Peyton let out a slew of curse words as she bumped her head on the window pane. She bit her lip to hold in a frustrated grunt and continued to push her huge duffle bag and the rest of her body through. Being careful of any sounds she made, Peyton quickly slid back the screen and closed the motel window. She let out a sigh of relief and scanned her surroundings. "Not the best motel in town to sneak into", she thought, "but at least it's rodent free." She walked over to the bed, sat down, and proceeded to strip out of her wet clothing; her soaked biker boots, her jeans, a jacket three sizes too big, an oversized flannel shirt, and a drenched tank top and bra. Once she was down to her panties, Peyton walked into the grimy bathroom and flipped on the light. She started running a bath and glanced at herself in the mirror. She ran her eyes down her curvy frame.
"Not too big, not too small," she assessed.
Peyton was a cool 5'7, with plump breasts, and a flat stomach. Her tight, size ten jeans disagreed with her full ass and thick legs. Peyton glanced at the array of stretch marks over her lower back and sides.
She let out an "Ugh!" in disgust.
She ran her fingers over the spider-web design on her deep brown skin. Finally, she looked away, shed her panties, and stepped into the warm spray of the shower. She moaned softly as the steamy water cascaded down her body. She bent her head forward and let the water wash over her short, pixie cut hair. God, I have missed warm showers, she thought. She picked up the soap and ran it down her neck to her lower abdomen. She lathered up with her hands and washed all over. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she passed over her sensitive nipples. She bent down and rubbed the soap over her legs, stopping at the junction between them for just a moment.
"Don't go there," she said aloud and stood straight again.
Once she felt clean, Peyton rinsed off and grabbed a towel. She shut off the water and headed back into the motel room. She glanced at the digital clock on the night stand. 12:47 AM. Sighing, she grabbed lotion and underwear from her bag and got ready for bed.
Once she was all dressed and under the covers, Peyton closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the rain outside her window. She used to love the rain. But then again, those were the times when she couldn't run from it.
•••••••••••••••••••♥•••••••••••••••••
Peyton had snuck back out of the motel by five o'clock and was back roaming the early morning streets. She walked around aimlessly for hours before approaching a giant gothic cathedral. The scent of cornbread and pie wafted through the air. Man, I love Sundays, she thought.
She walked around the side of the church and her suspicions were confirmed: A Sunday Potluck. Suddenly getting very nervous, Peyton clutched her bag close to her side and walked slowly towards the back of the church to find the festivities. She smiled at the various colors of the men and women's Sunday best. She tried hard not to chuckle at the big feathered hats.
"Thank the Lord God Almighty that the rain stopped, "said one of the patrons. "This potluck is perfect with these after-rain blue skies!"
Peyton noticed that the woman speaking was holding a serving dish of golden cornbread and her mouth began to water.
"Mabel! Can you help me with the Boston cream pie?" she heard another female voice say.
Boston cream pie! Peyton felt her stomach rumble and pressed her hand against it. The last thing she had eaten was a package of Ho-Hos and a Red Bull from the morning before.
She looked around a bit before she spotted a priest setting out plastic plates and cups. Timidly, she tapped his shoulder. The little old man looked up at Peyton and smiled a genuine smile. It had been a while since Peyton had seen one of those, and she returned it quickly.
"Uhm... Father," she spoke quietly. "Is this a private potluck or...?"
The man chuckled a bit. "My dear," he said. "All of God's children are welcome."
He handed her a plate and pointed her to where the buffet line began. Peyton attempted to control her salivating and tensely filled her plate; grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, cornbread, catfish, Mac and Cheese, and a second plate to hold a slice of pie. She carried her food over towards the priest and took a seat next to him.
"Thank you," she said shyly, and smiled once again.
While Peyton was stuffing her face, Pastor Donavon took a moment to really observe the newcomer. The sun shown bright against her smooth mocha skin and her hair was cut quite short, a deep black color with bangs over her eyes and short up-curls in the back of her head. She wasn't too frail but her eyes showed that she hadn't had a good meal in quite a while. Her eyes showed deep thought and sadness. Pastor Donavon was happy that at least a meal could ease her pain, even just a little. He glanced down at her attire; the oversized black dress, jacket, and boots didn't give a sign of much money, nor did the tattered duffle bag she kept near her.
"My name is Patrick Donavon," he smiled, "but everyone here calls me Pastor Donavon. What's your name, child?"
"Peyton," she answered between bites.
"What a pretty name," he said sweetly. "May I ask, dear, are you from around here? I've been in this neighborhood for years and I've never seen you before."
"Nope. Just came here."
"And your family? Did they move with you?"
"Nope."
"Are you here with anyone else?"
"Nope."
"If I may say, dear, aren't you a bit young to be on your own in a big city?"
"I'm 22."
"My point exactly."
Peyton looked up at the grey-haired priest. He looked around 60 years old, with a sweet face and kindly eyes. However, she didn't like the questions.
"I'm fine on my own, pastor. Look, if you want me to go-"
"No, no, dear. I'm just curious, is all. I apologize. I didn't mean to pry."
Peyton relaxed a bit. "It's fine," she smiled to reassure him.
"May I ask one more question, dear?"
Peyton nodded.
"If you're here alone, where are you staying? At the university?"
Peyton stopped eating."No, sir," she answered quietly. Pastor Donavan saw her expression become downcast.
"I understand," he said softly. He placed his hand gently on hers, and smiled once more.
"Well, child, the Church doors are always open. Always." Peyton smiled back.
Hours passed and Peyton spent the time getting to know Pastor Donavon. She learned that he had worked at the church, St. Michael's Cathedral, for 16 years and not only spent his time preaching, but helping with community events, like the potluck. He told her about the volunteers who helped with running the church, working at different events, and aiding the sick and lost. He told her about the extra rooms they had for people who needed shelter at nights.
"The cots are small, but they're warm and dry," he'd told her.
Peyton caught the hint. Once everyone had feasted and left, Peyton stayed behind with the volunteers to help clean up. The whole day had seemed like a stroke of good luck. Time slipped away as she chatted with the kind pastor. There was even a moment where she forgot her situation; but only for a moment.
Once night fell, Pastor Donavon showed her to one of the rooms. It was quite small, with just a bed, closet, and window.
"I'm going home now, dear. I-"
Before he could finish, Peyton wrapped her arms around him in a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered. He patted her back.
"Now, now, don't worry about it. You can stay as long as you like. You will have to help around the Church during the days. The other volunteers will help you feel right at home."
Peyton gave him one more squeeze before letting him go. Once the pastor had left, Peyton sat down on the small cot and looked out the window. This was home, for now.
•••••••••••••••••••♦•••••••••••••••••
Nate Tennison stretched his 6'5 muscular frame and sighed deeply. It was only Wednesday and he was already tired of work. He did love owning his own construction company, but the business part of it got him down. He also had a lot on his mind already.
He glanced down at his watch. 4:56. He decided to pack it in for the day. He gathered his paperwork into his suitcase and took the elevator down to the underground parking lot. He smiled bright at his black 2010 Chevy Camaro, a twenty-sixth birthday gift to himself for owning a successful company at such a young age.
Instead of driving home like he intended, Nate drove to the church he'd always gone to as a child; St. Michael's Cathedral. Within the 40 minute drive, the dark clouds turned into storm clouds and began pelting down against his car. Nate parked and leisurely strolled into the rain; he absolutely loved the rain. He was soaked by the time he reached the door. He didn't particularly care about his suit at all; he was never really into suits anyway.
