Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Tony rolled the dice and moved his game piece the required number of spaces, but his focus wasn’t on the board. He barely registered Nate’s enthusiastic suggestion for a strategy or Kendall’s groan of defeat. His mind—and his gaze—were elsewhere.
Across the room, Claire sat on the floor, legs tucked to one side, her attention fixed on the group of girls now absorbed in a card game. She wore a pale green cotton sheath, simple and soft, and her hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders. The overhead lights caught strands of it, giving her an almost ethereal glow.
She glanced up and caught him watching. With a slow smile, she lifted her hand and gave a little wave, her fingers wiggling in greeting. Tony’s chest tightened. He smiled back, then turned quickly toward the game.
“You’re lucky,” Kendall said, his voice filled with quiet awe. “Your fiancée is beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Nate added. “Girls like that don’t even see us. Not really.”
Tony chuckled softly. “I hate to break it to you, guys, but when I was your age, girls like Claire didn’t see me either.”
The boys stared at him.
“Seriously?” Nate’s mouth dropped open.
“Dead serious.” Tony smiled, but the truth of it wasn’t funny. “I was short. Had braces. Glasses, too. And I was—well, let’s just say I never turned down second helpings. We moved a lot, and I never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends. My best buddy was a remote control.”
The boys laughed, but their laughter wasn’t mocking. It was understanding.
“What changed?” Kendall asked after a moment.
Tony hesitated. He didn’t usually talk about this. Not in sermons, not in conversations, not even with Claire. But maybe it mattered that they knew. Maybe it helped.
“I stopped trying to be someone I wasn’t,” he said finally. “Somewhere along the way, I found people who liked me for who I was.” He shrugged. “You grow into yourself. It takes time.”
* * *
Across the room, Claire watched the exchange from her spot on the floor. She couldn’t hear every word, but she didn’t have to. She could read the boys’ faces—open, eager, hopeful—and she could see the way Tony leaned in, listening as much as he spoke.
She’d come a long way from who she used to be. The Claire of a few months ago would have written those boys off the moment they opened their mouths. Their awkwardness, their thrift-store wardrobe, the shaggy haircuts—everything about them screamed "no social capital." But tonight, she saw something else.
Kindness. Heart. The potential that only someone like Tony could draw out.
Maybe that’s what she was learning here. That people weren’t always what they seemed. That what was underneath mattered more than what was on display.
Claire sighed. If she kept this up, she was going to start reading devotionals and scrapbooking. Maybe even volunteer for something.
She shifted her gaze back to Tony. He was laughing now, but the expression in his eyes when he looked at the boys was serious. Respectful. As if he saw something in them no one else did—and maybe that was what made him so extraordinary.
Something fluttered in her chest. Something unfamiliar. Something a little dangerous.
Because she was starting to wonder: maybe Tony wasn’t just good for her.
Maybe he was the one person who could change her—for good.
* * *
The clock on the fellowship hall wall inched toward five a.m., and the energy in the room had dimmed to a low flicker. A few kids dozed in sleeping bags near the snack table, their once-sugar-charged bodies finally giving in. Others lounged on beanbags and folding chairs, faces lit by the flicker of the movie still playing on the old TV.
Tony rubbed the back of his neck and stood, stretching long limbs. “Last call for popcorn,” he said, eyeing the half-empty bowl.
“I think we’re all in a carb coma,” Nate groaned from the floor, his voice muffled by a pillow.
Across the room, Claire sat cross-legged on the carpet, braiding a girl’s hair with surprising patience. Her once-flawless cotton sheath had a smudge of frosting at the hem, and one of her hoop earrings had mysteriously vanished an hour ago during dodgeball. Still, she looked content.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Claire murmured to no one in particular.
“That’s because they’re asleep,” Tony said, moving to sit beside her. He nodded toward the braid she was finishing. “Impressive.”
“I have hidden talents.” She tied off the end with a pink scrunchie and gave the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Miss Waters,” the girl said with a sleepy smile before scampering off to rejoin the dwindling movie crowd.
“You did good tonight,” Tony said, his voice low.
Claire tilted her head. “Even when I threatened to duct tape Tina to the snack table if she asked to go outside one more time?”
“That part may have been my favorite.”
Claire grinned, her fingers grazing his. “I forgot how much fun it can be just… being with people. No agenda. No expectations.”
“Or at least no expectations you couldn’t handle.”
She laughed softly, then glanced around. “It was a good night.”
Tony watched her for a beat longer, then nodded. “Yeah. It was.”
They sat like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by the soft hum of tired teenagers and the distant noise of a cartoon rerun.
Mrs. Sandy poked her head through the kitchen door. “I made coffee.”
Claire leaned toward Tony, her voice wry. “Coffee at dawn in a church basement. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
He smiled. “Just wait until the pancake breakfast. That’s when things get wild.”
As laughter bubbled between them, Claire felt something stir—something deeper than amusement. Something that felt a lot like peace.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d stay in Millville. Or what would happen when the act was over?
But right now, in the quiet hush of early morning, with tired kids, burnt popcorn, and Tony at her side, she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be.
* * *
Tony headed down the running path that circled the outskirts of Millville. The rhythmic beat of his shoes against the asphalt soothed his jangled nerves.
It had been a hard couple of days, and he needed to burn off the tension. After the lock-in, he’d made up his mind to confess everything to the church elders and hope for the best. But setting the meeting had taken longer than expected, and in the meantime, Kendall had stopped by the church to talk.
After that conversation, Tony knew he couldn’t risk being asked to leave.
He’d understood Kendall was struggling to adjust to life in Millville—but until yesterday, he hadn’t realized just how deep those struggles ran. A connection had formed the night they’d all sat on the floor and talked about high school and belonging. Tony had seen something in Kendall’s eyes that mirrored his own past—something tender and broken and raw. He knew that kind of pain. Knew it too well.
So he’d kept his mouth shut.
Claire had taken the news in stride, seemingly unbothered that their charade would continue. If anything, she’d appeared almost…content. Maybe because her father still hadn’t softened, or maybe because—for all her complaints—she’d fit into the rhythm of life in the Sandy house more easily than she let on.
Claire.
They were tied together in an arrangement destined to end. Tony could see now why he’d been called to Millville—Kendall, Nate, this community—but why Claire had been thrown into the mix still puzzled him.
Yes, there was physical attraction. More than he cared to admit. But long-term? That wasn’t them. They were too different. Worlds apart in faith, background, and priorities. And yet…
He smiled to himself.
Claire kept him on his toes. He never knew what she’d say or how she'd surprise him. But when she smiled—really smiled—it stopped him cold. He’d never known a woman who could exasperate and enchant him in equal measure.
He just wished she had a stronger faith.
Everyone wondered why his fiancée wasn’t more involved in church. He didn’t care about appearances, but he did care about her heart. And the truth was, despite living under the same roof, despite their closeness, despite all his prayers, he’d never once sat her down and simply shared what God meant to him.
The realization hit like a blow to the chest. He stopped short, breath caught somewhere between guilt and clarity.
All this time, he’d been so focused on appearances, on making everything work, he hadn’t done the one thing that mattered most.
Witness to her.
A deep sense of shame filled him. How could he have missed it?
“Are you okay?”
The voice startled him. Tony turned to find a slender woman about his age jogging in place beside him, concern etched in her face.
“I—uh—” He shook his head, still half in his thoughts. “No. I don’t think I am.”
“Do you need a doctor?” Her eyes widened.
He blinked, confused. “Why would I need a doctor?”
“You just…stopped so suddenly. Then you stood there like you were in pain. I thought maybe something was wrong.”
It wasn’t physical, but he supposed she had a point. He’d probably looked like a statue mid-breakdown.
He softened. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in my thoughts. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
She relaxed a little but still looked uncertain.
“I’m Tony Karelli,” he said, extending his hand. “Pastor at Grace Community.”
“Rachel Tanner.” Her whole face lit up with her smile. “I’m a member of your church. Or at least I was. I just moved back and I’m hoping to get involved again.”
He returned the smile, grateful for the change in topic. “Welcome back. We’d love to have you. I know a few committees that could use your help.” He paused, trying to gauge her comfort level. “And your husband? Is he interested in getting involved too?”
“I’m not married.” She said it quickly, gaze dropping as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
Tony nodded. “What a coincidence,” he said lightly, trying to ease her discomfort. “Neither am I.”
A flicker of interest lit her eyes, and Tony instantly regretted the quip. He was supposed to be engaged. At least for now.
He should’ve said something. Clarified. But to bring it up now would only embarrass her.
Besides, in a few weeks, Claire would be gone. The pretending would be over. Maybe he could move forward—find someone grounded, from Millville. Someone like Rachel, who already wanted to be a part of his world.
So why, as he jogged the rest of the way home, did all his thoughts drift not to soft blue eyes and polite smiles but to a raven-haired woman who stirred him like no one else ever had?
And why did the idea of her leaving make his chest feel hollow?
If he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if he was falling for the one woman in the world who was all wrong for him.
And all he wanted was for her to stay.