Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Holy Love

Jeremy

The afternoon air smells like sea salt and citrus. The kind of scent that feels like a prayer answered quietly during the day. I'm standing outside the cabin we rented — tucked somewhere between Ojai's hills and heaven itself — watching the sunlight skim across the ocean. Cecilia's laughter echoes faintly through the open windows, blending with the hum of waves.

We both needed this — stillness. A place where no cameras follow, no headlines twist our peace into something else.

I walk back inside, coffee in hand, and find Cecilia sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of my sweatshirts, her long type 4A curls cascading over her shoulders. Her Bible's open beside her, a pastel highlighter tucked between the pages. She looks up at me, eyes warm, a glow around her that feels less like morning light and more like grace itself.

"Afternoon devotion finished?" I ask, setting the mug down on the table.

She nods with that soft smile that always disarms me. Yeah, we read Proverbs 16. 'Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.' It felt... timely."

"It's like God RSVP'd to our little getaway," I tease, sitting beside her. 

She laughs, nudging my arm. "He's the only one invited." 

I grin and reach for my laptop, flipping it open. "Speaking of committing plans... I'm thinking about starting a script. Something small. Maybe an indie series or film. Faith-driven but real. Not corny, not sanitized—just human and hopeful." 

She tucks a curl behind her ear. "That sounds really beautiful, Jeremy. You've always had a way with words. Like you see the world in color when everyone else just sketches it in pencil."

Her compliment lingers. She doesn't even know what she does to me when she says things like that. 

I clear my throat, trying to refocus. "So, what about you? You've got this look on your face. I know that look." 

"What look?" 

"The 'God just told me something huge but I'm pretending to chill' look." 

Cecilia exhales slowly, glancing towards the window. "In the middle of the afternoon earlier... when I was listening to Selena's 'I Could Fall in Love,' I felt something. Like... a pull. Not fame, not the industry. Just—singing again. For Him this time.Like He reminded me it's a gift He gave me, and I've been hiding because I was scared and depressed." 

My chest tightens, in that proud kind of way. "You've always been meant to sing. You make people feel things, Cecil. Real things. The world needs that again—now more than ever."

She looks up at me then, eyes glistening. "You really think so?"

"I don't think so." I lean in slightly. "I know so."

A quiet settles between us, full of unspoken prayers and soft breaths. Then, gently, she places her hand on my cheek. I close my eyes, soaking in her touch. Her hand's warm, steady — like peace after a storm.

"Jeremy," she whispers, "thank you for seeing me. Not as the artist, not the headlines — me."

I open my eyes and meet hers. "Always."

Our foreheads touch and for a moment, we're suspended in something holy. Then she presses her lips to mine — slow, tender, and full of meaning. Not just a kiss, but a vow in disguise.

We break apart just slightly, both smiling through the silence.

"Wow," I murmur.

"Yeah," she whispers, laughing softly.