Page 26 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

My phone buzzes across the desk: Unknown Caller.

Normally, that’s an automatic decline. Straight to voicemail, no guilt. But something about it makes me hesitate. A little nudge in my chest, quiet but insistent, telling me to pick up.

“Hello, this is Ivy Taylor,” I answer, my voice catching just slightly.

“Hi Ivy! This is Greg with New Chapter Church—how are you today?”

“Oh! Hi, Greg. I’m doing great,” I say, though my thumb is already digging at my cuticle, wondering why one of the church’s pastors is calling me out of the blue.

He clears his throat. “So, here’s the thing—we’ve had a huge growth in attendance the past few months, and the pastors decided last week to put together a special Prayer and Worship night.

It’s in two weeks, and we’d love to make it something meaningful for the community.

We’re a little behind on graphics and Gray mentioned you do freelance design work, and I know you helped Paige a few weeks ago with some design work which was very helpful. ”

I sit up straighter, heat rushing to my cheeks at the mention of Gray’s name.

Greg continues, his tone hopeful. “We can offer a small stipend for your time.”

For a second, I forget how to breathe. I left the security of corporate life for the uncertainty of freelancing, but the idea of something steady here, in a place I’m beginning to love, doesn’t feel random. It feels like a door opening.

My pen is already in my hand before I realize it.

“Yes,” I say, the word tumbling out faster than I expect. “I’d love to help. What exactly do you need?”

Greg laughs, the kind of warm chuckle that makes the whole thing feel less intimidating. “We’ll need a few social media graphics, a couple of flyers, and—if it’s possible—a backdrop for a photo booth.”

I scribble the words in my notebook, underlining backdrop twice, ideas already starting to swirl.

“That all sounds doable,” I say, chewing lightly on the end of my pen. “Deadline?”

“If we could have everything finalized a week from now, that would be incredible. And Ivy, there’s something else.” He pauses. “There’s a part-time position opening on the creative team. Paid, flexible hours. This could be a good way to see if it’s something you’d like to apply for.”

“I’d definitely be interested,” I say, my voice softer this time.

“Great. I’ll email you the details so you have everything in writing.”

“Perfect. Thanks so much for thinking of me, Greg.”

We hang up, and before the call has even fully disconnected, I’m already swiping to Gray’s contact. My hands tremble with something that feels an awful lot like joy .

He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, you. Miss me already?”

I grin, pressing the phone tight to my ear. “Always. But you’re not going to believe the call I just got…”

The weekend rolls around faster than I expect, and I find myself crammed into the passenger seat of Harper’s Jeep, Olivia reluctantly perched in the back.

“This is my hostage face,” Olivia mutters, arms crossed over her chest.

Harper flicks her eyes to the rearview mirror, unbothered. “You’re gonna have fun. You might even smile. Don’t fight it.”

Olivia snorts. “We’ll see.”

The church picnic is already in full swing by the time we arrive. Tables are set up under massive oak trees, kids are chasing each other around, and there’s a smell of barbecue lingering in the air.

“Wow,” I say, stepping out of the Jeep and taking it all in. “They go all out.”

Harper grins. “Welcome to the South. We don’t do anything halfway.”

We weave through clusters of people, waving at familiar faces. Harper immediately zeroes in on the kids’ area, her eyes lighting up as she spots a crafts table. “I’m going to check that out. If I’m not back in ten, send a search party.”

I laugh. “Good luck.”

Olivia glances around, clearly out of her element. “Do they serve wine at these things? ”

“Pretty sure it’s sweet tea, but I saw a sign for apple cider back there.”

She sighs. “Figures.”

We find a spot near the edge of the crowd, far enough from the main cluster of picnic tables to feel like our own little space, but close enough to hear the hum of laughter and conversation. I shake out the blanket we brought and smooth it over the grass.

“Having fun yet?” I ask, nudging Olivia with my shoulder.

She shrugs, but there’s less tension in her shoulders than I expected. “It’s not the worst.”

“I’ll take it.”

I glance around, scanning the sea of faces. My eyes catch on Gray across the field, standing near a grill and laughing with a group of guys I don’t recognize. He’s got a pair of sunglasses perched on his head, his hair a little messy, sleeves rolled up casually. He looks happy.

“Think he’ll come over?” Olivia asks, following my gaze.

I flush, snapping my attention back to her. “I don’t know.”

But before I can overthink anything, a group of girls nearby giggles loudly, pulling my attention. They’re huddled around the dessert table, one sipping apple cider, another scrolling through her phone with sparkly pink nails.

One of them leans in, voice just loud enough to carry. “I’m telling you, Gray only dates girls who can quote Scripture and sing in harmony.”

They all laugh, glancing over at where Gray is talking with a group of guys, that easy smile on his face, his hands tucked into his back pockets like he’s never been unsure of anything.

My stomach twists .

Because that? That is so not me.

I don’t know Scripture by heart. I get lost flipping through the Old Testament. And the only harmony I’ve ever mastered is humming off-key in the car. I’ve never been in a Bible study, never sung into a mic, never belonged in that kind of world.

The laughter from the girls floats on the breeze, but I hear it like it’s directed at me. Like they know I don’t fit here. Not with them. Not with him.

I turn to Olivia, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “You wanna go grab something to eat?”

She nods, standing up and brushing the dust off her jeans. I follow her, head held high, pretending I didn’t hear what I just heard.

But as I walk away, I can’t help but wonder.

Is that true?

Would he only date someone who fits that perfect image?

The kind of girl who grew up in church—Sunday school ribbons, vacation Bible school crafts, youth group lock-ins.

The kind of girl who can quote Scripture without even blinking, who sings harmonies effortlessly during worship, who never once thought about sneaking into a party or questioning if God was really there.

The kind of girl who doesn’t have to wrestle with her past, who doesn’t carry mistakes like shadows that creep in at night. The kind of girl who looks put-together and polished, faith on display like a pressed dress and a polished smile.

I picture her—whoever she is—and I shrink in comparison. Because I’m not that girl. I never have been.

I want to believe the answer is no. That Gray wouldn’t box love into that mold, wouldn’t only want someone who checks all the “perfect Christian” boxes.

But that tiny seed of doubt is already planted.

And it’s starting to grow, winding its way around every part of me that wonders if I’ll ever be enough.

I take the cup of apple cider Olivia hands me and follow her through the maze of picnic tables and lawn chairs, the hum of laughter and conversation swirling around us. She stops at the dessert table, already eyeing a plate of brownies.

“You good?” she asks, one eyebrow raised as she shoves a napkin into her purse.

“Yeah, I just…” I glance around, searching for an exit. “I think I need some space. You okay here?”

Olivia waves me off, already reaching for a cookie. “I’ll survive. There’s plenty of snacks to keep me busy.”

I slip away from the main crowd. My feet take me toward the edge of the picnic area where the trees grow thicker, stretching up like a canopy above. The noise dulls to a soft hum, and I sink down onto the grass beneath the shade, letting the coolness seep into my legs.

I take a sip of apple cider, warm and sweet, but I barely taste it.

Gray only dates girls who can quote Scripture and sing in harmony.

The words echo in my mind, looping around my thoughts until I feel them like pinpricks. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me—gossip and whispers from girls who probably don’t even know him like I do. But still...

I tug at a blade of grass, running it through my fingers until it snaps. Quote Scripture and sing in harmony.

I can’t do either.

Not well, anyway. I think back to every church service I’ve attended, I’m just starting to figure this out.

What if I’m not enough?

I shake off the thought, tossing the blade of grass aside and wiping my palms on my jeans. I’m being ridiculous.

But I can’t shake the whisper that maybe I’m not his kind of girl.

I hear footsteps before I see him. The crunch of gravel and a soft whistle that’s just slightly off-key. My heart stumbles over itself, and I glance up to find Gray standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, a grin spreading across his face.

“Found you,” he says, tilting his head.

I smile, scooting over just enough to make space. “You were looking?”

“Always.” He doesn’t hesitate. Just drops down beside me on the grass, stretching his long legs out and leaning back on his palms. He glances around the quiet patch of green. “Escaping the madness?”

I nod, staring down at my cup of cider. “Just getting some air.”

“Smart.” He lets out a slow breath, eyes drifting to the sky. “I’ve been running around for the last hour. Almost got roped into face-painting. I barely dodged it.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’d make a terrible face-painter.”

He gasps. “I would be excellent. My stick figures are practically museum-worthy.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now.

He glances over at me, eyes softening. “You okay? You seem…I don’t know. Somewhere else.”

I force a little smile, tracing the rim of my cup. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitate. The words taste silly on my tongue, but they press anyway. “Do you…ever feel like you should be with someone who’s more…” I bite my lip. “Put-together? Like one of those perfect church girls who has all the verses memorized and sings in the choir and never misses a Bible study?”

Gray’s brows knit, his whole body shifting toward me. “Where’s that coming from?”

I shrug, eyes glued to the cider in my hands. “I overheard some girls talking. About you. About the kind of person you’d actually date.” My throat tightens. “And it wasn’t…me.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s catching his temper before it sparks. “Ivy, you really think I’d let some gossip define what I want?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. “It just…got in my head.”

Gray’s jaw ticks, but his eyes soften as they find mine. “I don’t have a checklist,” he says firmly. “But if I did? You’d be on it. Every single time.”

The world stills for a beat. My cheeks heat, the cider cooling between my palms.

“You don’t have to be someone else,” he adds, quieter now, leaning closer. “I want you—mess, questions, imperfections, all of it. That’s what I like.”

My heart stutters, caught between disbelief and hope.

Before I can form words, Harper’s voice slices through the trees, loud and unapologetic .

“There you two are!” She’s practically jogging over, waving her arms like she’s directing traffic. “I need help. Both of you. Now.”

Gray raises an eyebrow, glancing at me. “You think she’s serious?”

“She’s always serious,” I laugh. “We should probably go before she drags us.”

Gray groans but stands, brushing off his jeans. “I was just getting comfortable.”

“Well, duty calls,” I say, tilting my head toward the chaos.

He sighs dramatically, but when he offers me his hand to help me up, I take it. His fingers are warm and steady, and for a moment, I forget about those whispers. I forget about everything.

We make our way back to the picnic tables, Harper waiting with her hands on her hips. “Finally! There’s a three-legged race starting and we need more teams. Get ready.”

Gray laughs, glancing at me. “You up for it?”

I nod, my heart still fluttering from the quiet moment under the trees. “As long as you don’t trip me.”

“No promises,” he grins.