Sunday Girl,Friday Night Problems

Friday came suspiciously fast.

By 6:15 p.m., I had changed outfits three times.

Not because I was nervous.

Obviously.

Read About:Thou shalt stare apparently

I simply believe a woman should dress appropriately when making potentially bad decisions.

My final choice was a dress that looked innocent from the front and made me question my salvation from the back.

Perfect.

At 6:47 p.m., my phone buzzed.

I’m outside.

I stared at the message.

Then at myself in the mirror.

“Lord, guide me.”

I wasn’t sure whether I was praying for protection or asking for confidence.

Either way, I grabbed my bag.

Before leaving, I sent Wema a message.

He’s here.

Her reply came immediately.

Remember you’re a child of God.

I rolled my eyes.

I know.

Three seconds later:

A child of God with hormones. Behave.

I put my phone away.

Some friends were genuinely supportive.

Wema was not one of them.

She was an investigative journalist.

When I got outside, Daniel was leaning against his car.

And unfortunately, he looked even better than he had at church.

This was becoming a problem.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

His eyes travelled over me for a second before returning to my face.

“You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You took your time.”

I laughed.

“Seven minutes isn’t taking my time.”

He opened the passenger door for me.

“Seven minutes is enough to make a man wonder whether you’ve changed your mind.”

I got into the car.

“I almost did.”

He looked at me.

“Almost?”

“Maybe.”

He smiled.

“There you go with that word again.”

I laughed.

As he drove off, I suddenly realised something.

This was the first time I’d been alone with him.

No church crowd.

No friends.

No hymns playing in the background.

Just me, him and whatever terrible decisions were waiting patiently ahead.

“So,” he said, glancing at me, “are you always this quiet?”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You were at church.”

“I was listening.”

“To the sermon?”

I looked at him.

“Yes.”

He smiled.

“Of course.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

That nothing had an entire paragraph hiding inside it.

We talked about everything and nothing.

Music.

Work.

Friends.

Church.

And somehow, every conversation ended with one of us laughing.

That was the dangerous part.

I liked talking to him.

Not just looking at him.

Talking to him.

Then, at a red light, he turned toward me.

“You know, you’re different from what I expected.”

“Different how?”

He smiled.

“I thought you’d be very innocent.”

I laughed.

“Thought?”

“Now I’m not so sure.”

I looked out the window because there was absolutely no reason for my cheeks to be getting warm.

“Maybe you don’t know me well enough.”

“Maybe I want to.”

And there it was.

That sentence.

Simple.

Quiet.

But it landed somewhere it had no business landing.

I turned back to him.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then the traffic moved.

He drove on.

And I pretended my heart hadn’t just done something embarrassingly dramatic.

We eventually stopped at a small restaurant.

Nothing extravagant.

Just somewhere we could eat and talk.

And honestly, I was relieved.

Because I had spent the entire drive wondering whether I had made a mistake.

But sitting across from him, listening to him tell stories and laughing until my stomach hurt, I started thinking maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Then he reached across the table and gently touched my hand.

Just for a second.

I looked down.

Then at him.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

But suddenly, the restaurant felt very quiet.

And I knew one thing for sure.

This was no longer just a church crush.

I had officially entered dangerous territory.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t trying to leave.