In love with a playboy

chapter 2

Grace’s POV

Sunday mornings were my absolute favorite. No alarm clocks screaming in my ear, no rush to get somewhere. Just slow, easy, peaceful — the kind of mornings that make you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Today was no different. The sun filtered gently through the curtains, making golden stripes on my bedroom floor. I could already hear Mom bustling in the kitchen, the familiar clinking of pans and the smell of something sweet and cinnamon-y wafting through the air.

“Grace! Breakfast’s almost ready!” she called out, her voice bright and cheerful, the kind that could wake the dead.

I stretched, blinking the sleep away, and rolled out of bed. I threw on my favorite Sunday dress — modest, but cute enough to make me feel good — and padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

Mom was there, just like clockwork, humming some old gospel tune while flipping pancakes. She wore her usual Sunday best, a soft floral blouse and a pearl necklace that always made her look like she’d stepped right out of a classic family photo.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said, flashing me a warm smile. “You’re looking ready for church already.”

“Of course,” I said, grinning. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Church was the center of my life — not just the building or the sermons, but the whole community. The songs, the prayers, the friends, and yes, even the slightly awkward moments with the youth group. I loved every bit of it.

Dad was already at the table, reading the paper with a cup of coffee. He looked up as I came in and gave me a nod. Nothing fancy — just his way of saying ‘good morning’ without having to actually say it.

I sat down, and Mom placed a plate in front of me piled high with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon. “Eat up, honey. You’ll need your energy for the service.”

“I always do,” I replied, digging in. Pancakes were my weakness — especially when Mom made them with that secret recipe she never shared.

Dad grunted something that probably meant ‘enjoy your food’ and went back to his paper. Family dinners weren’t always full of chatter — sometimes just comfortable silence and the occasional clink of cutlery.

After breakfast, I grabbed my Bible and Sunday jacket, then headed out the door to meet Becky. Becky and I had been inseparable since middle school. She was my partner-in-crime, the one who knew all my secrets and wasn’t afraid to call me out when I was being ridiculous.

We met by the church steps, the sun warming our faces as we waited for the doors to open. Becky was already there, dressed in her usual quirky style — today, a bright yellow headscarf and oversized glasses that made her look like she’d just walked off a vintage magazine cover.

“Morning, Grace!” she waved, pulling me into a quick hug.

“Hey, Becky,” I said, grinning. “Ready for another round of ‘Try Not to Laugh During the Pastor’s Speech’?”

She laughed. “Always. But you know it’s never really a competition.”

We went inside just as the choir started singing — their voices soaring through the stained glass windows, filling the sanctuary with a kind of peace that never got old. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me. This was my safe place.

The service was the usual mix of hymns, scripture readings, and the sermon. Pastor James was one of those guys who could make even the driest Bible stories sound interesting — which was a talent, considering how much scripture there was.

Becky and I sat together near the back, passing notes when the service dragged too long (which was often). Today’s sermon was about forgiveness and new beginnings — pretty heavy stuff, but something I needed to hear. Especially after everything that had happened this week.

When the service ended, we joined the rest of the congregation outside, the church courtyard buzzing with greetings and laughter. The smell of fresh coffee and baked goods from the fellowship hall pulled me in like a magnet.

“Come on, let’s grab some snacks before the youth group starts,” Becky said, tugging me toward the kitchen door.

I followed, smiling. Church wasn’t just about the service — it was about the people. The community that felt like family even when your real family felt complicated.

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The youth group meeting was always a mix of serious talk and ridiculous games. Today, Pastor James challenged us to share something we were struggling with and one thing we were grateful for.

When it was my turn, I kept it simple. “I’m struggling with trust,” I admitted. “Especially when it comes to relationships. But I’m grateful for my faith and my family — even when they drive me crazy.”

Becky gave me a supportive smile, and I felt a little lighter just saying it out loud.

After the meeting, Becky and I hung back to help clean up. She teased me about my serious face whenever Pastor James got deep, and I rolled my eyes, but I secretly liked it.

By the time we were done, the afternoon sun was high and warm. Becky suggested we grab some ice cream and head to the park — her idea of the perfect Sunday chill.

We walked through the neighborhood, talking about everything from school drama to music to the weirdest people in church. Becky always had a way of making the ordinary sound hilarious.

At the park, we sat on the grass, sharing a tub of chocolate and vanilla swirl. The world felt slow and easy, and for a few hours, I forgot about all the pressures waiting for me.