Stacey noticed shifts most people missed.

 

Not loud ones. Not dramatic ones. The quiet ones. The kind that slipped in through tone, pauses, eye contact that didn’t quite land where it used to. She’d always been like that—sensitive to emotional weather the way some people could smell rain before clouds even gathered.

 

And lately… something in Duane felt like humidity.

 

Not a storm. Not thunder. Just thickness in the air.

 

Still, she smiled more these days than she had in a long time.

 

Church felt like coming home after wandering too far without realizing you were lost. The first Sunday back had stirred something in her spirit, but now? Now she was starting to recognize faces. Names. Voices.

 

Women who hugged like they meant it. Elders who spoke blessings like they were handing out inheritance. Even the mothers of the church had started nodding at her with that subtle approval that said, we see you, baby.

 

She liked that.

 

She liked belonging.

 

On Monday nights, she logged into the women’s Zoom Bible study with her hair wrapped, tea beside her, notebook open like she was back in school but happier about it. The screen filled with squares of women laughing, greeting, testifying, sharing prayer requests about kids, marriages, fears, victories. She didn’t speak much yet. Mostly listened.

 

Absorbed.

 

They were studying 52 Women of the Bible, and she loved how every week felt like meeting another layer of strength she hadn’t known she needed. Esther’s courage. Ruth’s loyalty. Deborah’s authority. Mary’s surrender. Each story felt like God highlighting different parts of womanhood and whispering, You don’t have to pick just one way to be strong.

 

Stacey ate that up.

 

She’d even started talking to Sister Lorraine about helping in children’s church. Nothing official yet, just conversations. Ideas. She mentioned maybe doing art days with the kids—painting lessons, creative expression, something that let them worship without needing words.

 

Lorraine’s eyes lit up like she’d just seen a prayer request answered in real time.

 

“Oh baby, we need that,” she’d said, patting Stacey’s hand. “Church needs more color.”

 

That stayed with her.

 

Church needs more color.

 

She wondered if that’s what she was doing here. Not just attending. Adding something.

 

But joy had a way of making her reflective.

 

Especially at night.

 

Especially when Duane got quiet.

 

She wasn’t worried.

Not exactly.

Just… aware.

 

She replayed moments the way people replay songs they can’t quite finish singing. The way Marcus had introduced himself. The way

 

Duane’s shoulders had stiffened just slightly. The way Marcus said, That’s how it starts, like he was describing a road map Duane hadn’t agreed to follow yet.

 

Stacey had felt excited when it happened.

 

Too excited, maybe.

 

“You see?” she’d whispered. “People are already connecting with you.”

 

She winced softly remembering it.

 

Not because she meant anything wrong—but because she wondered now if she’d heard something in that moment that Duane hadn’t. Or worse… something he hadn’t been ready to hear yet.

 

She pulled her knees closer on the couch, blanket tucked around her legs, lights low. Duane was in the other room finishing up emails, keyboard tapping steady like a metronome.

 

Her mind drifted back to what she’d told him that Sunday.

I really feel like this season is aligning. Like God is putting everything in place.

 

At the time it had felt beautiful. Hopeful. Certain.

 

Now it felt… loud.

 

Not wrong.

 

Just loud.

 

Duane used to tease her about that.

 

“You move emotionally before life catches up,” he’d say with that half-smile. “Always seeing potential before process.”

 

She smiled faintly to herself.

 

He wasn’t wrong.

 

She did see potential first. Always had. In people. In love. In God. In the future. She believed in what could be before most folks believed in what was.

 

But sitting there in the quiet, she wondered something she hadn’t let herself wonder before.

 

What if this season isn’t just about alignment for me?

 

Her chest tightened a little.

 

Because she loved him.

 

Deeply. Steadily. The kind of love that didn’t panic easy. The kind that listened between words. And what she heard lately wasn’t resistance…

 

It was restraint.

 

He was showing up.

He was coming to church.

He was holding her hand during prayer.

He was nodding during sermons.

He was listening to wedding plans.

He was saying yes.

 

But something in her spirit whispered:

 

He’s doing this for you.

 

That thought didn’t comfort her the way it should have.

It unsettled her.

 

Because love wasn’t supposed to be a performance either.

 

She leaned her head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling.

She didn’t want to drag him anywhere his soul wasn’t ready to stand.

 

Didn’t want God to feel like an obligation.

Didn’t want faith to feel like pressure.

 

She wanted this to be something he found… not something she handed him.

 

Her fingers traced the seam of the blanket absentmindedly.

 

Maybe this wasn’t about her excitement.

Maybe this was about his process.

 

And if she really loved him the way she said she did…

 

She had to make space for that.

 

Not rush it.

 

Not narrate it.

 

Not decorate it with her expectations.

 

Just… hold his hand while he figured it out.

 

The bedroom door creaked open down the hall.

 

She glanced up as Duane stepped out, loosening his collar, eyes tired but soft when they landed on her.

 

“There you go thinking again,” he said lightly.

 

She smiled. “You know me.”

 

He walked over, leaned down, kissed her forehead slow. Familiar. Warm. Safe.

 

But before he pulled away, she caught it.

 

Just for a second.

 

That same look.

 

Not distance.

 

Not doubt.

Just…

 

Something he still hadn’t said yet.

 

And this time, Stacey didn’t try to name it.

 

She just held onto him a little longer.

 

Because something told her—

whatever was growing inside him…

wasn’t ready to be spoken out loud.

 

Yet.