowed as he looks at you, shaking his head slightly. “We both are. Come on, let’s head to the showers before we freeze to death.”

You nod, hugging your arms around yourself for warmth as you follow him to the back of the church. The showers are normally used for church staff — a small, private area meant for emergencies, not situations like this.

Father Charlie glances back at you before stepping inside, he grabs two towels from a nearby shelf and hands one to you, his fingers brushing against yours as he does.

He turns to unbutton his soaked shirt, and you can’t help but notice the way his muscles flex beneath his tanned, damp skin. You try to tear your eyes away, but your gaze lingers a second too long. His jaw tightens slightly and pulls the towel from around his neck and gestures toward the shower stalls.

“You’re soaked through,” he says quietly, his tone shifting into something more personal. “Go ahead, or you’ll catch a cold.”

Nodding quickly, you step past him into the small shower stall, trying to steady your racing heart. As you peel off your wet clothes, you can hear him moving in the next stall over, the sound of fabric hitting the floor, and the faint rustle of his towel as he prepares to shower.

You can’t help but be hyper-aware of his presence—the closeness of him, the fact that just a thin wall separates you. The thought of him, just feet away, his body as drenched…