Between The Pews

Mariah lifted her chin toward the choir room door. The latch clicked every few minutes as people came and went, warm air breathing out around the crack. “Caleb. I saw him pull up earlier.” She lowered her voice, though the room was loud with laughter and the thump of someone testing a tambourine. “He’s been hanging around like he’s checking things.”

Nia forced her fingers to turn a page in her folder, flattening the paper. “He helps sometimes,” she said, the words automatic, like she’d practiced them in her head. Caleb did help. Caleb did care about church. Caleb did not - could not - mean more than that.

But her desire to be connected, to be seen, to be affirmed, rose anyway. It rose like a hymn she couldn’t stop humming even when she tried to talk herself out of it.

Mariah nudged her shoulder. “Don’t act all holy and innocent. If he’s watching, it’s not just for the music.” Her gaze flicked around the hall, as if the walls themselves were waiting to hear gossip. “People have been saying you and Caleb - ”

Nia cut her off before the sentence could finish, because she couldn’t afford to give it breath. “I’m just a choir member.”

Mariah’s smile thinned. “Sure.”

Nia pretended she didn’t hear the rest - pretended the rumor wasn’t already a thread wrapped around her wrist. She was tired of being tied to what other people thought. She was tired of her own heart betraying her with hope.

When the music director called for the sopranos to line up, Nia moved with the others toward the choir room. The hallway outside was cooler, air conditioning doing its best to fight the humidity clinging to the building. As she pushed through the door, she felt the temperature change against her cheeks - heat from bodies and music, the faint sting of old wood and dust, and the sharp scent of dry-erase markers.

Caleb stood near the back wall, half in shadow, holding a binder like he’d done it a hundred times. He wore a button-up shirt rolled to his forearms, and there was something about the way he stood - steady, attentive - that made the room feel quieter around him. He looked up as soon as the director began assigning parts, and Nia caught the brief sweep of his eyes. She didn’t know how to breathe properly when she realized he’d come in with his attention already on her.

She lifted her chin to sing, not because she was fearless, but because she couldn’t afford to look down at her own feelings.

The first notes came out of the room like a prayer being spoken fast - girls testing pitch, adjusting, listening to the harmonies lock together. Nia sang her line cleanly, her voice bright enough to be heard over the shuffle of shoes and the scrape of a chair. The words in the anthem were familiar, but tonight they felt sharper, like each syllable carried a question.

Can You see me?

Caleb didn’t react like a stranger watching. He didn’t just glance and look away. He watched as if he were studying the way she placed her sound, as if he were memorizing it. When she shifted to the second verse, his gaze followed her without him seeming to try.

Nia’s joy sparked - hot and sudden - then stuttered when she remembered Mariah’s words. People would notice. People always noticed. And Caleb’s attention could become something they used, something they turned into a story with sharp edges.

During the chorus, Nia’s breath hitched on an unexpected note. The sound wobbled just enough that the director’s eyebrows lifted.

“Again,” the director said, clapping once sharply. “Sopranos, keep it steady. You’re almost there.”

Nia swallowed and tried to reset her focus. She watched the director’s hands, the way her fingers guided the tempo. She told herself Caleb wasn’t the reason her voice stumbled. She told herself she’d rehearsed too long to blame him.

But when they started again, Caleb’s eyes met hers for the length of a single measure. It was small, almost nothing - no smile, no obvious invitation. Still, something in her chest loosened and tightened at the same time.

The second time through, she didn’t wobble. Her voice landed where it was supposed to. When they finished, the room filled with the lingering hum of people talking over each other, chairs scraping, water bottles uncapped.

Nia stepped back, wiping her palms on her skirt. Her cheeks felt warm even after she tried to cool them with air. She wanted to look at Caleb again, to confirm what she’d seen. But she couldn’t move too fast. She couldn’t let her wanting become obvious. Not in front of everyone.

“Caleb,” Mariah called from the hallway, loud enough to carry. Nia’s stomach tightened as if it had been grabbed.

Caleb turned at the sound of his name. He didn’t seem surprised to be noticed. He walked toward the door with the binder in his hands, his expression calm, the kind of calm that made people trust him even when they didn’t understand why.

Nia watched him from the edge of the room, pretending she was counting names on the rehearsal list. When he passed closer, she caught the faint smell of his cologne - clean soap and something earthy, like cedar.

“Good job, choir,” Caleb said to the director first. Then his attention shifted. It landed on Nia like a hand on her shoulder.

“Nia,” he said.

Her name sounded different coming from him - less like a label and more like a recognition.

She forced her voice to work. “Yes, Caleb?”

The director stepped aside to let others move, but Nia felt like she’d been pulled into a space with only him. The fellowship hall noise faded to the background. The air between them felt charged, warm with bodies and sound, but suddenly thin in a way that made her aware of every inch of herself.

Caleb’s eyes flicked to the music folder in her hands. “You were steady on the second run,” he said. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”

Nia nodded, too quickly. “I - thank you.”

He didn’t smile the way she’d imagined in her head for years. He didn’t tease. He simply watched her as if he were listening for something beneath the notes.

Nia’s desire for connection rose again, and with it came the fear that connection would cost her something.

Because if Caleb had been watching, then the gossip wouldn’t stay in the whispers. It wouldn’t stay safely behind church doors. It would follow her into every conversation, every service, every rehearsal until her own heart couldn’t tell the difference between God’s plan and people’s expectations.

A voice from the hallway - Mrs. Calloway, one of the older women who seemed to know everyone’s business and God’s plans in equal measure - cut through the moment.

“I thought I saw you in here,” Mrs. Calloway said, her tone sweet but sharp underneath. “Caleb, are you still helping with the anniversary program? The youth are doing so well.”

Caleb turned his head slightly, polite. “Yes, ma’am. We’re making sure the performance is in order.”

Mrs. Calloway’s gaze moved to Nia, lingering a beat longer than it should. “And Nia’s been working hard, hasn’t she?”

Nia’s mouth went dry. She wanted to answer with confidence, but her mind flashed - every rumor she’d heard, every time someone had treated her faith like a story instead of a relationship with God.

Caleb’s attention stayed on Nia, not on the older woman. His voice lowered just enough to be intimate without being private. “She has.”

The director called for everyone to gather again for a quick run-through of the ending. People began moving, chairs and folders shifting. The atmosphere loosened, but Nia still felt pinned to the moment Caleb had looked at her.

As they lined up again, Nia tried to breathe through the pressure. Her hands shook once when she adjusted the folder, and she hated that Caleb might notice. She hated that her body responded to him before her mind could catch up.

During rehearsal, she kept hearing Mariah’s voice in her head - people have been saying you and Caleb. She kept wondering what Caleb thought about the rumors. Did he know? Did he care? Did he think she was trying to be noticed?

And the biggest barrier wasn’t gossip. It was her own fear of what she’d already decided in her heart.

She believed Caleb was God’s plan for her. She’d prayed with that certainty when she was thirteen, and again when she was fifteen, and again when she was seventeen, like it was a promise God had placed in her hands. But now her belief was being tested by reality - by the way Caleb’s attention felt personal, by the way it made her want more than she’d dared to ask for out loud.

After the run-through ended, the director dismissed them with a few corrections. Nia lingered near the music stand, letting the other girls stream out first so she wouldn’t have to face the flood of eyes. The choir room grew quieter, chairs scraping softer, the smell of dust and sweat settling like a blanket.

Caleb remained near the back wall. He didn’t follow the group right away. He looked at Nia like he was waiting for something to catch up inside her.

Nia approached carefully, her steps slower than usual. “I think we did better that time,” she said, as if she could keep the conversation about music and not about the way her heart had been pulled tight all evening.

Caleb’s gaze dropped to her hands. “You did.”

She swallowed. “Why are you still here?”

He blinked once, like the question surprised him. Then his mouth shifted - not quite a smile, but something gentler. “Because I wanted to see you sing the ending again.”

Nia’s breath caught. “The ending?”

Caleb nodded toward the choir room door. “Come with me for a second.”

Her stomach tightened. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He paused, then added, “I need to talk to you about the anniversary program.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight. The anniversary had been her dream for weeks now - her chance to pour her faith into something beautiful. She’d imagined singing her part and watching Caleb watch her, imagined it would stay safe enough to keep believing without it becoming a public spotlight.

Now Caleb was asking her to step into something that would put her on display.

They moved into the fellowship hall where the lemon cleaner smell was stronger. A few people were still gathered near the bulletin board, pointing at papers and laughing quietly. Mrs. Calloway was there too, her attention already turned toward them like a magnet.

Caleb stopped just far enough from Nia that she could still see the crowd, but close enough that she could hear his voice without raising hers.

“Nia,” he said again, and this time the way he spoke made it harder to pretend she was only a choir member. “You sing the harmony well. That’s not the problem.”

Her fingers curled around her folder. “Then what is it?”

Caleb’s eyes flicked toward the bulletin board where the program outline was posted. Someone had pinned a new sheet at the bottom, the edges still clean from being printed. “The program needs a solo for one section. The director asked me to make sure it’s covered.”

Nia stared at him. “A solo?”

He nodded. “And I think you’re the one who can carry it without losing the message.”

Hot embarrassment rushed up her neck. She wanted to say yes immediately, wanted to be brave, wanted to prove she could. But fear arrived with the same speed as joy. If she agreed, everyone would see her. Everyone would decide what it meant.

And if she refused, she didn’t know how Caleb would look at her afterward - not as a girl who sang well, but as a girl who had faith and still backed away.

Mrs. Calloway cleared her throat, almost playful. “Well, Caleb, you certainly know how to spotlight the youth, don’t you?”

Nia’s heart thudded once, hard enough she felt it in her fingertips.

Caleb didn’t let the older woman’s tone take control of the moment. He kept his attention on Nia, and his voice softened.

“I’m not asking you because of what people are saying,” he said. “I’m asking you because I’ve heard you. Because I believe you can handle it.”

Nia’s throat tightened. That wasn’t the obstacle she’d expected. She’d expected gossip to be the barrier, expected ridicule, expected judgment.

Instead, the barrier was trust.

Could she trust him with her heart when he might still be learning what her faith meant? Could she trust that he was seeing her for more than a rumor? Could she trust God’s plan if the plan now looked like public courage and not private prayer?

Nia looked down at her folder until the paper filled her vision. Her palms were damp. Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “I’ve been praying about this anniversary,” she admitted. The words surprised her as soon as they left her mouth. “Not just the music. Everything.”

Caleb’s expression shifted - attention sharpening, but not in a way that felt like pressure. It felt like he was listening for truth, not performance.

Nia lifted her gaze again, meeting his eyes. “I want to do what’s right,” she said. “I want to give God something honest. But if I take that solo and everyone starts watching me for the wrong reasons - ”

Caleb stepped a fraction closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Then we handle it together.”

The promise landed in her chest like a warm hand, and with it came a vulnerable fear she hadn’t named: that she wanted him so badly she might mistake attention for destiny. That she might build a life around what felt good instead of what was faithful.

Nia’s voice shook despite her effort. “What if you’re only paying attention because you’re helping?”

His eyes held hers. “I’m paying attention because you’re here,” he said simply. “Because you sing like you mean it.”

Behind them, someone laughed, and the sound felt too loud, too ordinary for how intense the moment had become. Nia realized everyone in the hall would notice if she stepped forward - or if she hesitated.

Caleb waited. Not impatient. Not pushing. Just waiting, like he was giving her the choice that made her belief real.

Nia drew in a breath that tasted like lemon cleaner and stale coffee from the refreshment table. She imagined the solo - her voice carrying through the sanctuary, her faith exposed in a way she couldn’t control.

Then she imagined Caleb watching her again, not from the back wall this time, but close enough that she couldn’t hide behind the comfort of distance.

“Yes,” she heard herself say, and the word came out steadier than she felt. “I’ll do the solo.”

Caleb’s shoulders eased, relief flashing across his face so quickly she almost missed it. “Good.”

Nia clutched her folder to her chest. “But I need you to promise me something.”

His brows lifted slightly. “What is it?”

Nia swallowed, her honesty suddenly more dangerous than her fear. “Don’t let this become… something people use.” She glanced toward Mrs. Calloway, toward the bulletin board, toward the watching eyes. “If you want me in this place, then keep me grounded. Keep me real.”

Caleb stared at her for a moment, like he was weighing how to answer without making promises he couldn’t keep. Then he nodded once, firm.

“I can do that,” he said.

The hall noise swelled back around them, footsteps and chatter filling the space like water returning to its basin. Nia forced herself to breathe with it, to stay in her body while her heart sprinted ahead of her.

As they turned toward the choir room to get the solo assigned and rehearsed, Nia realized her private praying had shifted into something public and therefore fragile. She’d asked for connection, and God had answered - through Caleb’s watching, through Caleb’s voice, through a solo that would put her on display.

But the cost was new: now she’d have to trust Caleb in front of everyone, and she didn’t yet know whether he would choose her heart - or the story people wanted to tell.

End of chapter one. 7 more chapters in the full book.