Page 20 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

We end up back at Harper’s place, her tiny apartment on the third floor of a brick building that smells faintly of fresh paint and laundry detergent.

The sun filters through gauzy curtains, casting warm stripes of light across the hardwood floor.

Harper kicks off her shoes the second we walk in, adding to the pile of shoes in her front entryway.

“Okay, brunch was a ten out of ten,” she declares, flinging her purse onto the nearest chair with a dramatic sigh, “but I am desperate for caffeine. I used all my energy deciding between that fiddle leaf fig and my new cactus.”

“You really made that poor cashier hold both for like twenty minutes,” I tease, slipping off my own shoes and curling up on her couch. “I’m surprised he didn’t charge you a plant indecision fee.”

She waves me off. “Art requires time. You want a coffee?”

“Sure,” I say, leaning back and letting the comfort of the afternoon settle over me.

The smell of fresh coffee wafts from her Keurig, and she pops open a cabinet to rummage for snacks. “Olivia should be here soon. I texted her.”

I glance at my phone, surprised. “You convinced her to come over?”

“Yes, she’s coming to hang out but insisted we don’t bring up the church thing.” Harper’s voice is muffled behind the pantry door. “But I’m working on it.”

I laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Olivia hasn’t been very thrilled by me going to church, and now Harper. It’s strange how against it she is. Part of me wants to press her and find out why, but I have a feeling I should give her some space.

Harper reappears with a bag of chips and two mugs of coffee, handing me one before plopping down beside me. “I still can’t believe how intense that guy was. Micah, right?” She rolls her eyes. “I swear, he looked at me like I was about to steal that kid and run off to Canada.”

I choke on my coffee. “To be fair, you did kind of bulldoze him.”

She shrugs, clearly unbothered. “Someone has to keep those power-tripping volunteers in check.”

I laugh, but there’s an edge of truth to her words. Harper’s good at deflecting, turning moments of tension into humor. But I saw her face when she walked away from Micah. The way she squared her shoulders, determined to prove him wrong.

There’s a sharp knock at the door before I can dig deeper.

Harper pops up, swinging it open to reveal Olivia, wearing slacks and a fancy blouse as if she just got off work. “Hello,” she greets, her voice softer than usual.

“Look who actually showed up,” Harper teases, stepping aside to let her in .

Olivia rolls her eyes, slipping her purse off her shoulder and hangs it on the hook next to the door. “You guilted me into it. It’s too early in the day for your relentless optimism.”

“Too bad. I’m fueled up on caffeine and I have chips.” Harper grins, shaking the bag in Olivia’s direction. “Want some?”

Olivia hesitates, then sighs. “I guess.” She settles onto the armchair across from us, folding her legs beneath her.

We make small talk for a while, dipping into light topics like work, weekend plans, Harper’s latest dating horror story and how bored she is during the summer months.

It’s comfortable and familiar, it’s what we do.

But there’s an energy humming beneath it, a thread of anticipation I can’t quite shake.

Finally, Harper leans back, stretching her arms above her head. “Sooo... I signed up for the kids’ ministry at church.”

Olivia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” Harper pops a chip in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “You should come with me next Sunday. Check it out.”

Olivia’s expression falters, eyes flicking to me as if I might save her. “Church isn’t my thing.”

Harper waves her off. “Come on. You sat through those lame events they threw on stage back in college. This is way better.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Actually, it kind of is.” Harper’s grin is wide and unyielding. “There’s music, people talking and people sitting to listen. And you might get to see me wrangle five-year-olds, which is basically free entertainment.”

“I know what it is.” Olivia fidgets, her hands clasping together tightly. “I just, I’m not really ready for that, okay? ”

The room goes quiet for a beat, tension stretching thin between us.

Harper’s smile fades slightly, her tone softening. “You don’t have to be ready. You just have to show up.”

Olivia’s eyes drop to the floor, her jaw set. “I appreciate it, Harp, but I’m good. Really.”

Harper opens her mouth to say something, probably to push just a little harder, but I cut in. “It’s okay,” I say gently, glancing at Harper before looking back at Olivia. “We can take it slow. It doesn’t have to be this huge thing.”

Olivia looks up, relief softening her features. “Thanks, Ivy.”

Harper leans back, arms crossed but not pushing any further. “Fine. But I’m not giving up.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “I would expect nothing less.”

The tension eases, and the conversation shifts back to safer topics. But I can feel the ripple it left behind, a hint of something raw and unspoken lingering just beneath the surface.

And I know Harper isn’t done trying.

Not by a long shot.

I curl deeper into my blankets, laptop balanced on my knees, the soft glow of my bedside lamp the only light in the room.

The video call window fills my screen, and just like that, it feels like Gray is here with me.

He’s sprawled on his couch, guitar across his chest, fingers strumming easy chords that hum faintly through my speakers.

It shouldn’t feel so intimate—just a call, just a Sunday night after church—but it does. Maybe it’s the way the lamplight beside him softens his features, or how relaxed he looks, like I’m seeing him in a version of himself reserved for when the world isn’t watching.

I tuck my knees closer to my chest, the blanket wrapped around me like armor. My hair is piled in a messy top knot that’s probably falling apart, but from the way his eyes flick toward the screen every so often, I wonder if he notices. And if he does…what does he see?

He asked earlier how Harper liked church—like it mattered to him.

Like he was paying attention to not just me, but to the people I love.

I told him she’d survived it, which in Harper terms means she probably didn’t hate it.

But the way he smiled when I said she signed up to serve…

it stirred something warm in my chest. Something I don’t want to name yet.

Now the room is quiet, except for him—his guitar, his humming, his presence filling the silence in a way that makes it feel anything but empty. My laptop screen glows, framing him in a rectangle of light, and I realize with a little jolt of truth: this is the best part of my day.

The steady strum from his guitar slows until it fades into silence, and I watch as he closes a little notebook resting on the arm of his couch. He tries to move casually, but my curiosity sparks instantly.

“What are you writing?” I ask, propping my chin into my palm.

He hesitates, lips quirking. “Just lyrics. Nothing finished. Nothing for public ears yet.”

Lyrics. The word makes something flutter in my chest. He says it so offhand, but I can tell it matters to him. It matters a lot.

I smile before I can stop myself. “What inspires you? ”

His eyes lift to the camera, and even though it’s just pixels and light, the weight of his gaze makes my stomach dip. He drums his fingers against the guitar like he’s stalling, then finally says, “Moments, mostly. Things I feel but can’t really explain any other way.”

“Moments?” I tilt my head, urging him on.

He shifts, leaning forward, like the conversation suddenly got heavier. “Like…the other day. When we almost kissed.”

My breath catches. My blanket feels too warm, my skin prickling under his words. Of course I remember. My heart has replayed that moment on an endless loop.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t soften the edges of what he’s admitting. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he says, voice lower now, like it’s a secret meant only for me. “The way you looked up at me…I knew you felt it too. But I didn’t want to push. Not if it meant scaring you off.”

Something inside me flips. The way he says it makes it hard to breathe. Because he’s right. I did feel it. I do.

I open my mouth, but words stall, tangled somewhere between my throat and my heart. My silence should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. It’s charged. Alive. Like he can hear the unspoken yes pulsing through me.

Then he says my name—soft, steady, reverent, “Ivy.”

The sound of it from his lips sends a shiver through me.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

I blink, stunned by how direct he is, my heart thudding like it’s trying to escape my chest. And before I can talk myself out of it, I whisper the truth that’s been lodged in my chest since that night. “I really wanted you to kiss me.”

The silence stretches, but it isn’t heavy. It thrums between us, like the aftertaste of a song you don’t want to end .

Then Gray leans closer to the camera, elbows on his knees. His voice is steady, but I catch the flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Movie night at my place tomorrow?”

The question sends a rush of warmth through me, stronger than I expect. He says it so casually, but there’s nothing casual about how much my heart jumps.

“Yes,” I say before my brain can second-guess. My cheeks heat, but I don’t care. “I’d like that.”

His grin spreads slow and wide, and my pulse skips at how boyish and genuine it looks. “Good. I’ll text you the address.”

“Finally. I get to see this mysterious apartment of yours. And meet the infamous Goliath.” I tease to cover the flutter in my chest.

He chuckles, leaning back on the couch. “Brace yourself. He doesn’t share affection easily. But don’t worry—I warned him you’re special.”

My heart stutters at that, and I duck under my blanket to hide my smile. “I’ll bring popcorn.”

“Perfect,” he says. Then his voice softens, dipping lower, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Fair warning, though…”

I narrow my eyes, suspicious. “About what?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep tonight.”

The way he says it—firm, almost playful—sends a shiver down my spine. “Why? Too much coffee?”

He shakes his head, grin sharpening into something that steals my breath. “No. I’ll be too busy planning how I’m going to kiss you tomorrow.”

My entire face burns. I cover it with my hand, laughing in disbelief. “Gray… ”

He smirks, unbothered. “Something sweet. Slow. Classic. Unless you’ve got suggestions?”

I sputter out the only comeback I can manage. “J-just…try not to miss.”

His laugh rolls through the phone, warm and full. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Goodnight Gray.”

“Sweet dreams, Ivy.”

The screen goes black, and I just sit there staring at my own faint reflection. My cheeks are warm, my lips curved into a smile I can’t wipe away no matter how hard I try.

I sink deeper into the blankets, pulling them up over my chin like they might muffle the way my heart is still thundering. I’ve never had a guy say things like that to me—so direct, so sure. Like he isn’t afraid of the weight in his words. Like he already knows what tomorrow means.

I should be nervous. And I am. But it’s the kind of nerves that feel like standing at the top of a rollercoaster, breath caught in your throat, knowing the drop is coming and you want it.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, replaying his grin, the casual promise in his voice: I’ll be too busy planning how I’m going to kiss you tomorrow.

It echoes in my chest, soft and impossible to ignore.

Tomorrow, Gray isn’t just going to kiss me. Tomorrow, I think he might change everything.