Page 28 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)
Ivy
We’re at Gray’s apartment again, the glow of his TV the only light in the room. A second movie plays half-forgotten in the background, but I couldn’t tell you what’s happening on the screen.
Because I’m curled into Gray’s chest, his arm draped around me, his fingers tracing slow, absent-minded lines along my back like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
The movie we actually meant to watch ended ages ago, credits rolling into silence. But we didn’t move. We stayed right here, long after the screen went dark.
I shift slightly, lifting my head from his chest with quiet reluctance. I have an early morning tomorrow, and as much as I don’t want to move, reality’s already creeping in.
Gray blinks at me with those soft, sleepy eyes, his hair adorably tousled, his expression mirroring my own.
“So…” he murmurs, voice low and rough with exhaustion, “I guess this means you’re not staying forever?”
“Tempting. But I think my landlord might notice.” I joke, laughing under my breath .
He grins and shifts just enough to prop himself up on one elbow, his hand still resting gently at my waist.
I glance down at the oversized hoodie I borrowed, smoothing a wrinkle that doesn’t really matter. “So…are you ready for tomorrow night?”
Gray’s eyes flick to mine, steady and calm. “Yeah. More than ready.”
“What songs did you end up picking?” I ask, curious.
His whole expression brightens, like this is the part he’s been waiting for. “We’re starting with Living Hope—it always sets the tone. Then Run to the Father—I feel like people need that reminder. And…” He pauses, a little grin tugging at his mouth. “We’re debuting something new. A song I wrote.”
I sit up straighter. “Seriously?”
He nods, the grin softening into something more thoughtful. “It’s been on my heart for months. I just…I can’t wait to see how Jesus uses it. The whole night—it’s not about us. It’s about what He’s going to do in that room.”
The conviction in his voice sends a shiver through me. I love this part of him—the way he talks about faith like it’s not just belief.
“Sounds like it’s going to be powerful,” I say quietly.
He shrugs.. “That’s the prayer. That people walk out changed.”
For a while we just sit there in the hush of his apartment, the TV screen dark, the air between us steady. My head rests against his shoulder, and I can hear the even rhythm of his breathing.
Finally, I stand. “I’ve got an early morning, I should get home.”
He groans and leans back against the couch, arms stretched over his head. “You make goodbyes feel like punishment.”
I laugh softly as I slip on my shoes, heart still thudding in my chest from everything we just said—and everything we didn’t have to.
But as I grab my keys and head for the door, his voice stops me.
“Wait, Ivy.”
I turn, brows lifting. “Yeah?”
He stands, running a hand through his hair like he’s a little nervous. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do. If you’re okay with it.”
I step a little closer, curiosity blooming in my chest. “What is it?”
He looks me straight in the eyes. “I’d like to pray over us. Our relationship. Just…ask God to be in it. Would that be okay?”
Emotion rises in my throat so fast I can barely speak.
I nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
He takes both of my hands in his, and we stand there in the soft glow of the kitchen light, hearts wide open.
Gray closes his eyes and exhales, then begins quietly, his voice low and tender.
“God, thank You for Ivy. For the way You brought her into my life. I don’t take that lightly.
I ask that You’d guide us as we grow closer—to You and to each other.
Help us to love well. To honor You with every step we take.
And to be brave, even when it’s scary. Thank You for this—whatever this turns out to be. We trust You with it.”
By the time he finishes, my eyes are wet.
He squeezes my hands gently. “Amen.”
“Amen,” I whisper back.
For a moment, we just stay there. Quiet and full .
And when I finally do walk out the door, my heart feels steadier than it has in a long time.
The car is quiet.
No music. No distractions. Just the low hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the wipers brushing away the last traces of rain from the windshield.
But inside me? It’s anything but quiet.
I press my lips together, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. Or, more accurately—kisses. Plural. Repeated. Unapologetic.
Somewhere between the movie credits, I lost count. And honestly? I didn’t want to keep track.
Because each one felt like something new being unlocked. Like he wasn’t just kissing me—he was choosing me.
And then he prayed over our relationship.
My heart hasn’t stopped racing since.
His prayer loops through my mind like a song lyric I can’t shake, warm and anchoring, wrapping around all the uncertainty I’ve carried for so long.
I pull into the lot outside my building and cut the engine. The night air is cool when I step out, but I barely notice it. Gray’s hoodie still clings to me, oversized and soft. It smells like him—clean and warm, something I can’t name but already crave.
Inside my apartment, everything feels quieter than usual. Maybe it’s the contrast. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve grown used to the way his presence fills a space .
I walk toward my bedroom and change into pajamas, but I pull his hoodie back on before climbing into bed. It’s soft and oversized, hanging off my shoulders like it belongs there. The fabric carries the faintest trace of him, and it wraps around me like a memory I don’t want to let go of.
I climb into bed and pull the covers tight, my body sinking into the mattress, my mind still floating somewhere in the warmth of his arms.
Every kiss.
Every glance.
The way his voice softened when he told me he didn’t want something temporary.
The way he looked at me like he meant every word.
My eyes start to close before I even realize I’m drifting.
The hum of the night settles around me, soft and steady. But something stirs deeper—something I can’t quite explain. Like my heart isn’t ready to let go of this day just yet.
So I open my eyes again, barely a sliver, and whisper into the stillness.
“Hi… God.”
It feels strange. Vulnerable. Like cracking open a door I’ve always kept shut.
But I keep going.
“I don’t really know how to do this. But I think… I think I just want to say thank you.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t stop.
“For him. For today. For this feeling I can’t name but don’t want to let go of. I don’t know what comes next. I’m still scared sometimes. But if You’re in this…if You’re writing this story…please don’t stop.”
A breath escapes me.
“Amen. ”
And just before sleep claims me, peace slips into the room.
Like maybe, just maybe, He heard me.
My fingers brush across my lips, still tingling from last night.
It’s been nearly twenty-four hours, but my heart hasn’t caught up yet. I’ve been floating all day, that giddy post-kiss glow still clinging to me like Gray’s t-shirt—soft, oversized, and impossible to shake.
I’m thankful I work from home. No coworkers to raise eyebrows at the smile that’s been plastered on my face since sunrise. No one to question why I keep pausing in the middle of tasks just to relive every detail—his hands, his words.
I finish up a client call, give my final feedback on a design file, and close my laptop with a sigh of contentment. Technically, I should change for the worship night at church.
But I can’t bring myself to take off Gray’s hoodie. It’s a reminder of the warmth I’ve stepped into, not just with Gray, but with God.
But tonight is important and I need to look presentable.
So I slip out of my pajamas and trade them for my church’s volunteer t-shirt—a soft, navy cotton with “Here to Serve” printed across the chest in bold white letters.
I tuck it loosely into a pair of jeans and then stand barefoot for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror, hair a little wild from the day .
I run a brush through it, touch up the waves with my curling wand, and swipe on some mascara and blush. A little more put-together for a night that deserves the intention.
As I lean closer to the mirror to apply a light coat of gloss, my phone buzzes on the counter.
Gray
Almost at sound check. Not gonna lie…feeling a little nervous. New song + packed house = mildly sweating
I smile, fingers still resting on the gloss tube.
Ivy
I can’t wait to hear the song, Gray. You wrote it for the Lord—and He’s going to use it.
Gray
You trying to preach to me through text right now?
Ivy
Maybe I am
Gray
Okay well then…“Blessed is the man whose girlfriend reminds him to calm down and not sweat through his shirt.”- Psalms-ish
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. I shake my head, trying to steady the eyeliner I’m now attempting to apply.
Ivy
That is not Scripture
Gray
It’s the Message translation. Very niche.
Ivy
You’re ridiculous. But seriously, you’ve got this.
Gray
I know. That’s probably why I feel better already.
My lips curve into a quiet smile as I set my phone down.
He’s nervous, but he’s still him.
And somehow, that combination only makes me like him more.
I swipe on a layer of gloss, run my fingers through my curls one last time, and step back from the mirror.
My reflection looks calm enough, but my stomach’s a different story.
I signed up to help with check-in—smiles, directions, welcoming people as they arrive.
Simple enough. Except nothing about this feels simple.
I’m still figuring all of this out. The verses I’ve been reading, the conversations I’ve had with Gray—they make sense, and I like what I’m learning. But part of me wonders if I’m just pretending. Smiling, nodding, acting like I belong when half the time I’m still unsure.
That thought lingers for only a second before something steadier brushes over me. A peace I can’t explain. Almost like an invitation. So I do what I’ve seen Gray do a hundred times—I pray.