Sunday mornings at First Baptist Church always smelled like fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls, courtesy of the ladies’ auxiliary. Clara stood at the counter, pouring a cup for Mr. Jenkins, who’d been coming to the 9 o’clock service for 50 years. “Your granddaughter coming to visit next month?” she asked, sliding the mug across to him. He beamed, pulling out a photo from his wallet. “She’s bringing the kids. Little Timmy’s into dinosaurs now, so we’re taking him to the natural history museum. Can you believe he’s already six? Seems like yesterday she was in pigtails, running around this very hall.”
After the service, a group gathered in the fellowship hall to discuss the upcoming church picnic. “We need someone to bring the grill,” Pastor Mike said, looking around the circle. “I’ll do it,” said Tom, thumping his chest. “Got that old Weber from my dad. Still works like a charm, even if it is rusted on the bottom.” Lila raised her hand. “I’ll make the coleslaw. My mom’s recipe—uses apple cider vinegar instead of mayo. Keeps better in the heat.” Everyone nodded approvingly; Lila’s coleslaw was legendary.
Outside, the parking lot slowly emptied as people headed home, stopping to chat about the sermon or the weather. “See you at the library on Thursday?” Mrs. Henderson asked Mrs. Peabody, who was loading her purse into her Buick. “Wouldn’t miss the book club. This month’s novel’s a bit slow, but I’m determined to finish it.” They laughed, the kind of easy laugh that comes from years of shared memories, and went their separate ways, already looking forward to the next time they’d meet.