Page 10 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

The sun’s warm but not suffocating, the kind of perfect late-summer afternoon that makes the park’s walking path feel more like a runway for strollers, joggers, and overly enthusiastic dog owners.

Harper and I claimed a picnic table under a maple tree, sandwiches from the deli spread between us, shopping bags tucked by our feet.

I tear into my turkey club, the knot in my stomach has nothing to do with hunger. “So… tomorrow.” I keep my voice casual, but it still comes out a little tighter than I mean. “I’m nervous.”

Harper glances up from unwrapping her sandwich. “About church?”

I nod. “I have no idea what to expect. I mean, I’ve seen church in movies, but that’s probably not the same thing.”

She smiles like she’s been waiting for me to ask.

“It’s not as scary as you think. They’ll probably have someone greet you at the door, maybe give you a bulletin or program.

The music will be… well, different than a concert, but still really good.

And people might introduce themselves after. Or not. It depends on the church. ”

I tilt my head. “And you know all this… how? You said earlier you’ve been before?”

Her smile quirks a little. “Oh, yeah. I grew up going to church. Every Sunday morning, every Wednesday night—pretty much my whole childhood.”

I freeze mid-bite. “Wait. How did I not know this? I’ve known you since kindergarten.”

She laughs lightly, but there’s a flicker of something quieter in her eyes. “You know how my parents are. Not exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

I do know. They’ve always been polite to me, but there’s a strictness to them that makes me feel like I’m on some sort of invisible grading scale.

“Our church was really small,” she goes on. “Just outside Ashen Mills. And honestly… I didn’t really want to bring friends. Not because it was bad, it just…wasn’t my favorite place back then.”

I nod, letting her keep it surface-level.

“But since then, I’ve tried other churches.

Sometimes I’ll watch online. And…” She pauses, picking at the crust of her bread.

“You know what? I kind of miss it. I can’t go tomorrow, but maybe I’ll tag along with you next time.

I miss the community part of church the most. Serving in the kids’ area was always my favorite. ”

A faint shadow passes through her expression before she shakes it off. “I guess I’ve been meaning to go back for a while. Just… haven’t found my place yet.”

I grin. “Of course you ended up a teacher.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Some things are just built in.”

We linger over the last bites of our sandwiches, drifting into talk about work deadlines and weekend errands. By the time we toss our trash and gather our shopping bags, the afternoon sun has shifted, casting long shadows across the grass.

We hug goodbye in the parking lot, and I head home, the weight of tomorrow sitting quietly in the back of my mind.

That night, I stretch out in bed, but sleep doesn’t come easy. My mind runs through a hundred what-ifs—what the music will sound like, how the people will act, whether I’ll fit in at all.

And most of all…what it’ll be like to see Gray again.

This clearly matters to him. And if this thing between us goes anywhere, I know it’ll have to matter to me too. The thought is equal parts exciting and terrifying.

Somewhere between nervous and hopeful, I finally drift off, tomorrow already pulling at me.

The hum of my coffee maker fills the quiet of my kitchen, the scent of vanilla drifting through the air as I lean against the counter, staring at my phone like it might tell me what to wear.

Church.

I’m going to church this morning.

With Gray.

Well, not with him technically. He’ll be on stage. I’ll be somewhere in the crowd, pretending not to fall apart at the seams.

I wrap my hands around my mug, trying to steady myself.

This week has been better than I expected. Freelance life still feels like walking a tightrope without a safety net, but somehow, miraculously, I landed two new clients. Real ones. Who were excited about my designs, who didn’t treat me like I am replaceable.

And somewhere between it all, I texted Gray.

We’d been texting off and on all week. Little things here and there, nothing too deep.

How’s your day?

What are you working on?

Drinking coffee and thinking of you.

Simple. Easy. Sweet in a way that left me smiling at my phone like an idiot more times than I cared to admit.

Now, my phone sits on the counter next to me, the screen still lit up from the last message he sent just a few minutes ago:

Gray

I can’t wait to see you today, Ivy.

I trace my thumb lightly over the screen, feeling my heart flutter in a way I haven’t let myself feel in a long time.

I blow out a breath and turn back to my closet, glaring at the rack of clothes like they personally offended me.

“What does one even wear to church when they’re not trying to look like they have it all together but also don’t want to appear that they are falling apart?” I mumble to myself.

Not too casual.

Not too polished.

Something in between.

Because the truth is, I don’t. But for some reason, that doesn’t scare me as much as it used to.

Maybe it’s him.

Maybe it’s something bigger .

Either way, I know one thing for sure: I’m not the same girl I was a few months ago.

And somehow, I have a feeling today is going to change me even more.

I pulled into the lot a full forty-five minutes early. New Chapter’s only a ten-minute drive from my place, but with Dallas traffic, you never really know—and I’d rather be the awkwardly early girl than the one slipping in late.

The lot was still mostly empty, the morning sun just starting to warm the crisp June air. I could’ve gone in right away, but nerves pinned me to my seat. I didn’t want to be the first one. Didn’t want to stand there awkwardly, not knowing where to go or what to do.

So, I sat.

I scrolled through my phone, checked my lip gloss in the mirror, tapped my fingers against the steering wheel. Anything to pass the time without completely talking myself out of walking inside.

A few more cars trickled in.

Then a small white sedan pulls into the spot next to mine, and I watched as a woman about my age slipped out. She smooths down her skirt, adjusts her purse strap, and heads toward the entrance alone.

Without letting myself overthink it, I grab my bag, climb out of my car, and follow her. Not too close, just enough to mimic her movements like a shadow.

As I approach the main doors, a man with a kind smile and a lanyard around his neck catches sight of us and pulls one open.

“Good morning!” he greets, his voice warm and genuine.

I murmur a soft “Thank you,” and step inside.

The bright scent of citrus and a trace of clean floors lingers in the air, as if the whole place was scrubbed and polished just for today.

Light streams in through huge windows, and soft background piano music plays overhead.

People mill around, chatting and laughing in small groups, their smiles easy and unforced.

Well, most of them.

A family of five rushes in behind me, looking every bit like they’d just finished a full-blown argument in the car.

The dad’s shirt is partly untucked.

The mom gives him a look that could curdle milk.

One kid yawns so big it looked like his jaw might unhinge, another is crying and tugging on his mom’s arm, and the oldest took off at a sprint toward a group of friends without so much as a backward glance.

I bite back a laugh, feeling a tiny piece of the tension inside me loosen.

Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t have it all together this morning.

The woman I’d been trailing rounds a corner, and I quicken my steps to follow.

Then I see them—the big double doors leading into the main area where I am assuming the service takes place.

There are several people holding the doors open, and from where I stand, I can see a glimpse of the edge of a stage, the soft glow of lights illuminating it.

My heart picks up speed.

This is it .

No turning back now.

I wipe my palms on the sides of my jeans and draw in a steadying breath before slipping through the doors, hoping that somehow, this morning will be exactly what I need.

Even if I’m not exactly sure what that is.

I step through the double doors and freeze.

The sanctuary is bigger than I expected. With high ceilings, rows upon rows of chairs, a stage framed by soft, warm lights.

But somehow, despite the size, it still feels cozy. Welcoming.

Not cold or intimidating like I feared.

The woman I’ve been trailing moves with quiet confidence, and I follow her, keeping a little distance. She slips into a row about a third of the way up, joining a small group already gathered there.

I hesitate, then slide into a seat a few rows behind them.

Not too close to the front, where I might stand out.

Not too far back, where it might seem like I don’t really want to be here.

The middle feels safe—visible enough to belong but still tucked into the background.

I tuck my purse under my chair and take a slow breath, letting my eyes wander.

A woman about my age walks past, then pauses like she recognizes me—even though we’ve never met.

“Hey! I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” she says, her smile bright and easy.

I shake my head. “First time.”

“Well, welcome to New Chapter! I’m Jenna.” She gestures toward the stage. “If you need anything, just wave me down, okay? ”

She squeezes my arm before heading toward a group by the far wall, leaving a little warmth in her wake.

The room buzzes with life—people laughing, hugging, catching up like old friends. The low hum of conversation wraps around me like a blanket.

Then the first notes of live music float through the air—low, steady, and brushed with a peace I can’t remember ever feeling. Like someone’s whispering my name without a sound.

People start moving toward their seats.

The music grows louder, deeper, and the energy in the room shifts.