Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

A Kiss Called Healing

Cecilia

Jeremy's room feels different today. It's not just the scent of cedarwood and clean linen drifting through the air — it's peaceful. Sacred. I can almost feel it, like the atmosphere has been scrubbed free of everything that ever tried to hurt him.

He told me yesterday he prayed over every corner after cleaning — "to make sure only the Holy Spirit gets invited in." I smiled at that, but now that I'm here, I get it.

My eyes land on a framed poster hanging over his desk. Clouds split apart like the sky itself is exhaling light, and right in the middle of it all stands a tall wooden cross. The verse below makes my chest tighten.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. — 2 Corinthians 5:17

I whisper it under my breath and trace the words with my eyes. I've read that verse a hundred times before, but today... it feels like it's been waiting for me.

Jeremy looks up from his bed, smiling. "That verse is me. Or at least who I'm trying to be now."

"It fits you," I tell him, slipping off my apron and setting my bag near the window. My hair's been pinned up since my shift and the minute I pull the tie free, my curls spring out like they've been set free, too. He laughs softly.

"You always look so much lighter when your hair's down," he says, leaning back on his elbows. "Like you just exhaled a prayer."

"Maybe I did," I tease. "My scalp needed deliverance."

He snorts and the sound makes me laugh harder than I mean to. The laughter settles, and something gentler takes its place — that quiet, familiar comfort we've always had, even before life got complicated.

We spend the afternoon switching between Friends reruns, bursts of laughter, and the soft pages of our Bibles. He reads out loud sometimes — slowly, like he's tasting every word. I follow along, underlining verses about restoration, faith, and patience.

When his phone timer goes off for our next reading break, I grab my tote bag and pull out a wrapped book. "I got you something," I say.

He raises an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Open it."

He peels the paper off and freezes. Fixing My Eyes on Jesus: Daily Moments in His Word by Anne Graham Lotz gleams in his hands.

"Cecilia," he says softly. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," I insist. "You've been feeding your spirit, Jeremy. I see that. You're growing. I thought this would help you stay focused on Him when you need it most."

He flips through the first few pages, smiling. "You really think about everything, huh?"

"Only about the people I care about," I reply and our eyes meet for a few seconds too long before I look away.

After another episode of Friends and a mini dance break to Jamiroquai's "Virtual Insanity" to "We Can Do It," we settle down again, talking about the strangest mix of things — faith, fame, and the price of both.

I tell him about how certain artists scare me now, how I've started seeing the spiritual darkness behind the glamour. "You know what's crazy?" I begin, voice dropping. "I recently found out that two, three weeks before Michael Jackson died... he accepted Jesus Christ."

Jeremy's eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. I saw the interview with Rodney Jerkins. I was shocked — but relieved. Because no matter what the world says, it's never too late for anyone to come home."

Jeremy nods slowly, letting it sink in. "That's actually beautiful," he murmurs. "And it explains why some people still get goosebumps when they hear 'Man in the Mirror.' That song's got Heaven in it."

I smile. "It does. You can feel it."

He stretches his legs out, watching me. "You ever think about singing again?"

The question lands like a stone in a still lake. I exhale, shaking my head. "Not right now. I can't go back into that world until I know it's where God wants me. And even if I do... I refuse to let my songs be used for anything dark."

He tilts his head. "You mean—"

"Exactly," I interrupt gently. "You saw what happened with Beyoncé's 'Church Girl,' right? Sampling The Clark Sisters' 'Center of Thy Will' for a song that isn't even about God, encouraging women who grew up in the church to drop it like a thotty." I sigh. "The Lord told me in a dream not to pray for her — or for Damien."

Jeremy's brows lift. "So you've had dreams like mine too."

My head snaps up. "You did?"

He nods. "Last night. God showed me how deep it all goes — the evil that's crept into Hollywood, how it feeds off the people chasing light in the wrong direction."

A chill runs through me. "That's right, you told me. It's spiritual warfare," I whisper. "I'm so glad you see that now."

"I do," he says, eyes fixed on the cross above his desk. "I wish I'd seen it sooner."

The air between us softens again, charged with something sacred and safe.

"So, when are you going to act again?" I ask, trying to lift the weight a little. "Since your last appearance was that music video with Amaya Moon four months ago."

He grins. "That was fun, wasn't it? But honestly, I don't know. I'm waiting for something that feels right — something that doesn't make me feel like I'm crawling through darkness again."

"That's fair," I say quietly. "God's timing is perfect, remember?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "And maybe His timing is this moment."

I blush, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

He glances toward the window, sunlight sliding across his jaw. "I just mean... I can breathe around you. You always bring peace. Not noise. Peace."

My heart stutters. "You... you bring that too," I whisper. "You've always had."

We sit in silence, letting the honesty linger. He reaches over, gently brushing a curl away from my face. My breath hitches, but I don't move.

"You know," he says softly, "sometimes I wonder if God's been weaving all of this since we were kids. Every detour. Every heartbreak. Leading us back here."

I nod, voice trembling. "I think about that too."

His hand drops to mine, warm and steady. "Cecilia," he says, voice low but sure. "You don't have to answer now. But when life gets too loud — when you need to escape all of it — come with me. Somewhere private. Somewhere quiet."

I search his face, every word echoing with sincerity. "You for real?"

"I do."

I don't think. I just move — leaning forward until our foreheads touch, breathing the same air, feeling time slow down.

And then, like the gentle click of a lock finding its key, our lips meet.

It's not desperate or rushed — it's tender, warm, and drenched in meaning. His thumb grazes my cheekbone as if he's afraid I'll disappear and I feel the tears sting behind my eyes.

Because this isn't just a kiss. It's a healing.

When we finally pull apart, both of us are smiling through the quiet.

Jeremy whispers, "Thank You, Lord."

And for the first time in a long time, I whisper it too.