Between Faith and Fire

CHAPTER TWO: FIRST DATE AND INTENTIONS

Celine changed her outfit four times.

The black dress was too formal. The jeans and sweater too casual. The blue sundress too summery for October. She finally settled on dark jeans, ankle boots, and a cream-colored blouse that made her feel feminine without trying too hard. She left her dark hair down, just a touch of makeup, a spritz of perfume.

Her hands were shaking.

This is ridiculous, she told herself, staring at her reflection. You're twenty-six years old. You've been on dates before.

But not like this. Never like this.

The doorbell rang at exactly seven o'clock, and Celine's heart leaped into her throat. She grabbed her purse, took a steadying breath, and opened the door.

Davis stood on her doorstep holding a single white rose.

He looked... devastating. Dark jeans, a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, that same intensity in his eyes that had undone her yesterday. When he saw her, his expression shifted—something between awe and relief.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi."

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Then Davis held out the rose, almost shyly. "I know it's traditional to bring a whole bouquet, but I read once that a single flower is more meaningful. More intentional. I wanted you to know I'm being intentional about this. About you."

Celine took the rose, her fingers brushing his. That same electric jolt. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You look beautiful."

Heat flooded her cheeks. "You look... really good too."

His smile was slow, warm. "Ready?"

"Yes."

He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. The simple contact—her hand resting in the crook of his elbow—felt monumental. She could feel the warmth of him through his shirt, the solid strength of his arm beneath her fingers.

Davis opened the car door for her, waited until she was settled before closing it gently. As he walked around to the driver's side, Celine pressed her palm to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

Get it together, she commanded herself. It's just dinner.

But when Davis slid into the driver's seat and looked at her with those searching eyes, she knew it wasn't just dinner. It was the beginning of something that would change the trajectory of her entire life.

"So where are we going?" she asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"It's a surprise," Davis said, glancing at her with a hint of mischief. "But I promise you'll like it. I may have done some research."

"Research?"

"I asked Rachel what kind of food you like. And what kind of atmosphere you prefer. And whether you're the type who likes fancy restaurants or more low-key places." He grinned. "She was very helpful. Also very smug about setting us up."

Celine laughed. "She texted me this morning asking if I was 'ready for my future husband.' I told her she was getting ahead of herself."

"Was she, though?"

The question hung in the air between them, half-joking but edged with something serious. Celine's breath caught. Davis kept his eyes on the road, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I'm here to find out."

Davis exhaled slowly. "Good. Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for twenty-four hours straight, and I need to know if I'm losing my mind or if this is as real as it feels."

"It feels pretty real to me too," Celine admitted quietly.

He reached over and took her hand. Just that—his fingers lacing through hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. It shouldn't have felt so intimate, so significant. But it did.

They drove through the city as the sun set, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Davis asked her about her day, about her research, about the book she was currently reading. She asked him about his work, about the project he was coding, about what he missed most about his hometown. The conversation flowed as easily as it had yesterday, natural and unforced.

But beneath it, Celine was hyperaware of his hand holding hers. The warmth of his palm. The way his thumb kept tracing small circles on her skin, probably unconsciously. The way her entire body seemed attuned to his presence.

They pulled up to a small Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet neighborhood. String lights hung across the outdoor patio, and through the windows, Celine could see exposed brick walls and candlelit tables.

"Italian is my favorite," she said, surprised.

"I know." Davis smiled. "Rachel mentioned it. Also that you love tiramisu, so I may have called ahead to make sure they have it."

Something in Celine's chest cracked open. The thoughtfulness. The attention to detail. The way he was trying so hard to make this special.

"You didn't have to do all that," she said softly.

"I wanted to." Davis came around and opened her door, offering his hand to help her out. "Celine, I need you to understand something. I'm not just trying to impress you. I'm trying to show you that I see you. That I'm paying attention. That this matters to me."

She looked up at him, her hand still in his, and felt the ground shift beneath her feet. "It matters to me too."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her right there in the parking lot. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently and led her inside.

The restaurant was intimate and warm, with soft jazz playing and the scent of garlic and fresh bread in the air. They were seated at a corner table, candles flickering between them. Davis ordered wine—a single glass each—and they studied the menus in comfortable silence.

"Tell me something," Davis said after they'd ordered. "What made you say yes to this? To me?"

Celine set down her water glass, considering. "Honestly? I don't usually say yes this quickly. I'm careful about who I let in. But yesterday, when we were talking... I felt like I could breathe around you. Like I didn't have to perform or pretend. That's rare for me."

"It's rare for everyone, I think," Davis said. "Especially in Christian circles. We're so afraid of being judged that we hide the messy parts. But the messy parts are where real connection happens."

"Is that what you want?" Celine asked. "Real connection? Messy and all?"

"Yes." His answer was immediate, certain. "I'm tired of surface-level relationships. I want something deep. Something that challenges me and changes me. I want someone I can be completely honest with, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

"That's terrifying," Celine said.

"I know." Davis leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers. "But I think you're worth being terrified for."

Her breath hitched. The candlelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze. She wanted to look away—the weight of his attention was almost too much—but she couldn't.

"I need to ask you something," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I need you to be honest with me."

"Anything."

"What are you looking for? In a relationship, I mean. Are you just dating to date, or are you looking for something more serious?"

Davis didn't hesitate. "I'm looking for a wife, Celine. I'm twenty-eight years old, and I'm done with casual dating. I want to find someone I can build a life with. Someone who shares my faith, my values, my vision for the future. I want marriage. I want partnership. I want forever."