Page 17 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

This week has flown by.

After my date with Ivy on Wednesday night—overlook, tailgate, storm clouds—I haven’t been able to shake the image of rain in her hair, how we almost kissed.

Thursday was back to real life. I spent the morning finalizing the set list for Sunday—three songs I know the band will nail, two that’ll stretch us just enough to keep things fresh.

Later that night I went to The Well with a few friends for trivia night.

We lost by two points, thanks to a ridiculous “Who invented the waffle iron?” question I still say was a setup.

Didn’t matter though—it felt good to laugh until my sides hurt.

And now it’s Friday morning.

The sun’s breaking over the rooftops, and my truck smells faintly of coffee from the thermos in the cup holder. I’ve had this breakfast penciled in since the moment we planned it, and it’s been the one thing on my calendar I’ve been counting down to all week.

Truth is, I don’t think it’s the pancakes I’m looking forward to .

I pull up to Ivy’s apartment but before I can even put the truck in park, she’s already skipping down the steps, hair catching the sunlight, smile easy and unguarded.

I step out and lean against the passenger side door, arms crossed loosely as I watch her make her way toward me. She’s got that kind of energy that makes the rest of the street feel dull in comparison.

“Hey, you,” I say when she’s close enough, my voice soft but certain—the way I always say it to her now.

Her eyes light up like she’s been waiting to hear it.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out the single flower I picked up on the way over. Nothing fancy—just a small, pale daisy—but it’s perfect for her. “For you,” I murmur, tucking it gently behind her ear.

A blush blooms across her cheeks, and she looks down for half a second before meeting my gaze again. “Thank you,” she says, almost shy.

I grin, pulling open the passenger door. “Anytime.”

She climbs in, still smiling, still a little pink in the face, and I make sure she’s settled before shutting the door and heading around to my side.

We pull up to the diner, the neon sign flickering above us. The parking lot is mostly empty with only a couple of trucks, an old Buick, and us.

She eyes the diner as I park, her head tilting. “This looks…sketchy. Are you sure it’s open?”

I grin. “Sketchy? This place is a local treasure. ”

She glances at the nearly empty parking lot. “Then where is everybody?”

“They’re missing out,” I say, cutting the engine. “Don’t worry, the food’s worth it. I promise.”

Her lips twitch like she’s not entirely convinced. “This is how people end up in true crime podcasts.”

“Fair,” I say, offering my hand to help her down. “But at least you’ll go out on the best pancakes of your life.”

We walk inside, greeted by the smell of maple syrup and coffee that’s probably been burning for hours. It’s classic, with checkered floors, vinyl booths, and a chalkboard menu with the specials half-erased. I’ve been coming here for years; it’s my favorite place.

We slide into a booth by the window, the vinyl squeaking slightly beneath us. The waitress comes over, pad and pen at the ready. “What can I get ya?”

“I’ll take a black coffee,” I tell her. “And she’ll have a vanilla latte with oat milk.”

Ivy’s brows lift, clearly surprised.

Before she can say anything, the waitress interrupts with a deadpan tone. “Sir, we don’t have lattes. Just plain coffee.”

I freeze, caught mid-smile. “Oh. Uh…right.”

Ivy starts giggling, shaking her head. “I’ll just do coffee with cream and sugar.”

The waitress scribbles it down, not missing a beat. “Anything to eat?”

“Two stacks of blueberry pancakes,” I say confidently, “each with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs.”

Ivy’s eyes narrow, but she’s smiling. “You just ordered for me.”

I hand the menus back to the waitress, who disappears with a wink. I turn back to Ivy, resting my arms on the table. “Is that a problem?”

She laughs softly. “No. I guess not.”

“I told you. Breakfast connoisseur.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I’m starting to believe it.”

I’m feeling good, like I got this. But then she looks down at her hands, her lips twitching.

“Just one thing...” she starts, her voice soft.

My brow furrows. “Yeah?”

Her eyes lift to mine, a glimmer of apology in them. “I’m actually allergic to blueberries.”

I freeze. My hands instinctively pull back from the table. My mind races, how did I not know that? I just ordered her a plate full of something she can’t even eat.

“Oh, man...I’m so sorry. I?—”

Her face cracks, the apology melting away, replaced with a grin that spreads slow and wide. “I’m kidding,” she says, her voice breaking on a laugh. “Bad joke. I’m sorry.”

It takes a second for the words to land, but when they do, I can’t help it. I laugh. Hard. The kind that actually doubles me over, my shoulders shaking with relief and disbelief.

She giggles too, her hands covering her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she says again, barely catching her breath. “Your face…I couldn’t help it.”

I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “That was evil. Actually evil.”

She reaches across the table, her fingers grazing mine. “But you remember my coffee order.”

I take her hand, squeeze it just slightly. “That I do.”

And for a moment, I forget about control. About playing it safe. About everything I’m trying to keep from spinning out of my hands .

Right now, it’s just her. And that’s enough.

The waitress returns balancing two steaming mugs and a small plate piled with creamers. She sets them down with a nod before disappearing toward the kitchen.

Ivy reaches for a sugar packet from the holder between us, tearing it open with a flick of her wrist.

I wrap my hands around my cup, letting the heat soak in. “So…have you always lived in Dallas?”

She shakes her head, pouring cream into her coffee until it turns a warm caramel color. “Nope. I grew up in Ashen Mills—a little town about thirty miles east of here.”

“Ashen Mills,” I repeat, tasting the name. “Sounds small.”

Her mouth curves. “Small enough that everyone knows everyone.”

I grin. “And you liked that?”

Her eyes soften, a hint of nostalgia slipping into her smile as she stirs her coffee. “I did. I mean, I didn’t always appreciate it when I was younger, but…I miss it now. The quiet, the way neighbors looked out for each other, the little traditions that never changed.”

She glances up at me, almost shy. “One day, I think I’d like to settle down back there. Start fresh, maybe raise a family.”

Something in my chest tightens at the thought—an image of her in a sundress, laughter spilling across a front porch, sunlight catching in her hair.

I nod toward her. “Does your family still live there?”

She smiles over the rim of her mug. “Yeah. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. My older sister, Sarah, is just a few streets over. And then there are all my cousins…way too many to count.”

Her eyes soften, and there’s a little laugh in her voice. “ Holidays are always hectic—people crammed into every corner of the house, kids running everywhere—but it’s cozy. The kind of chaos you don’t want to escape from.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, meaning it.

Her smile lingers as she stirs cream into her coffee. “What about you? Do you have a big family?”

I shake my head. “No. It was just me and my mom.” I keep it vague, not ready to unpack more than that yet.

Before she can press further, the waitress returns with our plates, sliding hers in front of her and mine in front of me. The smell of fresh pancakes and bacon fills the air.

I pick up my fork but glance at her again. “Okay, my turn. What’s one thing most people don’t know about you?”

Her eyebrows lift. “That’s a dangerous question.”

I grin. “I like dangerous questions.”

She taps her fork against the edge of her plate, pretending to think. “Most people don’t know…that I once won a pie-eating contest at the Ashen Mills Fall Festival.”

I almost choke on my coffee. “Wait—what?”

Her laugh bubbles out, warm and unguarded. “Pumpkin pie. No hands allowed. I still can’t look at one without remembering it.”

“That’s…actually impressive.” I lean forward. “And slightly terrifying.”

“Your turn,” she says, pointing her fork at me. “One thing most people don’t know about you.”

I think for a second, then lean back casually. “Most people don’t know…I’m a dad.”

Her fork freezes midair, eyes going wide. “You’re a—wait, what?”

I can’t hold back the grin. “Cat dad,” I clarify, drawing the words out .

She exhales a laugh, shaking her head. “Gray, you cannot pause like that. I almost dropped my fork.”

“That’s the fun part,” I say, smirking. “His name’s Goliath. He’s enormous. Thinks he runs the place. Honestly…he’s probably right.”

Her eyes sparkle. “I need to meet him someday.”

“He would love you,” I say.

She smirks, then tilts her head. “Okay, my turn. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet?”

I think about it, swirling the coffee in my cup. “Hmm…play an outdoor set in the middle of nowhere. Like—stars overhead, fireflies, just a few people who actually care about the music.”

Her smile softens. “That sounds perfect.”

“What about you?” I ask, leaning in. “Biggest thing on your list?”

She stirs her coffee, eyes dropping to the table. “Honestly? I want to restore an old house. Not for a flip. Just…to live in. Something with creaky floors and history in the walls. Maybe back in Ashen Mills.”

I picture it—her barefoot in some sunny old kitchen, laughter echoing down the hall. “Yeah,” I murmur, “I can see that.”

We linger over the last bites, talking about everything and nothing, but the clock on the wall doesn’t care. Ivy sighs, setting down her fork. “I really should get to work.”

“Or,” I offer, leaning back with a grin, “you could just call in and let me kidnap you for the rest of the day.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Tempting, but I can’t. I have deadlines.”

I tilt my head, pretending to consider. “Okay. Then maybe tomorrow morning you can sneak away for something more fun? ”

Her brows lift. “Fun like what?”

“Rehearsal. At church,” I say. “Nothing fancy—just me, the worship team, and a whole lot of coffee.”

She hesitates, the corner of her lip catching between her teeth. “I don’t know…”

I lean in, voice dropping just a bit. “Come on, Ivy. You’ll get a front row seat to the music before anyone else hears it.”

Her smile curves slow. “Fine. I’ll come.”

On the drive back, she slips her hand into mine, her fingers fitting like they’ve been there all along.

I keep my palm resting against hers on the console, letting my thumb brush over the top of her hand.

When I do, I catch the way goosebumps chase up her arm.

Not from the A/C—no, this is something else entirely.

And I can’t stop doing it, just to see her pretend she’s not affected.

We pull up outside her apartment, but neither of us moves right away. “Thanks for breakfast,” she says softly, still holding my hand.

“Thanks for letting me watch you put sugar in your coffee like you were defusing a bomb,” I tease, grinning.

She rolls her eyes but grins back, finally letting go. “See you tomorrow?”

I nod, holding her gaze. “Bright and early. And Ivy?”

“Yeah?”

“You look really good in my morning.”

She laughs, then leans in to kiss my cheek—quick, warm, and over far too soon. “See you tomorrow, Gray.”

She hesitates for a heartbeat in the open doorway, like she might say something else, but instead she smiles and slips inside. I sit there a moment longer, my hand going to the spot where her lips touched, and all I can think is, I’m in trouble.