My hate grew. First his smirk, then his stupid fumbling of the word cruciverbalist. I didn’t want to smile. It wasn’t okay for him to steal my anger with his intentional or unintentional humor. Yet there I stood, with my hands still fisted and an unavoidable grin climbing up my face.

“You’re so stupid. Never again do you get to reference my age since you just called me a botany term denoting cabbage family plants. Not the same thing as cruciverbalist—one who constructs or is good at solving crossword puzzles.” I added an eye roll for good measure.

“Broccoli. Cabbage. Cauliflower. I know. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Again, you just don’t get my humor.”

“I’m going to church.” I turned on my heel and continued toward the Outback.

“Say hi to the virgins for me.”

“Jerk,” I mumbled—but not without grinning because Fisher Mann was so … extra.

* * *

“Welcome back. It’s good to see you again.” A somewhat familiar face greeted me as I took a chair in the Sunday school classroom. “It’s Brendon.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I remember.” I didn’t really. “Thanks. We missed you at the singles’ Bible study on Wednesday night.”

“I wasn’t feeling well. Headache.” The hardest part about having a church family was the accountability which led to truths they didn’t want to hear or lies they happily swallowed while God knew. He always knew. Like earlier that morning during the sermon, I wasn’t thinking about the words echoing through the sanctuary. My mind replayed the previous night. With my Bible open on my lap and people all around me responding to the day’s gospel with “Amens,” I squeezed my thighs together and thought about Fisher between my legs while silently saying my own kind of Amens.

“Well, I hope you’re feeling better now.” Brendon sat next to me.

“Much better. Thanks.”

“Would you like to have lunch with me today?”

Brendon wasn’t terrible looking. He had a great smile, and he was taller than me which was always a bonus. But … there was Fisher.

And … there was Rory coming home in a matter of days.

“Just lunch.” Brendon chuckled as if he could read my mind. “I don’t have that many friends.”

“Okay. Lunch would be great. I could use a friend too.” If Fisher had Angie in his bed … in whatever capacity … I could have lunch with a male friend.

After class, we raced to the parking lot to beat the crowd and congestion of vehicles trying to maneuver out of the tight spaces.

“Shoot. I’m trapped.” Brendon frowned at his car blocked in a parallel parking spot at the west end of the lot. He barely had two inches in the front or the back to maneuver. “Guess I’m waiting for the crowd after all.”

“Leave it. I’ll drive and drop you off after lunch.”

“You sure?”