Page 12 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

God, I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to get in the way of whatever You’re doing in her life—or in mine. But I can’t lie…I want this. I want her to be part of the story You’re writing for me. Help me trust You with it.

I don’t want to let go. There’s a soft floral note to her that I remember from New Orleans, like wildflowers and sunshine, and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop craving it. Holding her here, in my church, feels surreal. Like some quiet miracle.

I slowly pull back just enough to look down at her. Her eyes meet mine, wide and a little vulnerable, and my heart tightens.

“You’re here,” I say, voice low, almost a whisper. “I still can’t believe you’re actually here.”

She looks up at me and smiles. For a moment, everything else falls away. No worries, no past mistakes, just this.

I shift, trying to act casual but feeling like I’m barely holding it together. “So, what’d you think about the service? ”

She playfully slaps my arm. “You didn’t tell me you were the lead singer.”

I shrug, brushing off the compliment like it’s nothing. “Eh, we all take turns.”

Inside, I’m proud, but I don’t want to hype myself up. Not yet at least. Right now, I just want to focus on her.

“I did like it. I was surprised, but yeah, I really did.”

I smile, if only she knew how much that means to me.

“Your voice, it’s… something else. And you have this presence on stage. Like you own it.”

I shrug again, trying to play it cool. “We all do our part. Nothing special.”

She chuckles, but it feels lighter than before. Like she’s letting her guard down just a little.

We stand there in silence all while her eyes hold mine. I can feel the air thicken between us.

“Come here, you.” I pull her back into another hug, tighter this time.

I want to press a kiss to her hair, to tell her she’s safe here with me, but I don’t want to scare her off. So, I just breathe her in and pull away gently.

“Let’s get some food,” I say, voice a little rough. “I know I’ve set myself up being all chivalrous and should ask the lady where she wants to go, but there’s this killer Mexican restaurant that just opened up. I’d love to take you there if that’s okay.”

She smiles. really smiles, and nods. “I’d like that.”

As we turn to leave, I’m fighting the urge not to grab her hand. It’s like a magnet pulling me toward her, and man if it doesn’t make my heart race. I just don’t want to make her hesitant by moving too fast.

But then I remember, she was the one who grabbed my hand first.

So, I reach out slowly, my fingertips brushing hers, silently asking for permission.

She looks up at me, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Are you asking if you can hold my hand Gray?” she teases.

I grin. “Well, it’s polite to ask first…though some people don’t.”

“Hey,” she laughs softly, slipping her hand into mine. Our fingers intertwine, and the same electric spark pulses through me like that very first time.

“You don’t really need to ask,” she whispers. “After all, this is how it all started, right?”

Si Senor smells like sizzling fajitas and warm tortillas the second we step inside.

The place still has that “new in town” feel—sunbaked terracotta walls, hand-painted tiles climbing halfway up, strings lights above fluttering in the AC breeze.

Every table is alive with chatter, the clink of silverware, and the hum of Spanish guitar drifting from overhead speakers.

We grab a booth by the window, sunlight pooling over the polished wood.

Ivy leans forward, elbows on the table, totally focused on conquering the tacos in front of her. She tries to take a bite, laughing when half the filling threatens to spill out.

“These are incredible,” she says, setting the taco down and swiping salsa from the corner of her mouth.

I smile, not just because she looks effortlessly beautiful, but because an hour ago she was sitting in the middle row at New Chapter Church.

My church. She didn’t just show up— she leaned in, listened, and stayed through the last note.

I keep replaying the moment I spotted her walking in from backstage, a mix of surprise and gratitude settling in my chest.

“You like it here?” I ask.

She nods. “Might be my new favorite.”

I hope she’s talking about more than the tacos.

I lean back, eyes on her. “I get it, I’ve already eaten here twice this week.”

Ivy looks down for a second, then meets my eyes. “Can I tell you something weird?”

I glance up from my plate, giving her my full attention. “Always.”

She lets out a breath, not quite a sigh, more like a release of something she’s been holding onto. “I’ve always wondered about God. Not in a deep way, not really. I think I just never had the space, or the people, to ask questions.”

I nod, silently urging her on.

“It’s like…” she pauses, searching for the words. “Like I’ve been walking around with this low-level ache I couldn’t name. And now that I’m here, now that I’m seeing all of this, it’s not that I suddenly get it. I don’t. But something in me, I don’t know, something kind of wants to.”

I let her words settle, the weight of them both familiar and sacred.

“That’s not weird,” I say quietly. “That sounds honest.”

She looks up, seeming surprised by the lack of judgment in my voice.

I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “I used to think faith was about having all the right answers. But it’s not. It’s about asking the right questions and being brave enough to sit in the in-between. ”

Her brows pull together slightly. “Did you ever feel like you didn’t belong? Like, maybe this wasn’t for you?”

“All the time,” I admit with a soft chuckle. “Especially at the beginning. I’d show up, hear all these words I didn’t understand, watch people raise their hands in worship like they were fluent in something I hadn’t learned yet. I felt like an outsider.”

Her shoulders relax a little, like hearing that untangles something tight in her chest.

She blinks at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m for real. Then she exhales, a dry sort of laugh slipping out. “Okay, but what if you’re not brave? What if you’re just confused and googling weird things at midnight and hoping for a lightning bolt?”

My lips tug into a smile. I know that kind of desperation where you are grasping for something you can’t name, hoping it reaches back.

“Then you’re human,” I say, my tone soft.

She leans back, arms crossing. “Good. Because I’ve watched like six videos on the book of John in an attempt to at least know something before I walked into a church. And honestly, I still don’t even know who John is.”

I chuckle, causing her to laugh as well, and it’s probably the best sound I’ve heard all week. All my life, really.

She doesn’t even know it, but she’s already seeking Him. Pursuing, searching, leaning in. It’s messy, yeah. But real.

“You’ll figure it out,” I tell her. “Don’t rush it. Let God meet you where you are.”

She goes quiet, fingers twisting the corner of her napkin. Then, barely above a whisper, “What if where I am isn’t good enough? ”

Oh Ivy. If only she could see what I see. If only I could spill my whole life story right now, she would see that I was, and still am, the farthest thing from ‘good enough’.

“No-one is good enough, Ivy.” I say without hesitation, reaching for her hand and slowly brushing my thumb along her knuckles. “Because God’s grace doesn’t wait for us to get it right. It just shows up.”

“I know the pastor talked about grace in church today, but I am getting stuck on the difference between grace and mercy.” She says, dunking a chip into the salsa.

“Think of it like this—if you were speeding and a cop pulled you over, mercy would be him saying, ‘I’m not giving you the ticket you deserve.’ Grace goes even further. It’s him handing you a lollipop or a hundred bucks and saying, ‘Here, lunch on me.’”

Her eyes lift to mine, curious.

“That’s what Jesus does for us,” I continue, my voice low. “We don’t deserve grace. We mess up, ignore Him, run the other way. But He doesn’t just withhold punishment—He gives us more than we could ever earn. He gave His life for us, knowing we’d never be able to pay Him back. That’s grace.”

I let the words hang there, praying they land in her heart the way they still shake mine.

I watch her as she sips her Diet Coke, her fingers fidgeting like she’s trying to act normal, but I know better. I saw the way her voice trembled when she wondered if she wasn’t good enough.

That question…man, I’ve asked it too many times myself.

She thinks she’s not enough, and I wish I could reach across the table and pull that lie right out of her chest. Replace it with truth. With grace .

Instead, I just sit here, heart aching in the best kind of way, because this beautiful woman is letting me see her heart. And I don’t take that lightly.

She doesn’t know it, but this moment has changed something in me.

I thought I was already falling just from one chance encounter in New Orleans. Turns out, I haven’t even scratched the surface.

It’s not just the way she looks at me or the spark in her voice when she teases me, it’s this. Her honesty. Her hunger for truth. Her willingness to wrestle with it.

But there’s something I have to tell her. And I hope it doesn’t scare her away.

I shift in my seat, fingers drumming lightly against the table before I finally meet her eyes.

“I need you to know…I don’t date casually.

If I’m going to be with someone, it’s because I’m building toward something real.

And for me, that has to mean being on the same page spiritually—knowing Jesus, loving Him, following Him.

That’s not just important to me, Ivy. It’s everything. ”

Her gaze holds mine and it makes my chest ache.

I take a breath. “I know we technically just met, but…there’s something here. I feel it. And I think you do too.”

Her cheeks flush, and for a second, I almost lose my nerve. Still, I reach across the table, threading my fingers through hers.