As he passed through the foyer, Jamison saw the candles. He lit a couple himself every morning because a lot of people seemed too timid to be the first to light a candle. So whoever was crying probably lit a candle on their way in.

It was a girl. A blonde. He sat next to her and thrust a handful of tissues under her nose just in time to catch the big glob of snot about to fall. This wasn't a dewy tears movie cry. This was pent-up emotion finally getting release. This was an ugly cry.

He didn't speak, and he didn't touch her, except to occasionally wipe her nose. They sat this way for what seemed like hours, until her sobbing subsided into hiccups. Jamison stuffed used tissues into the now empty box.

"I'm kinda glad you're done," he said. "All we have left his one-ply toilet paper."

She half-smiled, drying her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I had all that in me."

"Nothing to be sorry for. We're all full of goo inside. If you prick us, do we not bleed? If we cry do we not blow snot everywhere?"

"Friends hand you tissues. Real friends blow your nose," she countered. "I'm Buffy."

"Jamison." He wiped his fingers on his jeans before shaking her hand. "Wait, did you just say 'Buffy?'"

"That depends. Are you going to make fun of it?"

"Of course not. I've just heard the name mentioned, that's all."

"You have? Who's been talking about me?"

"Willy comes to confession every Monday. But don't mention it to anyone. I shouldn't be saying a word about confession."

She frowned. "I thought only priests could hear confession."

"So did I. Do you know something I don't?" His brown eyes twinkled.

"You-you're a priest?" she sputtered.

"Unless I broke my vows or got excommunicated since I woke up."

"Well, where's your little collar thingie?"

"In my room, on the dresser. I was going to touch up the varnish on the pews this morning, so I put on my grubbies."

"And a good thing, too. Otherwise you'd have some strange girl's snot all over your priestly clothes."

Buffy liked him. She could look him right in the eye without getting that creepy I-can-see-into-your-soul-vibe. Mom would say he was a "nice boy."

"What?" Jamison asked.

"What do you mean 'what?'"

"I mean, what are you staring at me for?"

"Nothing."

"You have to have a reason. Someone staring at me for no reason creeps me out."

"I was thinking about how ordinary you are."

"Ordinary. Thank you."

She blushed, for the first time in God only knows how long. "Oh no! I didn't mean 'ordinary.' I . . . well, you seem so normal."

"Ah, the kiss of death."

"I'm serious," Buffy said. "Sunnydale's a weird place. Your lack of weird is very refreshing."