EMILY!!! I hear the shrill, raspy voice of my nightmares approaching, slowly, closer and closer, one stair at a time. I groan, knowing what today is. Head under the covers, I hear my door slam open with the force only my angry mother could have right before—
“CHURCH!” my mom screams as if I was six miles away, not six feet.
“WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE!!!”
I groan. It’s not like the sermon starts right away. Worship happens to be way too long, or at least that’s how it’s felt ever since the happy couple who used to actually know how to sing got replaced. Not only that, but their new replacement? He sings like he permanently has something stuck in his throat. He even looks homeless and is always out of breath.
Yeah. Because that’s exactly how I wanted to start my Sunday.
“EMILY, YOU HAVE 15 MINUTES TO GET READY!!”
My eyes “widen” as I act surprised, already planning how I might “accidentally” stall our drive there. Oh no… what a shame if we missed the first song or two.
“Oh my God, Emily, we are so late!” my mom says, fumbling with her bag in a rush to get into church as she slams the car door. “Heavenly Father, forgive me for being late,” she says, motioning her hands in a prayer position as she runs in.
I sigh, rubbing my tired eyes. I mean, what good is a church if it has bad singers? Plus, I don’t really believe in this whole “God thing.” I mean, He can’t even answer my simple prayer for a 6'2 husband with blue eyes, in finance. Is that so hard!?
Well, at least they have good coffee here.
Eyeing myself in the rearview mirror, I see my eye bags. Yep. I should have worn makeup today.
I sluggishly reach for the car door and head into the church, smiling at the ushers who greet me with warm smiles.
“Good morning.”
I smile back, nodding politely as I pass. I reach over to the café. Luckily, the barista here actually seems to like her job—or at least makes drinks like she does—unlike most of the Starbucks I go to nowadays. Their coffee just tastes like bitter water at this point.
“Hey, can I get—”
“Mocha latte with one pump vanilla and three pumps hazelnut, with whipped cream and caramel on top,” Ela says with an assured tone.
“You would be correct,” I smile.
Yeah, maybe at this point that’s become my signature order, but how else am I supposed to stay awake this early?
“So, how was he?” Ela says as she presses a few buttons on the register.
“Ugh—don’t even remind me. I swear my mom only set me up with him out of pity. That guy has like zero social skills.”
I tap my card, walking over by the booth where Ela starts on my “stay awake” potion.
“Like, do you know who she set me up with?” I say, leaning in, my eyes going left to right to make sure no one can hear me.
“Hmm… who?”
“She set me up with Deven.”
I shiver just thinking back on him and all his awkward 5'4-ness.
“Wait, are you for real???” Her eyes widen, lips pressed into a line as she tries not to laugh.
“When I prayed for a husband, I did not mean him. It’s not even that funny!”
She raises a brow with a grin, clearly disagreeing, shaking her head as she swallows her laugh, sliding my drink on the counter before leaning forward.
“Hey, maybe you’re just meant to live a single life, just like Paul!” she says before covering her mouth to silence her laugh at her own joke.
If we weren’t in church, I would have for sure cussed her out, but sending someone’s grandmother to meet Jesus early from a heart attack was the least of my wants today.
“Hey, but on a serious note, your time will come, so chill for now. Enjoy.”
I sigh. Despite her being right, I just can’t get why. I mean, I’ve been praying to meet someone I actually am attracted to marry, but they’re always either not marriage material or someone like Deven. Ew.
I take my drink. I mean, I’m honest with myself. I’ve never had strong faith, and yeah, maybe I’m not the most devout or holy person either, but shouldn’t my prayers still count? Really, this whole God thing at this point feels like wishing on a shooting star—unreliable, fake, and a lie.
I start heading over to get a seat, picking up a communion cup. Well, here comes my breakfast, I guess. Smiling to more overly friendly ushers—
“OH! wE SiNg HALleluJAH!!!”
I wince, hearing the out-of-breath worship already started.
I give it a second thought, and you know what? If this whole thing is fake anyway, and the singing is pretty terrible…
I turn the other way, pivoting on my heel, about to make an exit—
—and walk straight into something.
Not something.
Someone.
My foot catches awkwardly, and suddenly I’m not just stumbling—I’m falling. Fast. My balance completely gives out as my body tips backward, the floor rushing up way too quickly.
Oh my God. This is it. I’m about to eat the floor in a church.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact—
—but it never comes.
Instead, there’s a firm grip at my waist. Strong. Steady. Pulling me back like I weigh nothing.
My breath catches as I’m yanked upright, my body barely an inch from the ground before I’m fully standing again.
For a second, I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Then I slowly open my eyes.
A hand is still resting at my waist.
I follow it up—
arm, shoulder MY God does he fill is shirt in beautifully I wonder what's und-
—and then his face.
And—
Oh.
Oh, that’s not fair.
Because the man standing in front of me?
He’s not just attractive.
He’s the kind of unfairly good-looking that makes you forget what you were just doing. Or saying Or thinking.I guess God does pick favorites,
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low, steady… way too calm

And I freeze