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"I'm here."
Those words hang in the air between us, his hand still resting on my shoulder, grounding me in a moment that feels too surreal. I want to pull away, to run and hide from this, from him seeing me like this.
I sniff, wiping my tear-streaked face, trying to pull myself together. "I don't know why I'm crying like this," I mutter, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"Stop," Father Charlie says gently, his thumb brushing against my shoulder in the most subtle, comforting way. "You don't have to apologize."
I shake my head, overwhelmed by everything—by him, by this entire situation. "But I—I made a scene in there, and now this... I don't know what's wrong with me." My voice is barely above a whisper, my words tumbling out in a rush of embarrassment and confusion.
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with those steady eyes of his. Then, he looks toward the diner's parking lot, where my car sits.
"Are you driving?" he asks, his voice soft but concerned.
I glance in the direction he's looking and nod, even though I'm already starting to realize I'm not in any state to drive. My hands are still shaking, my thoughts are everywhere. The last thing I need is to get behind the wheel right now
Father Charlie looks back at me, his expression firm but kind. "I don't think you should be driving like this. Let me take you home."
For a second, I hesitate, my mind racing with everything that's wrong about this—about him offering, about me accepting. But I'm too exhausted to argue, and deep down, I know he's right. I'm not in a place to drive safely, and the idea of sitting in the quiet of my car, alone with my thoughts, is almost unbearable.
I bite my lip and nod. "Okay... thank you.
He offers me a small, reassuring smile, and his hand gently drops from my shoulder. "Come on, let's get you home."
I follow him toward his car, my feet feeling heavy with the weight of everything that's happened tonight. The tears have finally stopped, but my eyes still sting, and I feel emotionally raw. As he unlocks the passenger door for me, I slip inside, feeling strangely out of place in the warmth of his car. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment of what just happened.
Father Charlie gets into the driver's seat and glances over at me as he starts the car. "You okay?"
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. I feel so vulnerable sitting here beside him, and all I want is to disappear, to go home and crawl into bed and forget this night ever happened.
The drive is quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, my mind a mess of thoughts I can't quite sort through. I can feel the tension in the air between us— But he's calm, composed, like he always is. His hands grip the steering wheel with a steady ease, and for some reason, it helps me feel a little more at peace.
After a few minutes, I finally find my voice, though it's shaky and small. "I'm sorry," I say, breaking the silence. "For crying... for all of this. I didn't mean to drag you into my mess."
Father Charlie glances at me, his expression soft but serious. "You don't need to apologize for having feelings," he says gently. "Everyone breaks down sometimes. You don't need to be ashamed of that."
His words hit something deep inside me, and I turn my head, staring out the window to avoid meeting his gaze. "It's just... I don't know. Everything's been... a lot lately. And seeing you tonight with—" I stop myself, realizing how ridiculous that sounds. I can't bring myself to finish the sentence.
"With what?" he prompts softly, his voice steady, but not prying.
I shake my head quickly. "Nothing. It's nothing. I'm just tired."
He doesn't press me. He just nods, letting the conversation fall back into silence as the car moves down the empty streets. I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye, taking in all his features in, he's handsome— his defined jaw, the way his hands grip the steering wheel, how a few strands of hair fall forward a little and the way he somehow knows exactly how to handle me without making me feel like a burden
When we finally pull up in front of my apartment, I feel a strange sense of both relief and disappointment. I unbuckle my seatbelt, fumbling with the strap for a moment, my hands still unsteady.
"Thank you, Father Charlie," I murmur, opening the door. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."
"You don't have to thank me," he replies softly. "I'm just glad I could help."
I pause, half out of the car, There's something more I want to say, but I don't know what it is..
"I'll see you at the food drive next week?" I ask, trying to steady my voice as I step out into the cool night air.
His gaze holds mine for a moment, "Yeah," he says quietly. "I'll see you there."
I nod, then close the door, watching as he drives away. The hum of his car fades into the distance, leaving me standing on the sidewalk in the quiet, cool night. I wipe at my face one last time, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones.
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