The Lingering Handshake

Anne Roby smoothed the floral print of her dress over her hips one last time before stepping into the church fellowship hall. The fabric felt familiar against her skin, modest and proper, the neckline high enough to cover everything and the hem falling just past her knees. Her auburn hair was pinned in its usual bun at the nape of her neck, and the cardigan she wore over the dress added another layer of respectability. This was her world. Sunday potlucks, bake sales, the quiet rhythm of supporting her husband’s ministry in their small Midwestern town.

She carried a tray of her famous lemon bars to the long table already laden with casseroles and salads. A few women from the women’s Bible study waved, and Anne returned their smiles with the warm, dutiful expression she had perfected over the years. “Everything looks wonderful,” she said, setting her tray down. “Pastor Daniel will be so pleased with the turnout.”

Her husband stood near the entrance, shaking hands and offering blessings in that earnest tone of his. Daniel looked every bit the devoted pastor in his pressed suit, his thinning brown hair neatly combed. Anne watched him for a moment, feeling the familiar mix of pride and quiet contentment. Their life was steady. Predictable. Holy.

The door opened again, and a new presence filled the room.

Damien Andrew stepped inside with the easy confidence of someone who belonged everywhere. Late twenties, tall and athletic, his dark hair slightly tousled and a light stubble along his jaw. He wore a casual button-down that hugged his frame, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The youth minister the church had hired last month. Anne had heard the elders talk about his energy and modern approach, but she had not met him yet.

Daniel spotted him first. “Damien! Glad you could make it. Come meet my wife.”

Anne turned as they approached. Her hands were still lightly floured from the kitchen, and she wiped them discreetly on a napkin before extending one.

“Anne, this is Damien Andrew,” Daniel said. “Damien, my wife Anne.”

Damien’s hand closed around hers. It was warm, firm, and it did not release right away. The handshake lingered a beat longer than necessary. His piercing blue eyes met hers directly, and something electric passed between them, sharp and unexpected. Anne felt her breath catch. His gaze held no judgment, only a spark of interest that made her suddenly aware of the softness of her own curves beneath the modest dress.

“Mrs. Roby,” Damien said, his voice smooth and low. “It’s a real pleasure. I’ve heard so much about the heart of this church.”

“Please, call me Anne,” she managed, her voice polite and scripture-laced as always. She pulled her hand back, but the warmth of his touch stayed on her skin. Their eyes locked again for a fraction of a second before she looked away, cheeks warming.

Daniel clapped Damien on the shoulder. “Damien’s already got big plans for the youth group. You two should talk sometime. Anne knows every corner of this place.”

Damien smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that felt teasing. “I’d like that.”

The rest of the potluck passed in a blur of polite conversation and serving food. Anne kept busy, refilling punch and chatting with parishioners, but her thoughts kept drifting back to that handshake. She told herself it was nothing. Just nerves over meeting the new staff member. Yet every time she glanced across the room, Damien seemed to be watching her too, his expression unreadable but intent.

By the time they returned home, the evening had settled into its usual quiet. Daniel loosened his tie in the living room while Anne hung up her cardigan. She moved through the motions of tidying, but the confession rose in her throat before she could stop it.

“Daniel,” she said softly, turning to face him. “The new youth minister seems… nice. Very charismatic.”

Her husband looked up from the newspaper. “Damien? Yes, the elders are thrilled. He’s got a real way with the young people.”

Anne hesitated, twisting her wedding ring. “I shook his hand when you introduced us. It was… different. I felt something. Not anything improper, of course. Just… an innocent attraction, I suppose. Silly, really.”

Daniel chuckled warmly and set the paper aside. He crossed the room and kissed her forehead. “You’ve always been devoted, Anne. It’s one of the things I love most about you. A little flutter is natural when someone new arrives. Nothing to worry about. The Lord knows your heart.”

He patted her arm and headed toward the bedroom, already talking about tomorrow’s sermon. Anne stood alone in the living room, the dismissal settling over her like a familiar blanket. She pressed her fingers to her palm where Damien’s hand had lingered, feeling the faint echo of that spark.

She told herself it was nothing. Just a handshake. Yet deep down, something small and restless stirred, the first crack in the dutiful surface she had maintained for so long.