Page 22 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Lord, keep my heart focused on You. Help me honor Ivy. Help me be the kind of man You’re calling me to be.

I busy myself tidying the counter, replaying the kiss in my mind over and over. The way she looked at me. The feel of her hand in mine. Her lips still linger in my thoughts, like the moment was etched onto my skin.

The water shuts off, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open.

I look up—and freeze.

She’s padding barefoot across my living room, swallowed up in my sweats and t-shirt. The hem nearly brushes her knees, the sleeves loose enough to slip past her elbows. Her damp hair is pulled back, strands curling against her flushed cheeks.

And it hits me.

She doesn’t look like a guest. She doesn’t look out of place. She looks like she belongs here. Like this apartment was waiting for her to soften it.

My chest tightens, a strange mix of wonder and want. I’ve lived here for years, but suddenly the space feels different—warmer, fuller, alive. She’s only been here an hour, and yet she’s already turned my place into something that feels like ours.

“Careful,” I murmur, trying for lightness but failing, because my voice dips low, rough with everything I can’t quite hide. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now.”

“I’m pretty comfy.” She twirls in front of me.

She glances up, eyebrows raised, and I give her a half-smile, shaking my head.

“I’ve never seen anyone make my clothes look so good. Or make my place feel this much like home.”

There’s something about seeing her in my clothes that short-circuits my brain a little.

Lord help me.

Because if this is what forever might look like…

I wouldn’t mind at all.

“Of course you do!” Ivy yells at the TV, her voice muffled slightly by the gummy worms she’s crammed into her mouth.

On screen, the female lead has just confessed her love to the clueless guy she’s been best friends with for years. Ivy is completely hooked—eyes wide, body leaning forward like she’s part of the scene. I can’t believe she’s never seen this one.

I’ve seen it at least a dozen times. It’s one of those comfort movies that is predictable and heartwarming, with a slightly cheesy but perfectly satisfying ending.

A bookstore meet-cute. A misunderstanding.

A grand gesture in the rain. Classic stuff.

I’ve always been a sucker for movies like this, though I wouldn’t admit that to just anyone.

But while Ivy’s focused on the screen, I’ve been focused on her .

The way her expressions shift with every scene—how she grins at the banter, bites her lip during the tension, clutches the blanket during the dramatic moments.

She’s wrapped up in one of my throw blankets, oversized and soft, pulled up to her chin.

My sweatpants and t-shirt still drown her petite frame, and she’s curled into the couch like she belongs there.

We started the movie with a safe stretch of space between us, like two bookends on the same couch.

But somewhere along the way, we drifted closer.

Now my arm rests behind her, draped along the back of the cushions.

I’ve been debating for the last twenty minutes whether to lower it, to let it settle around her shoulders, but I don’t want to make a move she’s not ready for.

Then it happens.

“Oh my gosh, finally!” Ivy says as the couple on screen finally shares a kiss. She tosses the half-empty gummy worm bag onto the coffee table and leans back with a satisfied sigh.

Right into me.

Her shoulder brushes mine. Then her head rests gently in the crook of my arm. My heart skips.

I take the opportunity and ease my arm down, wrapping it around her like it was meant to be there all along.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away.

She just melts into me.

And I swear, I could stay like this forever.

There’s a peace in it. A closeness that’s more than just physical. Her presence calms something restless in me. I’ve never felt so aware of someone else’s breathing, or the warmth of their skin through a borrowed t-shirt.

We stay like that as the final scenes roll out—laughter, reconciliation, the happy ending Ivy was rooting for.

When the credits appear, she turns to look up at me. There’s a single tear trailing down her cheek. I reach up and brush it away with my thumb, gently.

I know exactly what she’s feeling. That ache. That hope. That impossible longing for a love that feels written into your story before you ever saw it coming.

“It was just a movie,” I say softly, even though we both know it was more than that.

She searches my face, and then her gaze drifts to my mouth.

“You can kiss me again if you want,” she whispers.

And I don’t hesitate.

I take her face in my hands and press my lips to hers, not with the calm intensity of the first kiss, but with something deeper—something messier. Frantic, searching, like I need her to know how much she’s starting to mean to me.

She gasps softly against my mouth, and then we’re both lost in it. Moving, adjusting, falling into the kiss like it’s the only thing that makes sense.

“I like kissing you,” I murmur between kisses.

“I like—” she starts, but I catch her mouth before the words can finish. Her laugh is breathless against my lips. “Kissing you too.”

That undoes me. I kiss her harder, both hands sliding up to frame her face, fingers threading into her hair, holding her like I can’t get close enough. She shifts without hesitation, straddling my lap, and my chest pounds with every move she makes against me.

Her arms loop tight around my neck, her fingers tugging at my hair, and the kiss turns wild—messy, consuming. I grip her back, her waist, anywhere I can anchor her to me, not to take anything from her, but because I need to feel her everywhere.

The kiss turns reckless, messy, too good. And I forget everything but the taste of her, the warmth of her mouth, the way she clings to me like she never wants to let go.

Then the heat shifts and I feel it, the pull toward something I can’t let happen. Not like this.

“Ivy—” I murmur against her lips, but she kisses me again, and I almost give in. Almost.

With a groan that costs me everything, I tear my mouth from hers, pressing my forehead to hers, forcing my breathing to steady. My hands are still cradling her face, holding her like she might break if I let go.

Her wide eyes search mine, lips swollen, chest rising and falling in time with mine.

I swallow, voice low, rough. “If we don’t stop now…” I pause, tightening my grip on her just slightly. “I won’t be able to.”

Silence settles between us. Ivy nods, then lays her head on my chest, and I pull the blanket around both of us. My hand moves slowly across her back, just tracing. She relaxes completely in my arms.

Later, I walk her to her car, headlights casting long beams across the quiet parking lot. She glances back at me, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and I wonder how I’m supposed to let her drive away after this.

I lean against the hood of my truck long after her taillights disappear, heart still racing, lips still tingling.

I’d joked last night that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, imagining how I would kiss her for the first time.

Turns out, it was nothing like I imagined.

It was better. So much better.