14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
BECKY
Y esterday challenged every preconceived idea I had of Weston. He was different. The way he looked at me had changed—no longer with indifference, but with a frank assessment that left me feeling unexpectedly seen. Perhaps I had glimpsed the side of him Elle had been promising me about. I’m not saying he was perfect, though. I mean, who used ‘fine’ to describe someone? I guess it was another reminder that he was not interested in me like that.
But he was less grumpy, so I’d claim the victory. He essentially ran away from me after dinner, so I had zero hope of seeing him today. It was early Sunday morning, and I already had my mud mask on. I’d planned a day of pampering and time with God. What’s more, I think I managed to block all the phone numbers related to Debtsure, and I hadn’t heard more from the apparent courier. This holiday was looking up.
My phone pinged, and I jumped. It was a text from Weston and my heart beat a little faster.
Weston: Do you want to come to church?
Becky: Yes (5 x smiley faces)
Weston: Cool. I leave here at 8:45 am.
I’d barely finished reading his reply before I leaped off my bed to the bathroom to scrub the mud off of my face. A day of pampering was nice, but I’d choose people over pampering any day of the week. I’d attended this church with Elle several times before, so I was sure I’d see some familiar faces. Plus, this was Weston being normal with me. I found myself giddy with excitement to see him. Oh dear.
I literally patted myself on the back just before I climbed into Weston’s truck. In thirty minutes, I’d achieved a classy church look that would otherwise have taken me at least an hour. I wore my favorite designer pencil skirt with a beige sleeveless turtleneck shirt. I even experimented with a different style of makeup. Well done, me! After what Weston said last night, I thought, why not? I could loosen my tight grip on perfection while here on holiday.
We traveled the five minutes to church in silence. I was glad for the time to catch my breath from running around like a hooligan to get ready, so I didn’t mind.
As we pulled into the church parking lot, the gravel crunching under the tires of Weston’s truck, he finally broke the silence. “I hope this doesn’t come off the wrong way, Becky,” he said. His voice was softer than usual, cautious, as if he were treading on delicate ground. “We’re friends, and that’s great. But this is a relatively small community and people tend to talk more than they probably should. I just think it’s best if we don’t give anyone the impression that we’re... more than friends. I’d hate for us to get tangled up in rumors.”
I was slightly taken aback by his bluntness. His words, while carefully chosen, still hit a tender spot I hadn’t realized was there. I nodded, not trusting my voice in that moment. The slight sting of disappointment was surprising, a whisper of ‘what if’ that I quickly shushed. Obviously, a part of me had entertained the notion that perhaps there could be something deeper between us. At least I knew where we stood. I’d take the friendship. I had to remember my place in his life. A Friend .
We climbed out of the car and walked up the steps. Weston greeted everyone we passed with such friendliness. I followed his lead and introduced myself as Elle’s sister so no one would get the wrong impression. We entered the building and the hushed quiet of the space coupled with the unknown faces before me caused my anxiety to rear its head. Why did I think experimenting with my makeup was a good idea? Without thinking, I slipped my hand into Weston’s.
He frowned at me.
“Please let me hold your hand. I’m nervous,” I whispered.
Weston stared at me for a second and then gave me a slight nod. I instantly felt safe. Holding his hand helped settle my nerves.
Brenda, an older lady that I’d met at the summer camp last year, spotted us and almost ran toward us. Weston let go of my hand so that he could hug her, and I immediately missed the connection.
“Weston, I owe you a visit; we need to catch up,” she said, patting his cheek. He simply smiled and nodded agreeably, making me wonder if this was a regular interaction between them.
Brenda then turned her bright smile on me, her lipstick a shade of purple I’d never seen before .
“Hi, darling Becky. It’s so lovely to see you again.”
“Hi Brenda, you too,” I said, genuinely glad to see her, and welcomed the hug she offered.
The gentle hum of conversations fell to a lull as a soft voice echoed in the hall, “Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats.” I clung a moment longer to Brenda, her familiar strawberry scent bringing a smile to my face.
I stepped back and almost bumped into Weston. His hand, unexpected and gentle, found the small of my back. Tingles erupted from the spot where his fingers rested, almost as if his touch ignited a series of tiny fireworks beneath my skin. I became hyper-aware of him—of the heat emanating from his body, the controlled strength in his hand, the nearness of him.
“Let’s find our seats,” he whispered, his breath a ghost of warmth on my neck.
The sound of his voice, low and close, sent another shiver darting through me, chasing the path of his touch. His hand lingered, a steady presence as he subtly steered me forward. With each step, my heart thudded in a rhythm only Weston’s proximity could dictate as he ushered us toward a row with several free chairs.
We took our seats, and I was acutely aware of the absence of his touch. A subtle, unspoken connection lingered in its wake, leaving me with a longing for more—a feeling both confusing and thrilling. As I settled into the seat, I dared to sneak a peek at him, wondering if he was as affected by the contact as I was. But no, his composure was unshaken, as if his touch was casual, meaningless. That’s right, Becky. I chastised myself internally . There’s nothing more to it. Stop reading into every little thing.
Thankful for the distraction of the singing, I put Weston out of my mind and enjoyed the praise and worship. As the pastor began to speak, I was instantly drawn in by the rhythmic cadence of his voice. His topic hit close to home. He spoke about something that had been weighing heavily on my heart—finding and dedicating time to reading God’s Word amidst the chaotic whirlwind of life. It felt like he was speaking directly to me, addressing a conflict I’d been wrestling with in my private moments. My days were filled with appointments, exercise, social media, work, makeup, and coffee dates with friends, leaving little room for moments of reflection or connection with the Divine.
But as the pastor continued, I realized his message went beyond just finding time. He spoke of understanding God on a deeper, more personal level. It wasn’t merely about incorporating daily devotionals or quick prayers into my routine. He urged us to see the Bible not as a self-help book that told us more about ourselves or gave us life guidelines, but as a window into the heart of God Himself.
He paused for emphasis. “Do you walk with God so that He can fix you? Or do you walk with God to know Him and be known by Him? All too often, we come to the Scriptures with the wrong mindset. We ask questions like ‘Who am I?’ or ‘What should I do about this or that?’ But the real essence of our journey with God is in understanding Him. We should delve into His Word, asking, ‘What does this reveal about God?’ and ‘How should I respond to Him?’”
His words awakened something profound in my heart: a newfound desire to know God, not just about Him. I reflected on my own relationship with God. Until now, my connection with Him had been superficial at best. I read random verses, but they remained just that—random. I hadn’t bothered to find the context, to let the messages seep into my soul, or learn about who God truly was.
The pastor’s voice grew passionate as he was talking about the Parable of the Sower and how some seeds fell on the path and were eaten by the birds. “These are the words that are heard but never understood, never internalized. They are the rushed readings of Scripture that never find root in our hearts. ”
I felt a pang of realization—that was me. I had been the path, not the fertile ground. And as the sermon ended, I knew I wanted that change. I wanted to be fertile soil, ready to receive and nurture the seeds of God’s Word.
After the service, as I contemplated the words of the message, I followed Weston around like a lost puppy. He greeted a few people, and I smiled politely.
As we made our way toward the exit, Ryder, a surfer I remembered from the church summer camp last year, intercepted us with a sunny smile.
“Hey, Becky! So great to see you,” he exclaimed, his teeth appearing extra white against his tanned face.
“Hi, Ryder,” I replied, feeling a wave of ease wash over me at the sight of a familiar face.
“What brings you to town?” Ryder asked, brushing his long hair away from his eyes with what seemed like a practiced flick.
“I’m here on vacation,” I explained, hoping my simpler style today didn’t cause him to think less of me.
“That’s awesome. A bunch of us from church are grabbing lunch after this. You should come along!” Ryder’s invitation was as warm as his smile.
Before I could respond, Weston chimed in. “Becky, didn’t we mention possibly having lunch together today?” His smile was tentative, as if he was offering but also asking for permission.
I turned toward him, my heart skipping oddly. “Oh? We had lunch plans?” I asked, a playful challenge in my tone.
Weston gave me an apologetic look. “Well, not exactly set plans,” he confessed, his voice hopeful yet uncertain. “I was just thinking it might be nice to catch up, just the two of us.”
Ryder raised an eyebrow, looking between us. “No worries, if you guys have plans already.”
I smiled at Ryder, trying to keep things light. “Thanks for the invite, Ryder. Maybe another time?”
Ryder shrugged, his smile unfazed. “Sure thing, Becky. Catch you later!” He waved and headed off.
Weston and I resumed our path toward the exit. The space between us crackled with tension. I stole a glance at him. “I thought you said I shouldn’t connect myself with you?” I whispered to Weston.
“Yes, but...” he started, his voice trailing off as he looked at me, something unreadable in his eyes.
Deciding not to push him, I let the topic drop. I found myself dissecting every word, every pause in our conversation. What was this dance we were doing? What did his actions mean?