Page 27 of His Tenth Dance

“I talked to the pastor and his wife when I first came to town,” she said. “I think they ask others to do it for…various reasons.” She tucked the dusting supplies back into her bucket and started up the first aisle. She knew the others who cleaned the church, and it was usually as part of their repentance process, or because they were getting financial help. She didn’t need to know, and she didn’t care. She simply liked the way it made her feel more connected to her church community.

“We just need to check for left-behind toys and trash in the pews,” she said. “And collect the hymnals and put them in the shelves at the back.”

“All right,” Mission said, moving to go up the aisle with her. “Where’d you move from?”

The question was casual, but Kristie tensed slightly. “Arizona,” she said after a moment. “The Phoenix area.”

Mission seemed to sense her hesitation and didn’t press further. “I came from New Mexico,” he said. “When I found thejob at the Hammond Family Farm, and I told my granddad I wanted to stay here, he moved here too.”

Kristie bent to pick up a snack-size bag of Cheerios that had been left behind. “He’s Native American, right?”

“Yes, half Navajo,” Mission said. “Thus, the last name of Redbay.”

“That makes you…what? An eighth Navajo?”

“Yes,” Mission said. They worked their way down both sides of the chapel, from front to back, and then back to front again.

Kristie sighed, pleased with her work that afternoon. “Cleaning the church is my way of giving back. When I first came here, I was in a rough place. This church became my family when I needed one.”

Mission had stopped collecting trash and was watching her, his dark eyes attentive. “I get that,” he said softly.

The sincerity in his voice made her look up. There was understanding in his gaze, not judgment or pity. It made her want to tell him more.

“I’ve always struggled with feeling…worthy,” she admitted. “Like I need to earn my place. Cleaning the church started as a way to feel useful, but it’s become more than that.”

Mission nodded, still wearing his ultra-serious mask. She’d seen it so many times, but never laced with this undercurrent of concern and compassion. “Sometimes the simplest acts of service mean the most.”

“Exactly.” She smiled, grateful he understood. “And then I met my friends in my cooking class, and my mobile vet office took off.” She sighed, pleased and proud at how far she’d come in only a few years.

“But I still love coming to the church when it’s still and quiet like this.” She looked around, drinking in the peaceful spirit of the building.

He gazed up at the two-story roof high above them too. “It has a different feel.” He picked up the bag of trash and asked, “I’ll follow you back to your place?”

She nodded and went to put the bucket of supplies in the janitorial closet while he took the trash out. Outside, he waited in his truck, which he’d parked next to her SUV, and she led the way back to her house.

The drive home gave Kristie time to think through the conversation with Mission. She hadn’t expected to share as much as she had with him, but something about him made her feel safe enough to lower her guard, if only a little.

When they arrived at her house, all three cats waited in the window again. Kristie laughed as she parked in the garage and waited for Mission to drop from his truck.

“Your fan club is eager to see you,” she told Mission as she pushed into the house and the cats immediately swarmed around their feet. Bob practically bellowed his meows, simply starved for attention, the greedy feline.

“Oh, heya, Bob.” Mission crouched right down and started stroking the cat. Bob pressed into his palm, his purr like a lawn mower engine.

Kristie refrained from rolling her eyes, and instead, got out the cheesecakes she’d saved for herself and Mission.

“You’ve got a way with animals,” she said.

“You hum while you clean.” He straightened and grinned at her. “I never had the patience for school, but if I had, I probably would’ve been a vet like you.”

Kristie had not realized she hummed while she cleaned, but she now acknowledged that she did.

Her house felt different with Mission in it—warmer somehow, less empty. She arranged the individual passionfruit cheesecakes on small plates, adding a sprinkle of toasted coconut on top to hopefully freshen them up.

When she turned toward the living room, Mission had settled on her couch, with Bob already curled up beside him.

“I see Bob has claimed you,” she said, handing him a plate of cheesecake.

“I’m honored.” Mission accepted the dessert, his smile absolutely devastating. “This cheesecake looks amazing.”

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