It was Saturday afternoon and House was already annoyed with himself for being early. He hated being early. It made him feel like he cared too much. But there he was, leaning against the hood of his car outside her church's fellowship hall, flipping his cane in his hand and checking his watch more than once.

He had met her six months ago. What started as curiosity quickly turned into something else, an itch he couldn't explain and didn't want to scratch too hard. She was traditional, Southern Baptist, the kind of woman who didn't do overnight visits or fogged-up car windows in parking lots. That last part was a particular frustration. Not that he'd say it out loud.

He watched her emerge from the double doors, Bible tucked under her arm, dressed like the 1950s had made a comeback and only told her about it. No skin, no suggestion, no signals. Not that she needed to. The message had been clear from week one.

"You know, I once dated a Unitarian. She believed in ghosts, reincarnation, and recycling. But at least she was willing to sit on my couch." He smirked as she reached him. "I think your pastor's trying to protect me from temptation. Little does he know: temptation's not the problem. Opportunity is."

He didn't expect a laugh, didn't really want one. It was just how he processed the tension. House wasn't used to drawing lines between emotional intimacy and physical proximity. To him, the two had always gone hand-in-hand, even if it was more of a transactional exchange than a meaningful one. With her, it was different, and deeply inconvenient.

Dinner was at her place, just like every Saturday night. He never stayed past 10:30. Her church had rules about that too. House had a standing bet with Wilson that she'd cave first. But secretly, he wasn't so sure. She'd drawn her line in the sand, and she wasn't blinking.

As they sat at her table, candlelight dancing off the edge of her modest china, House tried not to fidget. He noticed she'd removed the extra chair from the table again. A subtle reminder. Or maybe a warning. He cleared his throat.

"So... what if I say I'm converting? Do I get a prize? Or do I just get a discount on casseroles?"

After dinner, they sat on the porch. He didn't try to hold her hand. Didn't lean in too close. But the silence between them felt full, like something important was building. It irritated him. He wasn't a man who waited for things. But he was waiting for her.

And that, more than anything, scared the hell out of him.