Page 18 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

The church feels almost unfamiliar without Sunday’s energy.

For one, it’s a lot quieter. It’s also less polished. The echoes aren’t of people shuffling into their seats, but of guitar strums from rehearsal and the faint echo of someone testing a mic. It feels almost...intimate. Like I’m peeking behind the curtain of something top secret.

Gray invited me to stop by rehearsal, but the second I stepped into the lobby, nerves hit me like a wall. This isn’t a service. There are no crowds to disappear into. No rows of people to blend into the background. Just, him. His people. His job.

And I don’t want to mess it up. Walking into his world and meeting his colleagues.

I clutch my tote bag a little tighter as I wander past the welcome desk. The lights are dimmed and there’s a soft hum of conversation coming from the sanctuary, peppered with the occasional burst of laughter.

I peek through the side door.

Gray is up front, talking to a man with a headset. He’s wearing a plain black tee and jeans with a guitar slung over his shoulder like it’s another limb on his body. He doesn’t see me yet. But I sure do see him.

He’s completely in his element. Confident and focused, not performing, but more like leading. His fingers brush over the strings as he talks, absentmindedly plucking out quiet chords that hum through the speakers. I watch his hands, the way they move like they’re sure of every note.

I hesitate, gripping the door handle, half-thinking I should turn around before I interrupt whatever this is. But before I can fully talk myself out of it, I push the door open and step inside.

The music softens and his eyes flick up, catching mine instantly. His whole face brightens, that familiar grin spreading across his lips.

“Hey you!” His voice instantly warms me. “You made it.”

I shrug, trying not to sound too eager. “Figured I’d drop in and get a little behind the scenes look.”

He laughs and waves me up to the stage. “This is the team. Everyone—this is Ivy.”

A chorus of smiles and waves greets me. One guy near the back adjusts the lights and gives me a polite nod and a few introduce themselves. There’s an easy energy in the room, like they’ve been doing this together for years. Like it’s home for them.

“You can sit anywhere,” Gray says. “We’re just running through the setlist for tomorrow.”

I nod and try to look casual as I step off the stage and slide into a seat a few rows back. The music swells, their voices blending into harmonies that feel like they’re warming the empty spaces.

That’s when I hear it .

A faint, frustrated sigh drifts above the music. I glance at the woman sitting in front of me, hunched over her laptop, shoulders tight, lips pressed together like she’s seconds from snapping the laptop shut.

“Why won’t this work?” she mutters, tapping sharply at the trackpad. “The background just…won’t layer right. And now the whole thing looks blurry.”

I shift in my seat, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Something in me itches to help, but I hesitate. Maybe she doesn’t want a stranger jumping in. Maybe I’ll just embarrass her.

Another groan escapes her, this one louder, frustration echoing in the mostly empty room. A couple of heads turn before quickly going back to their own conversations.

I lean forward slightly, curiosity winning. From here, I can see enough of her screen to know exactly what’s wrong. Image resolution. Too low. Easy fix.

My fingers tap against my knee. I can help. I should help.

Finally, I set my hands down with a sigh. “Um…sorry, I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” I say, leaning a little toward her with a tentative smile. “But I couldn’t help noticing your screen. It looks like your image resolution might be too low—that’s probably why it’s coming out blurry.”

She looks up, startled. “Wait…you know how to work this program?”

I nod, my nerves fading a little. “Yeah. I actually do graphic design for a living.” My voice softens, but I gesture toward her laptop. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Relief flashes across her face so quickly it almost makes me laugh. “Please. Be my guest.”

Within seconds I’m beside her, adjusting image ratios and shifting the layout. She watches, eyes widening. “How are you doing that so fast?”

I grin, clicking through layers. “I spend way too much time with Canva. And caffeine helps.”

Gray’s voice cuts in from behind me. “You’re amazing.”

I glance over my shoulder, surprised to see him there.

“She just saved me two hours of stress,” the woman says. “Greg should hire her.”

Gray smirks, crossing his arms. “I may have to put in a good word.”

I feel my cheeks flush, but I don’t look away. There’s a softness in his gaze that lingers just a second too long before he clears his throat and looks back at the stage.

“You fit in here more than you realize,” he says quietly.

I raise a brow. “Because I can fix a blurry file?”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on mine. “Because you show up with your whole heart. That matters more.”

I look down, trying to hide my smile. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

Just then, a voice calls from the stage.

“Hey Gray, you still doing that sketch with the youth team Sunday?” It’s a guy with messy hair, thick glasses framing kind eyes, flipping through a script.

Gray laughs, glancing back. “Yes sir!” Then he leans toward me. “That’s Micah. Youth pastor. Good guy.”

I glance toward the stage as Micah jokes with the crew on stage. He’s clearly respected but doesn’t take himself too seriously. Plus, he’s apparently good with kids. Harper would eat that dynamic alive.

I make a mental note.

Gray stands, stretching slightly. “We’re grabbing lunch after this, want to come with? ”

I blink, surprised. “With all of you?”

He grins, nodding toward the group. “Yeah. It’s kind of a post-rehearsal thing, nothing glamorous. Mostly good food and a lot of inside jokes.”

I glance around at the stage where some are still packing up instruments, others are huddled around the tech booth laughing about something. They fit together like puzzle pieces, each one knowing exactly where they belong.

I want that.

I clear my throat, trying not to sound too eager. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

His smile widens, and he nods toward the group. “I know you’ll like them.”

We gather in the lobby, the chatter bouncing off the walls as people grab their jackets and make plans for who’s riding with who. Gray throws his arm around an older guy with dark hair and a deep laugh, introducing me with a casual ease that makes my nerves settle.

“Hey Greg, this is Ivy,” he says, patting the guy on the back. “She basically saved the graphics for this week’s bulletin.”

The guy turns to me, his grin stretching wide. “You’re the one who made Paige stop griping under her breath for a whole five minutes? I’m impressed.”

I laugh. “I try.”

Gray chuckles, then turns his full attention to me. “Ride with me.”

“Of course.”

We all head outside, the summer air brushing over my skin as we spill into the parking lot. Laughter and light-hearted banter echo around us as people pile into cars. I slide into the passenger seat of Gray’s truck, the familiarity settling over me in a way I wasn’t expecting .

The burger joint is only ten minutes away from the church. We walk in and the waitress greets them like it’s routine. Like she knows them, which I guess she probably does.

We all cram into two long booths, elbows bumping, knees pressed together. Gray slides in beside me and I’m sandwiched between him and the girl named Paige who tells me all about how she accidentally erased half the graphic earlier that afternoon.

“Accidentally?” Gray teases, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the booth.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, accidentally. You think I enjoy the thrill of being behind schedule every week?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he fires back, and the whole table laughs.

I can’t help but smile as I watch them. It’s easy, familiar. It reminds me of my family back in Ashen Mills. I listen to them talk, tease and poke fun at each other. Every now and then, I catch Gray glancing at me, like he’s making sure I’m still here. Still part of it.

I feel his hand slide under the table, gently brushing mine. It’s not obvious, not a grand gesture, just the smallest connection. And I’m grateful for it.

The waitress takes our orders, it’s chaotic, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

Gray leans in, voice low. “You doing alright?”

I nod, meeting his eyes. “Better than alright.”

He holds my gaze for just a second too long, and I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining the way his fingers brush mine again, lingering just slightly before he pulls away.

And somehow, in this tiny diner, crammed into a booth with a dozen new faces, I don’t just feel like I’m blending into his world .

I feel like I’m a part of it.

The drive back to the church is quieter than the ride to the diner. My hands rest in my lap, fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of my tote bag as Gray keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console.

I replay the afternoon in my head—the way his friends laughed, how easily they pulled me in, how Gray’s hand brushed mine more times than I could count. It’s different. Different from anything I’ve ever known.

We pull into the church parking lot and Gray shifts the truck into park but doesn’t turn off the engine. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel, and I can feel the weight of his gaze settle on me.

“You good?” he asks softly.

I nod. “More than good.”

His smile is gentle, just a tilt of his lips, but it reaches his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

I glance down at my hands, twisting my fingers together. “Me too.”

There’s a pause that stretches between us. I feel it like a current, buzzing just under my skin.

I swallow, my eyes flickering to his mouth for just a second before darting back to his eyes. His gaze doesn’t waver, and for a heartbeat, I think he might lean in to kiss me.

My breath catches. My pulse pounds. I don’t move.

But neither does he .

He clears his throat, glancing forward. “I should…I should let you get home.”

Disappointment floods my chest before I can shove it back down. I nod quickly, fumbling for the door handle. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got some work to get done anyway.”

I step out of the truck, the hot air stinging my skin like a wake-up call. I feel foolish, like I misread something. But before I can spiral, I hear his voice growing closer.

“Ivy, wait up.”

When we reach the driver’s side of my car, he hesitates, then turns to face me fully. “Thanks for today,” he says softly, his eyes holding mine. “For coming to rehearsal and meeting my friends.”

I nod, but the lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. Instead, I open my arms for the hug I so desperately need, and he steps into them without a second of hesitation.

His arms wrap around me in a warm, grounding embrace. One hand presses gently to my back, the other brushes my hair. I melt into him before I even realize it, the stress of the awkward truck moment, the questions I haven’t found words for slowly fall away.

Just for a second, nothing else matters.

Neither of us moves.

It’s the kind of hug that feels like it’s trying to say something more, like maybe if we hold on long enough, we won’t have to say goodbye this time.

But eventually, we do.

He pulls back just an inch, eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing the moment. “Drive safe, okay?”

I nod again, this time barely whispering, “You too.”

I slip into the driver’s seat, close the door gently, and he waits there until I pull away .

Why has he not kissed me yet? Am I overthinking this relationship?

My mind spins, thoughts colliding as I pull onto the highway.

He likes me…right? Like, likes me, likes me?

Or is this just a friendship? Maybe that’s what this is. Coffee and late-night drives and lingering glances that I’m reading way too much into. No, that can’t be it.

I chew on my bottom lip, eyes locked on the road as I drive home. I’ve never felt like this so fast before. Like I’m walking a line between something real and something imagined. And the not-knowing twists my stomach.

But more than that…the not-kissing.

In my past relationships, everything progressed faster. A couple of dates, and then suddenly, it’s late nights and tangled sheets. Gray doesn’t move like that. He’s careful and intentional.

And I’m starting to realize I don’t know what to do with that.

I pull into my apartment complex and turn off the engine, hands still gripping the wheel.

Do Christians even kiss?

I shake my head, laughing softly at myself. Of course they do. I think. Right?

I sigh, finally reaching for my keys. As I step out and lock the door behind me and for a moment, I swear I can still feel the brush of his hand, the warmth of his gaze.

But I’m not sure if this is going anywhere…or if I’m just hoping it is.