Page 27 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

Harper doesn’t give anyone time to think before she’s tossing a strip of neon orange fabric at us. “Here. You’re paired up. Get to it.”

I glance down at it, then up at Ivy. “Wait, now? We don’t get to practice or?—”

“Nope,” she chirps, already moving on like she’s running the church Olympics.

I look at Ivy, raising a brow. “You ever done one of these before?”

She laughs. “Not since like...middle school. And I think I fell three times.”

“Perfect,” I grin. “We’re setting the bar nice and low.”

She crouches down to tie the strip around our ankles—my left to her right—but fumbles with the knot. I kneel beside her, gently nudging her hand. “Here, I got it.” My fingers graze hers as I pull the fabric snug, double-knotting it for good measure.

“There,” I say, standing and testing the tension. “We’re locked in.”

Ivy scans the field and nudges my arm. “Look. ”

I follow her gaze—and sure enough, Harper is already paired up with Micah.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Well, well. Look who’s making friends.”

Micah’s saying something to Harper, all smug confidence. She rolls her eyes, arms crossed, but there’s the faintest smile playing on her lips.

I let out a low whistle. “Should we be worried?”

Ivy snorts. “I’m worried for him.”

Up front, the announcer waves everyone toward the starting line. We shuffle forward, awkwardly tied, and I reach for her waist to help us balance.

“You ready for this?” I ask, my voice low so only she hears.

She glances up, eyes catching the sunlight. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The whistle rises.

“On your marks...get set...go!”

And all at once—chaos.

We take off at the whistle, but Ivy’s half a beat behind me, and we lurch forward in a tangle of limbs. She stumbles, and my arm shoots out instinctively, wrapping around her before she face plants into the grass.

“Easy there,” I say, laughing as I steady her. “Left, then right. Got it?”

“Got it.”

We try again. Left, right. Left, right. It’s awkward at first—she’s laughing, and I’m trying not to trip over my own feet—but eventually, we find a rhythm. Not a graceful one, but it works.

Just ahead, I spot Harper and Micah—bickering loudly.

“Lean left!” Micah yells.

“I am leaning left!” Harper fires back.

I chuckle. “They’re gonna take each other out.”

“Should we help them?” Ivy asks between laughs.

I glance at her, grinning. “Nah. It’s more fun to watch.”

We’re gaining ground, steps syncing better than I thought possible. I keep one hand firm at her waist, guiding her gently whenever the grass gets uneven. She glances up at me, and for a second, I forget we’re racing anyone at all.

“You’re good at this,” she says, sounding genuinely surprised.

I smirk. “Years of being forced into church picnics. You pick up a few things.”

She laughs, and something about the way she looks at me—light in her eyes, wind in her hair—makes it hard to focus on anything else. The moment stretches longer than it should, her hand on my arm, mine still on her waist.

We round the last bend, Harper and Micah still ahead—barely. He’s practically dragging her now, and she’s laughing so hard she can’t run straight.

“You call this running?” Micah teases.

“Would you stop yanking me around like a Labrador?” Harper snaps, but there’s no heat in it—just laughter.

I point ahead. “Finish line’s right there!”

We hit the finish line just seconds before Harper and Micah go crashing past us, collapsing into the grass like a pile of limbs and laughter.

I stop, breath coming hard, and realize Ivy hasn’t let go. My hand’s still on her waist—gripping my forearm like she doesn’t want to let go either.

“Not bad, Ivy,” I manage, voice a little rough from the run—and from something else entirely.

She looks up at me with that grin that does something dangerous to my chest. “Not bad yourself.”

We’re still tied together. Still close. I can feel the heat radiating off her, the way her chest rises and falls, breath syncing with mine. For a second, I forget there’s anyone else on the field.

I let my gaze linger, just taking her in—the flush in her cheeks, the curve of her smile. She’s beautiful. More than that, she’s herself. Not some polished version of faith people gossip about, but the girl who makes me want to prove every doubt in her head wrong.

And then I notice it—a small smear of grass on her cheek.

I lift my hand slowly, brushing my thumb across her skin. Gentle. Careful. Reverent.

“You’ve got grass on your face,” I murmur, though really I just want an excuse to touch her.

She stills, breath catching. So does mine.

I shouldn’t—not here, not now, not in front of half the church. We’ve kissed plenty, but always in private, away from curious eyes. I know Ivy worries she’s not “enough” of a Christian girl, and part of me wants to protect her from every sideways glance.

But another part—the stronger part—wants to silence every whisper in her mind. Wants her to know she’s exactly who I want.

So I lean in. Her eyes widen, lips parting just slightly. We’re a breath apart, the picnic chatter fading until it feels like just us.

And then…

“Okay, for the record,” Harper groans from behind us, dragging us both back to earth, “that was not my fault.”

I pull back, just barely, my thumb slipping from Ivy’s cheek. But I don’t look away. Can’t. The space between us still feels charged.

Harper’s still sprawled in the grass, fanning herself dramatically. “If Micah had better coordination, we would’ve crushed you two.”

Micah laughs, brushing off his jeans. “If you hadn’t tackled me mid-run, maybe we wouldn’t have somersaulted into the finish line.”

“Details,” Harper mutters, waving him off.

I lean toward Ivy again, just enough that only she can hear me. “Raincheck on that kiss,” I murmur, letting my thumb brush her hand. “But fair warning, the second we’re alone, I’m cashing in.”

Her breath catches, and I smile, low and sure.

Before she can answer, Harper groans again. “Micah! You literally tripped me.”

“I did not,” Micah fires back, brushing himself off. “Your coordination is just trash.”

I chuckle, finally dropping my hand, though the heat of her lingers against my palm.

She steps back just slightly, cheeks flushed, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess we won.”

I meet her gaze, softer now. Steady. “Yeah. I guess we did.”

By the time the last of the tables are cleared from the church lawn, the sun has already dipped low, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and gold.

The August heat hasn’t given up yet, but in the evenings you can almost believe fall is on its way, and the lingering scent of cinnamon-spiced cider follows us as we lug everything back inside the fellowship hall .

I balance a cooler against my hip, pushing the door open with my shoulder while Ivy trails behind me, arms full of folded blankets.

Olivia carries a half-empty jug of cider like it’s gold, and Micah shuffles through with a stack of folding chairs.

Harper follows close, cinching a trash bag tight as if it personally offended her.

“Don’t drop that,” she warns Micah, eyeing the wobbling tower of chairs in his arms.

Micah arches a brow. “Relax, Harper. I’ve got it.”

“Famous last words,” she mutters, brushing past him to set her garbage bag down.

Ivy leans against the counter, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she smiles at Olivia. “They’re definitely going to fall for each other.”

Olivia grins, lowering her voice just enough for me to catch it. “Oh, for sure. You can practically feel the tension.”

I snort, dropping the cooler onto the linoleum floor. “Tension? That’s not chemistry—that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Ivy’s eyes light with mischief as she looks at me. “Or…it’s the start of something.”

“They argue about everything,” I say flatly, gesturing toward Harper, who is now lecturing Micah about how he stacked the chairs against the wall. “That’s not love. That’s war.”

Olivia smirks, stacking her empty cups neatly. “Sometimes those are the same thing.”

Ivy laughs, her shoulders shaking as she tries to stifle the sound.

Harper must hear, because she spins around, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What are y’all doing just standing there? Some of us are actually working. ”

Ivy lifts a folded blanket with mock innocence. “I’m working.”

Olivia raises the cider jug like evidence in court. “Me too.”

Harper doesn’t look convinced. “Then quit whispering and help so we can all go home before it gets dark.”

Micah walks by with that infuriatingly calm grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Bossy much?”

Harper whips around, glaring at him. “I’m not bossy—I’m efficient.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging out the word. “That’s what all the bossy people say.”

Ivy and Olivia erupt into quiet laughter again, and I have to turn away, hiding my grin behind the cooler lid I’m pretending to adjust.

By the time the last cooler is stowed and the trash bags tied, the fellowship hall looks almost normal again.

Harper and Micah are still arguing over the “right” way to stack chairs, Olivia is leaning against the counter sipping what’s left of the cider, and Ivy’s laughter lingers in my ears like the last note of a song.

She’s riding back with the girls, and I know once she slips into Harper’s car, the chance will be gone.

So when she starts to say her goodbyes, I don’t think—I just move.

“Ivy,” I call softly, catching her wrist before she makes it to the door. The others are distracted—Harper mid-lecture, Olivia texting, Micah pretending not to roll his eyes. Perfect.

I tug her just around the corner of the hallway, out of sight but still close enough to hear the muffled chatter behind us. She blinks up at me, surprised, a question on her lips.

I answer it without words.

“Raincheck,” I murmur, voice low, before I dip my head and kiss her.

Her hands clutch at the front of my hoodie, pulling me closer, and I cradle the back of her neck, deepening it just enough before I force myself to pull back.

Her cheeks are pink, lips parted, eyes shining in a way that nearly undoes me.

I rest my forehead against hers, catching my breath. “Worth the wait.”

She laughs, soft and breathless, brushing her thumb over my jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” I grin, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before letting her go, “but I’m also right.”

From down the hall, Harper’s voice cuts through. “Ivy! Let’s go before Micah tries to reorganize the entire storage closet!”

Ivy squeezes my hand one last time before slipping away, her smile still lingering as she disappears around the corner.

I lean against the wall, grinning like an idiot, fully aware I’ll be teased later—but not caring one bit.

I stay there in the hallway, back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. My chest still feels tight, not from carrying tables or hauling cider jugs, but from her. Always her.

The sound of my heartbeat finally starts to slow when footsteps echo down the hall. I straighten, too late.

Micah rounds the corner, a stack of folded tablecloths in his arms. He squints at me. “Why are you breathing like you just ran a mile?”

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I clear my throat and shift against the wall. “Just…working hard. ”

“Uh-huh.” He sets the tablecloths down on a chair, not breaking eye contact. “Or maybe it’s because you snuck over here with Ivy.”

I try not to laugh, running a hand over my face. “You’re imagining things.”

Micah smirks, leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed now. “I’m imagining you looking like a man who just got away with something.”

I raise a brow, refusing to take the bait. “Shouldn’t you be double-checking Harper’s cleanup system instead of checking my pulse?”

That gets the reaction I expect—Micah groans, muttering something under his breath about Harper being impossible. But I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth before he grabs the tablecloths again and stalks off toward the storage closet.

I shake my head, still grinning, still not quite steady on my feet.