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Harper squeezes my arm once before letting go as we walk up the front steps.

Then I see it.

The look.

The one that says she’s trying to act casual while absolutely not being casual.

I sigh. “What?”

A grin spreads across her face.

“So…what did Paul say?”

I don’t bother pulling out my phone. “He didn’t reply. Which means he is not interested.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“How?”

“If someone wants to answer a text, they usually don’t wait a full day.”

Micah reaches the entrance first and holds the door open for us. “Not necessarily.”

Harper and I both look at him.

He shrugs. “I don’t check my phone often.”

Harper laughs. “You also have ninety-three unread text messages.”

“Ninety-two.”

I blink. “You know the exact number?”

“I clear them every Thursday.”

“You schedule unread text messages?”

“I schedule most things.”

I stare at him for a second. “I can’t decide if that’s impressive or concerning.”

“I’ve asked myself the same question,” Harper says.

The lobby smells exactly the way I remember.

Coffee mixed with cleaning supplies. Which smells weirdly comforting.

And somewhere nearby, the unmistakable scent of Goldfish crackers.

It’s strange what memory decides to keep. I haven’t been inside this church in several weeks, yet it’s all so familiar.

People move around us without hesitation and a volunteer smiles as we walk past. “Good morning!”

“Morning.”

That’s it.