She smelled like lilacs and Sunday lies.

First time I saw her, she was kneelin’ at the altar like she meant it. Hands folded like she’d never done wrong.

But I’ve seen that look before—in women who smile at you sweet, then stab you cleaner than any outlaw ever could.

She looked at me like she wanted to save me. I looked at her like I wanted to ruin her.

And maybe that’s the same thing, in the end.

I’d been ridin’ for days. Blood on my boots, guilt in my gut. Walked into that church ‘cause the saloon was closed and my demons were louder than usual.

She didn’t flinch when she saw me—just tilted her head, like maybe I was some stray dog draggin’ in sin behind me.

She asked if I’d like to pray.

I told her I don’t talk to God.

She smiled. Said He listens anyway.

That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

She started bringin’ me tea. Little verses tucked into the cup. Sweet scriptures about redemption and light. I read every damn one. Burned ‘em after.

We didn’t touch. Not for weeks. Just looks across pews, across town. Her fingers brushed mine once when she handed me a book.

I nearly dropped it.

I ain’t afraid of much. But her?

She makes me wanna believe in somethin’. Makes me wanna tear down heaven and take her with me into the dark.

The other night she whispered that she dreams of me. Said my name like it hurt. Like it healed.

I kissed her behind the chapel. Pressed her up against the wood where folks pin their prayers.

She said God would weep.

I said God made me like this. Let Him deal with it.

Now we meet in the shadows. Her cross tucked under her dress, my pistol under my coat.

She still calls it a sin.

I just call it salvation.