Page 15 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

Goliath is out cold, a warm, snoring weight sprawled across my lap.

I absently run a hand over his fur, my other hand hovering over the notebook balanced on the arm of the couch.

There’s a fresh page open—supposed to be filled with lyrics for a new song or at least the set list for Sunday—but all I’ve managed so far is a few half-formed lines that don’t go anywhere.

Because my head’s not here. It’s two miles away, in a coffee shop where I saw Ivy last week.

It’s almost Friday. Almost time to see her again for our scheduled breakfast date.

But I don’t know if I can wait that long.

All week, I’ve lived for her name lighting up my phone.

A text in the morning, usually something random like her latest coffee order or a blurry photo of the sunrise.

A string of messages by lunch full of banter, thoughts about a verse she read, or a meme she knew would make me laugh.

And somewhere between dinner and midnight, a call that lasts way too long and ends way too soon .

It’s become our rhythm.

Easy and constant, like breathing.

And I can’t get enough of it.

Every ping of my phone is a rush of dopamine. Every message feels like a thread pulling her closer. But somewhere in the back of my mind, the worry whispers—Am I overwhelming her?

Am I trying to hold something that needs space to breathe?

She hasn’t said anything. In fact, she meets me there. Text for text, call for call.

Still, part of me panics when I haven’t heard from her in a few hours. Not because I don’t trust her. But because I’m scared she doesn’t want this as much as I do.

I shake my head, pocket my phone, and reach for the song sheets on my desk. Work. Focus. I know how to do that.

I make it about three minutes before I’m pulling my phone back out.

I stare at the screen. Tell myself it’s not a big deal. It’s not pushing if I’m just checking in. Just making sure she’s good.

I’m still holding the phone when it buzzes.

A text, not from her. But a reminder from the group thread about Sunday’s setlist.

I groan, tossing the phone onto the couch cushion. This is ridiculous, Gray.

Just wait. Control yourself. You don’t need to be the one always reaching out.

But what if she’s waiting for me?

I sigh, raking my hands through my hair. I’m halfway back to the song sheets before I finally break.

Screw it.

I snatch my phone off the cushion and type two words.

Gray

You busy?

I stare at the screen. Regret it. Then don’t. Then regret it again.

Until she texts back.

Ivy

Not too busy for you.

I blink and exhale as I feel something warm spread across my chest that I wasn’t prepared for.

Before I can second-guess myself, I reply.

Gray

Good answer. Wanna go for a drive?

Three dots pop up immediately. I hold my breath.

Ivy

I can be ready in fifteen.

I can’t help but grin. She sends me her address and I slide my phone back into my pocket and reach for my keys. I glance over my shoulder at the setlist I still need to complete, but it can wait.

Because I get to see Ivy tonight.

Because no song, no setlist, nothing compares to being with her.

“I’ll be back Goliath!”

Fifteen minutes later, she slides into the passenger seat of my truck, still smelling faintly of that floral perfume she wears.

Her hair is up in a loose knot with a few strands falling around her face, and she’s wearing an oversized cream sweater with soft, wide sleeves and a slouchy neckline that looks like it was made for cold nights and lingering conversations.

“Hey, you.” I rest one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped over the center console.

“Hey.” She smiles as she buckles her seatbelt. “So…where are we going?”

I tap the steering wheel with my thumb, leaning just a little closer. “It’s a surprise.”

Her eyes narrow in playful suspicion. “A good surprise?”

“The best,” I promise, my mouth curving. “There’s this place just outside of town I’ve been wanting to take you. It’s…hard to explain. You’ll see when we get there.”

She tilts her head, curiosity written all over her face. “Mysterious.”

I grin, shifting the truck into drive. “Exactly.”

We drive for a while—long enough for the city lights to fall behind us and the narrow backroads to stretch out. Ivy’s window is cracked just slightly, the cool evening air slipping in and brushing against her hair.

We don’t talk much at first. She watches the trees blur past, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the window. I glance over sometimes, quick glances that don’t last long enough.

The quiet isn’t heavy. It’s comfortable. Like neither of us needs to fill it. But still, I want to do something—something that will make her smile again .

So, when I spot a patch of wildflowers along the side of the road, I ease the truck onto the shoulder.

Ivy turns to me, brows lifted. “What are you doing?”

I throw it in park and grin. “Stay here.”

Before she can argue, I’m out of the truck, crossing the ditch toward the little cluster of flowers growing wild and unbothered. I crouch down, picking the best ones I can find—yellow, purple, white—nothing fancy, just simple and real.

When I come back, she’s leaning out the window, chin resting on her folded arms, watching me with that curious, amused look that makes my heart race.

I hold out the small, messy bouquet, and she takes them slowly, like she’s afraid they might fall apart in her hands.

She lifts them to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhales.

The tiniest smile curves her lips, and it feels like she’s not just smelling wildflowers—she’s breathing in this whole moment.

When her eyes open again, they’re warmer, softer. “You’re something else, Gray.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I slide back into the driver’s seat, her flowers now resting in her lap, her thumb tracing one of the petals like it’s the most delicate thing in the world.

It’s not long until we pass a faded sign for the old overlook.

I almost drive by, almost. But then, without thinking, I turn the wheel, and gravel crunches under the tires as we pull off the main road and onto the winding path.

She glances over, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So where is this mysterious place you’re taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

She laughs, a little skeptical, but she settles back against the seat.

The overlook is empty. It always is. It’s a spot I found years ago when I needed somewhere quiet, somewhere I could breathe and not have to be everything for everyone.

I back my truck up near the edge and kill the engine. Beyond the guardrail, the sun sets behind downtown Dallas, which looks like a thousand tiny lights spilled across a blanket.

Without a word, I hop out, dropping the tailgate with a soft thud. Ivy slides out after me, curiosity in her eyes as she climbs up to sit beside me. The evening air wraps around us, it’s cooler up here, quiet except for the hum of the city far below.

Ivy leans forward, elbows on her knees. “How did you find this place?”

“Just one of those nights when I needed somewhere to go,” I say, shrugging.

She glances over; her face soft in the glow of the city lights. “You come here often?”

I nod. “When I need to think. Or not think.” I watch her take it all in, her eyes reflecting the view like tiny sparks. “Figured you might like it.”

Her smile is slow and real. “You figured right.”

We sit there for a moment, our legs swinging off the edge of the tailgate, the silence settling between us and it is so comfortable. I almost leave it there. Almost. But then I lean back on my palms, eyes on the city.

“I have a serious question.”

She angles toward me, raising an eyebrow. “Serious?”

“Very,” I say, keeping my expression flat.

She laughs, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Alright, hit me.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Her head drops back, and she laughs—a deep laugh, the sound carrying into the night. “That’s your serious question?”

I shrug. “Look, it says a lot about a person.”

“Does it now?” she teases.

“It does,” I say, fighting a grin. “I read it somewhere. Very scientific.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. It’s green.”

“Green?” I pause, pretending to consider. “Good choice. Very reliable color.”

She squints at me. “Reliable? What does that even mean?”

“You know…dependable, grounded, a little stubborn.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you just making this up as you go?”

“Absolutely.”

We both laugh, and it’s easy. Effortless. Like I’m not carefully choosing each word, like I’m not fighting the instinct to keep her at arm’s length.

She leans back on her hands, looking over at me. “Alright, your turn.”

“For what?”

Her eyes glimmer with challenge. “Favorite color.”

“Easy, black.”

Her nose scrunches a little, like she’s thinking too hard about it. “Yeah... I figured.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just...you,” she says, shrugging.

I nod. “I’ll take it.”

She swings her legs as we sit on the tailgate, the quiet night settling around us. Her hand rests casually beside mine, fingers so close they’re almost touching. I don’t think she realizes it, but the edge of her pinky brushes against mine, light as a breath .

I don’t move. I just let it stay like that, the warmth of her skin grounding me.

The breeze we’ve had all evening fades into stillness, and the air feels heavier somehow—like the whole world has leaned in a little closer. She shifts, just enough that her shoulder brushes mine, and I glance down to find her looking at me.

Her eyes linger, searching, and my gaze dips to her mouth—soft, full, the kind of lips that make a man wonder what they’d taste like if he just leaned in a little more.

I swallow, my hand lifting almost on its own, fingers brushing the side of her face.

Her skin is warm beneath my palm, delicate in a way that makes me want to hold her there forever.