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Are they? or?? 👀

THAAAAANK YOU FOR READING BABY 🥺♥️

Blind faith | part xi

priest! Joel Miller x dancer! fem! Reader

s.masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: morning came and you could really get used to waking up with joel every day. But things are not really that simple when fear is still involved.

w.c: 7,6k

warnings: age gap (joel is 48, reader is in her late 20s early 30s), fluff, angst, forbidden love, mentions of exile.

A/N: sorry for my lack of time on this app. I'm aware this chapter took four months and it took me almost a month to write something again. I hope you like it. Please share your thoughts with me.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The morning light was soft, as if it knew not to intrude too harsh, not to break the peace that had woken you up. It filtered in through the curtains, landing on your bare shoulder and the edge of the sheet that had slipped halfway down your back. For a moment, you didn’t want to open your eyes. You wanted to allow yourself feel. To feel the warmth of Joel’s skin under your fingertips. weight of his body in the bed.

Your legs were tangled. His arm was still draped around your waist tightly as if he wanted to hold you in a place that belonged, like he had fallen asleep trying to keep you there, as if you might disappear if he let go. His breath stirred the hair at the back of your neck, and it sent a strange ache through your chest.

It was a different sensation, to know he could hold you without the weight of sin looming over the both of you.

For one moment. For one morning.

You turned your head carefully on the pillow and looked at him. His face was softer in sleep, with no lines reflecting tension. You glanced at the details you had once memorized before. The shape of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes, a darker patch of stubble along his jaw. All of it still familiar. All of it still yours, in a way you hadn’t let yourself to feel at all.

An as if he could feel you, he stirred. His eyes opened slowly, blinking his sleep away. When his gaze settled on you. A quiet recognition passed between you. He didn’t speak right away. Just pulled you a little closer, his hand splaying across your back, savoring the feeling of his palm over your skin.

There was no rush of reaction, but the peace that came with it. It felt natural, raw and warm like daylight.

“I missed you so much” he said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

You hid your face on his neck, fingers tracing delicate lines over the skin of his chest letting yourself linger there, on the rise and fall of his chest and beating of his breath. It was like opening a box of memories and realizing it was still alive, there beneath your hands.

"I missed you too, Joel" you murmured, your voice was nothing but a soft whisper, echoing on his mind. Four words that carried the weight of every night you reached for someone who wasn’t there, every part of you that had tried to move on and failed because you had ended up here again, with his arms around you.

He let out a breath, almost like a sigh of relief, and leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes fluttered closed again for a moment, like even looking at you was too much after losing you once.

“I thought about you more times than I can count,” he said quietly. “Waking up with you. Holding you, feel you next to me.”

You closed your eyes too, because it was too much to bear, the honesty in his voice, the heat curling in your chest, the ache of lost time. You tilted your head and pressed a kiss just below his ear, softly, and felt him breathe you in.

“Don’t go,” he said, so softly it almost wasn’t words. Just air and hope and need.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes searched yours, not for permission, not even for reassurance, but for you to feel the same way he felt about you.

You looked at him, your hand still cradling his jaw, and you couldn’t help the quiet smile that tugged at your lips despite the knot in your throat. There was so much you wanted to say, so much that still lived between your ribs, waiting for the right moment. But instead, what came out was gentle.

“I really need to use the bathroom,” you whispered.

He blinked, just once, as if the words hadn’t quite landed where he expected. And then a breath of a laugh escaped him, soft and stunned and full of something tender.

“Of course, you do,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your hip.

You shifted carefully, his hand trailing across your skin as you moved to sit up, the sheet falling around your waist. You stood, pulling it slightly with you, and padded barefoot across the floor, the morning air cool against your body.

He watched you go, head tilted on the pillow, eyes still heavy with sleep but he was too scared to close his eyes and waking up to all of this to be a dream.

Once inside the bathroom, you caught your reflection in the mirror as you moved to the sink—hair a bit messy, lips swollen, skin marked faintly with the places where his lips had claimed you.

You washed your face slowly, letting the cold water chase away the haze but not the feeling. You weren’t ready for that to fade. You didn’t want this just to be the morning after, an aftermath of a relapse but a return from the silence and loneliness that had been take a tool on you.

From pretending you didn’t miss him, that you didn’t still love him.

When you stepped back into the bedroom, the light had shifted slightly, brighter now, brushing over the rumpled sheets where Joel sat, his back against the headboard. The cover was draped low on his hips, and his forearm rested across his stomach, relaxed, but his eyes locked on you the second you appeared in front of him.

There was something about the way he looked at you, lovingly – like he’d been doing nothing but waiting to see you again—made your breath hitch.

He reached a hand out without saying a word. You took it without hesitation.

Joel wrapped his arms around you, as you placed your head on his chest, finding its home against the warmth of his skin. His other hand came to rest in your hair, fingers idly stroking, like he had to remind himself that you were real by caressing you.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to hold you again,” he said, voice barely a breath.

You turned your face into his skin, pressing your lips to his collarbone without uttering a word.

There was a pause. A breath shared. Silence. The kind of silence that only existed when there was so much to say but not the right way.

“Did you meant it?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “That you wanted to forgive me?”

You didn’t answer right away. Not because you didn’t know it for sure, but because your voice felt too small for the weight of it.

His thumb lingered at your jaw, warm and patient, but beneath that quiet touch, you could feel the strain in him. The way he held his breath. Like the truth might split his heart open.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, slowly. His eyes searched you, like they were trying to read between every line you weren’t saying. Those soft brown orbits seemed fragile and afraid.

“Yes,” you said at last, your voice a whisper. “I meant it.”

Joel nodded once, but it didn’t ease the lines in his brow. He looked at you like he wanted to believe it, but part of him was still waiting for the ground to give way.

You reached up and touched his chest, fingers splaying over the slow, steady beat of his heart. “I meant it… but I’m still figuring out how,” you admitted, barely above a breath. “It’s not just simple.”

His hand curled gently in your hair, pulling you a little closer, but his voice stayed low. “I know.” he said. “I can

You looked at him, startled by how easy he made it sound with that tone. He wasn’t asking for your forgetting.

“You gave me away, Joel,” you said quietly, not accusing him, but stating what was true “And I know you thought you were doing the right thing. But it broke something—"

His throat hurt as he swallowed. “I know.” He looked down for a moment, then back up at you. “If I could take it back—”

“But you can’t do that” you interrupted softly, your hand now resting over his heart. “And I’m not asking you to. I just… forget it—” you said, pulling away from him.

Joel’s hand slipped from your skin as you did so, the space between your bodies stretching wider than the bed. You sat up first, gathering the sheet around you, its fabric twisting around your waist like it could protect you from all catching up again.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched you, his hand half-raised as if he’d meant to stop you but couldn’t bring himself to.

You stood, your feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, and you took a breath like it might settle the unease blooming in your chest.

“I need coffee,” you muttered, not looking at him.

The words weren’t sharp, but they carried a tone. Not anger, but more like exhaustion. Not just from the night, but from everything that had led you back here. The months of silence, the exile, the death of your family hitting in a mere second.

Joel watched you with the same kind of stillness he used to look people coming into the church asking for him for guidance. But this time, it felt like a penance written in the way his eyes followed you like he was afraid to blink. He knew it because he had partially caused the pain you carried.

You crossed the room, the sheet slipping slightly, and you grabbed one of his shirts from the chair. It smelled like him, faintly of cedar. The fabric was soft from too many washes. You pulled it over your head without thinking, sleeves hanging past your hands, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

He still didn’t speak.

Your breath caught as you turned your back to him, walking slowly toward the kitchen like your body weighed more than it did. Like every step hurt you.

And Joel just stayed there, on the bed, half-covered in crumpled sheets, watching the space where you had just been. His hand dropped uselessly to the mattress, fingers curling into the cotton, jaw tight with words he didn’t know how to shape.

You busied yourself at the counter, filling the kettle with water, your movements monotonous. You didn’t need to think, to go back to the memories you spent your life building, thinking was dangerous right now. Thinking would unravel everything.

But then your hand froze on the handle of the kettle. Just that small pause, and the whole weight of it started to collapse.

You gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, head bowed and the wave came crashing into you.

That’s how the first sob escaped before you could stop it.

Your shoulders trembled as you tried to breathe through it, but the grief was relentless, coming in waves that cracked through your chest like lightning. Your family was gone. Your home. The part of yourself that had once felt safe in the world that didn’t welcome you in.

And now you were here again, wearing Joel’s shirt, standing in his kitchen, feeling guilty by still wanting to be with him.

Joel’s hands wrapped around your waist. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your fingers were white-knuckled on the counter, breath stuttering out of you in sharp, broken pieces.

Joel’s voice came soft. “Baby…”

That one word shattered something else. You let go of the counter, and he caught you, arms sliding around you from behind. You sank into him, your hands grasping at his wrists as you tried to stay upright. His chest pressed against your back, his head bowed to the curve of your neck, and he held you like he’d never forgive himself if he let you fall.

“I got you,” he murmured, again and again, like a vow. “I got you. I got you, baby.”

You leaned into his arms for a moment longer, your breath shaking as it tried to settle. The sobs had dulled, but the ache remained—thick in your throat, tight in your chest, like it had rooted itself there long ago and had only just now found air to bloom.

Slowly, you turned in his arms, his hands sliding from your waist to your back as you shifted to face him. His eyes searched yours instantly—worried, gentle, torn between guilt and wanting to soothe.

Your lips parted. “I’m sorry I—”

But before the rest could leave you, Joel cut in, his voice firm and soothing.

“Don’t,” he said, hands cradling either side of your face. “Don’t be sorry.”

You tried to speak again, but he shook his head, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

“You don’t owe me that. Not after what I did and what you lost.”

His eyes looked fierce, raw by the honesty holding inside his soul. You couldn’t help but wonder how many things he had been holding inside “You have every right to fall apart, baby. Every right to walk away. And still… you came back. You let me hold you. You let me love you, even when I don’t deserve that kindness from you.” His voice broke a bit in las part, “I don’t want your apologies,” he added little softer now. “I want your honesty.”

“There are days like this” you admitted, barely a whisper. “All the guilt and sadness come crashing like a wave.”

Joel’s forehead touched yours, his breath steady and warm against your lips. “I know, baby. I know.” He planted a kiss on your lips, “Someday that pain will transform into something else and if you allow me, I will be with you.”

Joel’s hands stayed warm against your face, thumbs gently smoothing over your cheekbones like he was trying to calm the storm inside you with his touch alone. His gaze didn’t waver, even as the weight in your chest slowly settled into something quieter, you had calmed.

“There’s a place closer now,” he murmured out of nowhere, “Opened about two months ago. They serve really good pancakes.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. Your brows lifted slightly, your lips parting in surprise.

He gave you a faint, lopsided smile, just a tug at the corner of his mouth. “They make ’em with this honey-butter thing. Real good.”

You stared at him for a second, he was trying to distract you from this, to make your mind go somewhere else

Then he added, “Do you wanna go with me?”

There was something so simple about it. It almost felt ridiculous, so normal. After all the pain and history hanging in the air between you, the idea of sharing breakfast with him in a public place felt almost absurd. And yet, it made your heart ache in a different way because that was Joel. This man who had once stood behind a pulpit, looking at you with fear in his eyes, the same who had handed you away with trembling hands, and who now held you like he'd never forgive himself if he lost you again was asking you to breakfast.

To a place nearby. To something that sounded like normal life between you.

You let out a shaky breath that almost became a laugh, your fingers still wrapped around his wrists. “Are you seriously asking me on a breakfast date right now?”

“I am,” he said, his voice still low. “I want to sit across from you, pour you coffee, and watch you eat those pancakes.”

You looked at him, really looked, “I don’t even know if I can eat,” you admitted, the smile playing at your lips anyway.

Joel leaned in, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “Then I’ll just eat for both of us.”

Your lips parted, “Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

Joel drew back just enough to meet your eyes, his brows knitting slightly at your question, not in confusion, but in that quiet, wounded way he got when he heard pain in your voice before you even realized it was there.

“Hey,” he said, gently but firmly, one hand moving from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck. “Don’t do that.”

Your eyes flicked down, but he tilted your chin back up with the lightest touch, guiding you to look at him again.

“I’m not here to hide you,” he said. His thumb stroked the edge of your jaw. “You could walk into that diner barefoot in my shirt, hair a mess, syrup on your cheek and I’d still be proud to be standing next to you.”

Your throat tightened, the familiar sting creeping back behind your eyes, but you didn’t look away.

“I’m not proud of what I did to you,” he continued, “But I’m sure I’m not ashamed of you. I would never gonna be, okay?”

His lips brushed against yours again, gentle, almost reverent, and when he pulled back, his hand lingered at your waist, grounding you.

“You’re the best person that ever came to this place,” he said again, softer now, like he needed you to really hear it. “To my life.”

Your hands moved on instinct, rising to cradle his face, your fingers threading into the scruff of his beard, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

Then you kissed him with everything that had built up in the spaces between you. The nights you’d cried yourself to sleep missing him. The mornings you woke up hoping he was at your door. The ache. The hope. The want.

He made a soft sound against your mouth, something between a sigh and a gasp, and then his arms were around you, pulling you into him like he’d burn without your heat.

Your lips moved together like they’d never forgotten their way back home. When you finally pulled away, it wasn’t far. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words trembling into the air between you.

Joel’s hands tightened at your back. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to memorize you all over again. “I love you too, baby.”

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and your hands slid down to rest over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You have no idea how long I waited to hear that from you.”

Joel's brow knit, but there was something soft in his gaze, relief, wonder, guilt, all tangled together. “I should’ve said it sooner,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another near the corner of your mouth. “I should’ve fought harder for us.”

“You’re here now,” you said quietly, brushing your fingers along the collar of his shirt. “That’s what matters.”

His thumb swept across your lower lip like he was trying to memorize the curve of it. “Tell me this isn’t a dream,” he whispered. “Tell me I didn’t just imagine you kissing me like that, telling me you love me after all the mess I caused.”

You shook your head, “It’s real, Joel.”

Joel huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been a sob, and pulled you back into his arms. You let your face press into his neck, his scent surrounding you, his hands warm and firm against your back like he was afraid to let go.

After a moment, he murmured against your temple, “Come on. Let’s go for that breakfast.”

you and Joel were walking down the narrow sidewalk, the morning sun soft and golden, glinting off windows and casting long shadows behind you. His hand was warm in yours, rough, calloused, and it felt so familiar. You didn’t speak much. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was full, with no necessity of words to fill the space.

But still you felt them. The weight of the stares. The weight of eyes.

Starting as a prickle on the back of your neck, then spread, like whispers crawling over your skin. You didn’t have to look to know some people had recognized you. You could hear the hush in their voices, the sudden stops in conversations, the quiet gasps and turned heads as you passed.

How dare you?

How Joel wasn’t ashamed of what he had given up to stay with someone like you?

Joel noticed too. You felt the subtle shift in him. The way his fingers curled tighter around yours, his shoulders tensed just slightly. Still, he didn’t let go. If anything, he stepped closer to you. He owned you that. The protection he had failed to give you before.

You glanced to the side and caught the eye of an older woman sitting on a bench near the bakery. Her expression was sharp, hinting the judgment in the way her gaze flicked from Joel to your interlocked hands, then back to your face.

The priest and the woman who had made him sin.

That’s who you were for them. Still after they had seen, after you had begged them for help, after seeing your helpless, you were nothing else for them but still the town’s whore.

Joel’s thumb rubbed softly over your knuckles when he noticed the doubt in your eyes as a quiet gesture of reassurance.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, not looking at you, but he didn’t need to. He knew what those eyes meant. He’d lived under their weight too.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

A long pause. His jaw ticked, his gaze straight ahead. “I’m not theirs anymore, you know?” he said finally, voice low. “I’m yours.”

And something about the way he said it made the noise around you fall away, the eyes over you didn’t matter, and the whispers that followed because you had his hand to hold onto to. To keep yourself steady.

No long after, the pancake place came into view up ahead, a small brick building with flowers in the windows and a little sign that read Berrycakes. Joel opened the door for you, and as you stepped inside, he leaned in close, kissing your temple.

Joel sat across from you in the booth by the window, the morning light soft on his face, picking out the lines that time had left behind. But when he looked at you, smiling in that quiet, crooked way that always made something shift in your chest, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Still, you felt it: a small weight on your shoulders. Like you were wearing someone else’s skin. You shifted in your seat, fingers brushing the edge of the table, trying to ignore the hum of conversations around you, the occasional glance in your direction. You didn’t belong here, not really. Not in this version of the world, where people walk by without guilt and love wasn’t something hidden blossoming from the shadows.

But Joel didn’t seem to notice the unease crawling under your skin. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just wasn’t going to let it win.

When the waitress came, he acted too polite to let her curious glance linger, Joel leaned forward, giving her a nod.

“We’ll both have the blueberry pancakes,” he said without looking at you. “With extra syrup for her.”

The waitress smiled, scribbled it down, and disappeared with a soft “Coming right up.”

You tilted your head, gracing a smile “You didn’t even ask me.”

Joel leaned back, stretching an arm over the back of the booth. “Didn’t have to. I know you will love them.”

A soft laugh left you.

He raised an eyebrow. “You look even more beautiful than before, are you aware of it?”

You gave him a mock glare, but the warmth spreading through you was impossible to hide. “I slept well for once last night.”

He smirked, then his expression softened, something more tender beneath it. “You look really good, I’m serious” he said quietly, thumb brushing against your knuckles.

You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t feel it.”

Joel didn’t push. He just nodded, understanding deep in his eyes. “But I see it.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the world around you slowed again. The chatter, the clinking of plates, all faded away.

There was just Joel and there was just you.

But before you could say something else, a tiny voice pierced through the atmosphere, breaking the haze.

“Joel!”

Joel blinked and turned, the smile already forming before he even saw her. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he said, warmth spilling from his voice.

“This little bean is Anna” Joel told you, looking at you. Then at Anna’s mother, “That’s Lucia”

Anna, no older than six, you guess, stood just beside your booth, her hands clutching the edge of the table, bright eyes wide and shining. Her dark curls were pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her front tooth was missing, giving her grin a lopsided charm.

Behind her stood her mother, smiling gently at her. She offered you a nod and a kind, slightly hesitant smile.

“Sorry,” the woman said softly, her hand brushing Anna’s shoulder. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. We just—well, Anna saw him and couldn’t help herself.”

“I always see Joel!” Anna said matter-of-factly, grinning up at him like he hung the moon. “He taught me how to play with his old guitar when Mom’s busy.”

Joel chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at her. “Yeah, and I told you—you’re better at the guitar than I ever was.”

Anna beamed. You watched Joel watching her, and you felt it, that pull deep in his chest, the echo of someone he’d once held in his arms, the ghost of a laugh he used to live for. And now, he gave a piece of that quiet, aching love to Anna, like some unspoken penance.

You could see it in his eyes—the flash of memories running. That mix of pain and tenderness that never quite left him.

Because you understood that. Once you came across to something that reminded to a feeling you used you have, there was no way back from it.

Your fingers twitched around nothing at the scene in front of you, the three of them looked like a family he could have.

“She’s missed you,” Lucia said gently, glancing between the two of you, as if trying to piece together something new, something unexpected.

Joel’s expression shifted, just slightly. He looked at you, then back at Lucia. “I’ll come by sometime this week,” he said, voice soft but certain. “Bring the guitar. Show me how many songs she knows now.”

Joel watched Anna walk a few steps ahead, then glanced back at you with a crooked smile.

“Think I’ll get her a milkshake,” he said softly. “She’s earned it, I think.”

Before you could say anything, Anna squealed, hopping in place. “Really?!”

Joel laughed, and in one smooth, familiar motion, he bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and she wrapped around him like a koala, beaming.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, his eyes meeting yours briefly, reassuring, maybe, but it only made your heart sink deeper.

You nodded, forcing a small smile as he walked away toward the counter, Anna babbling excitedly in his ear, her little hands resting easily on his shoulder like that was her favorite spot.

Lucia slid into the booth where Anna had been standing, across from you, her coffee in hand. You sat rigidly, hands folded in your lap, suddenly unsure of what you were supposed to say, or how to sit. You hadn’t felt this misplaced around Joel in a long time.

She took a sip, then looked at you over the rim of her cup.

“So,” she said, almost casually. “You are the girl.”

The words landed like a pin dropping in a silent room.

You blinked, unsure whether to respond with confusion or confirmation. “Sorry?”

Lucia smiled, not bitterly but more like she had just confirmed something suspected.

“The girl Joel quit the church for,” she clarified, setting her coffee down.

Your heart sank in your stomach.

Lucia didn’t say it with bitterness. Her tone was soft, almost nostalgic, like she was confessing something she wasn’t quite sure she should. She kept her eyes on her cup as she traced the rim with her fingertip.

“He was still a priest when Anna and I came to this town,” she said quietly. “When he quit, I thought we could—” she let the words hang in the air for a second, then shrugged. “You know… we became really close.”

You didn’t say anything. Because what was there to say to a life you weren’t part of.

Your heart beat unevenly in your chest, an ache beginning to thrum in your ribs. You glanced at Joel again, he was kneeling slightly now, helping Anna choose a straw color. He looked calm and happy at once. Like a father, like a dad a little girl would dream to have.

Lucia sighed and looked back at you. “I just… didn’t know where we stood, I guess. And then he disappeared life for some weeks. And then...he wasn’t a priest anymore.”

There was no venom in it. Just quiet resignation.

You didn’t meet her eyes right away. “I didn’t come back to take anything,” you said finally.

She nodded. “I believe you.” Then, after a pause, “But I think he gave it willingly.”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t find words—because maybe she was right. Maybe Joel had handed over everything without you even asking. His collar. His church. The idea of another future. Maybe he had been doing it, piece by piece, ever since he first looked at you the way he did.

You looked at Lucia, finally meeting her gaze. Your voice came quiet but steady, the question rising before you could stop it.

“Do you like him?” A beat. “As a man, I mean.”

Lucia’s expression didn’t shift right away. She looked down at her hands, folded carefully around her cup, then back up at you with something like honesty.

“I do,” she said. “At one point… I think I let myself imagine things.”

You nodded, not as an answer, just because you needed to do something. The air felt heavier with the truth of it all.

“He is too good to Anna,” she added. “But it seemed like he was always waiting for someone else.” She paused, studying you now, not with resentment, but understanding. As all the pieces came together “I just didn’t know it was real until you showed up.”

“The three of you look like a family,” you said softly, almost to yourself. The words hung there, fragile. It almost killed you to say it.

Lucia gave a small breath of a laugh, tight and thin. “I used to pretend we were,” she admitted. “Some days it even felt real. I’d see him carrying her on his shoulders or making her breakfast, and I’d forget.”

You looked down, the ache in your chest spreading. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” she said gently. “Neither did you.”

Silence again, except this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It just was, inevitable, like the way lives unfold and tangle without permission. She had been the first person that looked you in the eye without thinking you were the devil that tempted the priest.

“I think he tried to make something good here,” she continued. “A life with meaning. And maybe if you hadn’t come back, we would’ve… kept pretending. But he would never really choose me.”

You swallowed hard, blinking past the sting in your eyes. “I didn’t come here for him. I just—I saw him again and I lost it.”

Lucia nodded. “I believe you.”

You both sat there, the weight of unfinished stories between you. No blame. No rivalry. Just two women who had brushed against different versions of the same man.

Finally, Lucia stood and smoothed her coat. “Whatever happens now… don’t lie to yourself about how he looks at you.”

You looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

She offered you a knowing smile, tired, yes, but kind. “He doesn’t look at anyone else like that.” Then she turned, “He didn’t even look God with that devotion in his eyes.” She left you with your thoughts and the echo of his name in both your hearts.

You watched Lucia walk away, once she reached the counter where Joel was crouched beside Anna, gently adjusting the straw in her milkshake.

Lucia bent slightly to whisper something to Anna, brushing a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, and then looked at Joel, not with bitterness, but with quiet understanding. He met her eyes, nodded once.

You stayed seated for a moment longer, letting yourself feel the scene instead of fleeing it. Joel’s hand rested protectively at Anna’s back, guiding her to a table. She giggled at something he said, and he smiled, softly.

It looked like a life. A full one he had crafted in your absence. He had quit the church, he had bought a house, he had become someone’s anchor. he had made a life for himself despite you, while you couldn’t even leave the survivor mood you still hold onto, a skin you wore like a second layer. You were still looking over your shoulder, still waiting for the next punch.

You walked aimlessly, your feet carrying you without direction, just the need to move to feel yourself, your body all over again.

You turned a corner, pressing a hand to your mouth, not because you were crying, but because if you didn’t hold yourself together somehow, you’d fall apart right there on the sidewalk.

No long after, you heard some footsteps catching up with you.

“Hey—”

You didn’t turn. “Hey,” his voice called again, closer now, winded. “Wait.”

You stopped. Slowly.

Joel reached you in a few strides, chest rising fast with the effort, hand half-lifted like he was trying to compose himself.

“You just walked out,” he said, breath catching. “Didn’t even look at me.”

You inhaled slowly. “It wasn’t like you were paying attention to me at all,” you said, not bitterly, just plainly. “I was sitting right there.”

His brows furrowed, faintly knit with guilt. “I was,” he said quietly. “I always am.” There was too much in that. Too many layers. His voice low and raw, like there was more he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

You looked at him, the street stretching behind him like some long path you didn’t remember starting down. “You didn’t have to come after me.”

“I will always come after you.” He spoke.

Joel’s face softened, and something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or something close to it. He stepped closer; voice low. “That little girl didn’t steal my heart. She reminded me I still had one.”

You swallowed, “Joel, that’s the life you deserve.” your throat tightened, “To have a family you can take care of without the worry of the woman you care for would end it up getting away.”

Joel’s jaw worked as he stared at you, like he was trying to chew back the emotion rising in his chest. His eyes dropped for a second, then lifted again, meeting your gaze.

“Do you think I don’t worry now?” he asked, voice rough. “Do you think I didn’t spend every day of these last six months looking around, half-expecting to see you again?

You looked away; lips pressed tight.

“What changed from last night?” he asked, pressing gently.

“Do you think I was there close to your house by coincidence?” You asked.

He held your gaze.

“I wanted to see you,” you said, voice low, trembling at the edges. “I wasn’t just passing by. I needed to see you.”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, to hold them. “Despite everything—despite what you did… I missed you. God help me, I missed you so much it made me sick.”

Joel took a slow step closer, but you lifted a hand, not to stop him, but to stead you’re breathing.

“Last night—it felt like a dream. Like maybe we hadn’t broken everything. Like maybe the way you touched me meant we weren’t just ghosts to each other.” You swallowed hard, your voice breaking. “But even after the haze wore off, I’m still the same thing I was the day I left.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, something like pain tugging at his mouth.

“In this town,” you whispered, “I’ll always be the whore who seduced a priest.”

Joel flinched at the word, his shoulders tightening.

“I walk into a store and people stop talking. I walk past a church and they look through me. Doesn’t matter if I never laid a finger on you when you wore that collar—they already made up their minds.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and breathless.

“Do you think I regret you?” Joel’s voice was like gravel, thick with disbelief. “Do you think I let you go because I didn’t love you? I let you go because I was an asshole that didn’t listen to you. I let my pride won over my heart.”

“You were never the mistake,” he said, quieter now. “This place was.”

You closed your eyes, the tears finally slipping free. “Then why does it still feel like I’m the sin you can’t shake?”

Joel stepped close again, slower this time, and when he reached for your hand, you didn’t pull away.

“You weren’t the sin,” he murmured. “You were the salvation. I just didn’t see it until you were gone.”

His fingers laced through yours, warm and certain despite the tremor in his voice You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. The weight of his words was pressing too tightly against your ribs, threatening to break you open.

“This town never gave me the chance to be anyone else.”

He looked at you like he wanted to tear the whole place down brick by brick.

“I don’t care what they say anymore,” he said, firmer now. “They don’t know what you were to me. What you are to me.”

You closed your eyes. “I’m leaving in three days.”

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, maybe. You kept your eyes shut, not wanting to see the way that truth hit him.

“Back to England,” you added, softer. “Back to the life I built when I thought I’d never see you again.”

A beat. A long, aching beat.

His hand didn’t pull away, but you could feel the shift, his grip tightening, like he was afraid if he let go now, you’d disappear again before the sun rose.

“When were you gonna tell me?” he asked. His voice was quieter than before, rough and hollow.

“I didn’t plan on telling you at all,” you confessed. “I didn’t even plan on seeing you. I was just here to settle what was left. To see Gabriel going to prison.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. You could sense it more than see it.

“And now?” he asked, almost a whisper. “After this… after what we said just now, does it change anything?”

You opened your eyes, heart aching at the storm behind his and you shook your head. “As I said before Joel, I can’t settle in a place that burns me.”

Joel’s brow furrowed like the words physically struck him. His hand dropped from yours slowly, reluctantly, like his body refused before his mind accepted it.

He took a breath through his nose. Held it. Let it out like it hurt.

“Do you think I don’t feel the fire too?” he asked, voice raw. “I’ve not been sleeping sound while you’ve been gone. I wake up in a house full of ghosts. Every goddamn thing reminds me of you.”

You looked down at your hands. You couldn’t stand the way your chest ached when you looked at him too long.

“I believe you,” you murmured. “But belief isn’t enough to build a life on.”

Joel took a shaky step forward. His voice dropped, gentler, like he was trying not to scare off a bird already halfway in flight.

“What if I come with you?”

Your breath caught. Your eyes snapped up to meet his.

“To England,” he clarified, searching your face like the answer was written in your skin. “What if I came?”

You shook your head again, slower this time. “You have a life here.”

“I’ve a job here. That isn’t the same thing.”

“Joel…” you said, barely above a whisper, warning and longing tangled in that single breath.

But he didn’t let you finish. Instead, he took your hand, not forcefully, not like he was trying to make a point, but like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t hold on.

“Just walk with me,” he said softly, tugging gently, eyes never leaving yours. “Please.”

You let him lead you, wordless, your fingers laced together like a truce neither of you knew how to name.

He didn’t speak, and you didn’t ask where he was taking you because you knew he was taking you back to his house, he wanted to go back to a place where you feel safe.

So, he let you inside and the smell hit you again, just as last night. Cedar and clean soap and like memories you didn’t let yourself revisit. And it was still, still enough to hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest like a drum.

Joel let go of your hand only to close the door behind you. He stood with his back to it for a second longer than needed, then turned slowly, watching you the way you once watched him sleep, like if you blinked, the moment might disappear

“Joel.”

But he didn’t speak.

“Joel,” you said again.

He Just held your gaze for a heartbeat longer before he slowly turned and disappeared down the hall.

You stood there, frozen in that familiar silence, every creak of the house a ghost brushing your shoulder. Part of you wanted to leave but your feet wouldn’t move.

A minute passed. Then another. And then he returned.

In his hands was a box, he walked until he stopped a few feet from you, cradling it in both hands like it held something breakable.

“I wasn’t going to show you this,” he admitted, his voice thick.

He looked down at the box, then back up at you. “But it’s all I got.”

You said nothing, heart in your throat as he slowly lifted the lid. Inside the box, a soft tune began to play.

You blinked.

A ballerina turned in the center, delicate and small, carved with the kind of precision only love could bring. The lines of her dress, the shape of her hands, the bend in her neck, it was almost perfect, it was you. Undeniably, unmistakably you.

Your chest rose too fast with your breath. The melody wound around your ribs like a thread pulled tight.

“You carved this,” you said, not a question.

Joel nodded once. “After you left.”

You moved closer without meaning to, eyes fixed on the tiny figure twirling in the warm glow of the living room light.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he went on. “I didn’t want to drown myself into alcohol. I just… I needed to hold on to something that didn’t move too fast. Something that didn’t run away.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Joel—”

He finally looked at you again. “I never stopped seeing you. Even when you weren’t there.”

The ballerina spun, and the music continued

You stared at her — at yourself — moving endlessly in a circle. “You thought this wouldn’t matter to me?” you asked.

Joel’s voice was a rasp. “Didn’t know if I deserved for it to.”

Silence hung between you like a held breath. Then you reached out his hand. You closed your fingers around his, grounding him.

Joel’s grip tightened around your hand, his eyes searching yours with a mix of desperation and hope. “Don’t make me choose between this box and the real you,” he whispered, voice raw. “Because this,”—he tapped the carved ballerina gently— “is just a shadow. You’re the only thing that’s ever been real.”

For a moment, time hung fragile between you, a breath suspended on the edge of what was and what might still be. You could see yourself from his eyes now, what he was trying to do. “Let me follow you.”

Your breath caught at the quiet plea in his voice. The room seemed to hold its breath with yo, waiting, watching.

Every part of you aching to say yes, yet something deeper, older, whispered caution.

Your fingers trembled, hovering just short of his, as doubt crept in.

The hardest choice wasn’t about walking forward together, it was deciding whether you could trust yourself to take the first step, with him.

“Would you have quit the church,” you asked, “if people hadn’t found out about us?”

Joel’s expression faltered the moment the words left your mouth. You hadn’t planned to put his words and actions in doubt but you were met with silence.

And the music box stopped playing.

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