Page 33 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

I push off the floor, stretching my arms overhead until my back gives a quiet crack. Ivy’s already on her feet, gathering our plates, and I trail her into the kitchen. The room falls into that soft, lingering silence as if the night is winding down but doesn’t quite want to end.

She moves toward the sink, reaching for the faucet, but I step in before she can turn it on. My hand brushes over hers. “Uh-uh,” I say with a grin. “You cook, I clean. House rules.”

She lifts a brow at me. “House rules? This isn’t even your house.”

I laugh and nudge her aside with my hip. “Doesn’t matter. Rules are rules.”

I roll up my sleeves, water already running, and reach for the sponge. The ink on my arms catches the light, and for a second I wonder if she’s watching. When I glance her way, sure enough—she’s leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, studying me like I just turned into a science project.

I shake my head, trying not to smile as I rinse each plate.

Old habit, really—scrub, rinse, rack. Stack the cups upside down.

Shake off the water so they dry faster. It’s the kind of muscle memory you don’t forget when you’ve spent years living alone.

Or when doing the dishes was the one thing that made you feel useful during the messiest parts of life.

“You do this often?” she asks, voice laced with curiosity.

I look over my shoulder, catching the surprise on her face. “You act like you’ve never seen a guy do dishes before.”

She smirks. “Not one who actually knows what he’s doing.”

I grab a towel and dry my hands, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’m full of surprises today.”

“You know,” Ivy says, her voice light but laced with something bolder, “a guy who can juggle and do dishes might just be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.”

I laugh, the sound echoing off her tiny kitchen walls. “If I’d known dish soap was the key to winning you over, I would’ve started scrubbing on day one.”

She rolls her eyes, but the grin she’s wearing tells me I hit the mark. I can’t help it—teasing her feels effortless.

“Just saying,” I add, drying the last plate and sliding it onto the rack. “You haven’t even seen my full repertoire. I can fold a fitted sheet.”

She snorts. “No way.”

I place a hand over my heart, as serious as I can manage. “Swear on my life.”

She shakes her head, laughing. It’s soft, real, and tugs something loose in my chest.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she says.

I dry my hands on the towel and toss it onto the counter, then turn toward her. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Our eyes lock. Something shifts—subtle but sure.

The air gets thicker. Quieter.

I step closer, slow but certain, until she’s right in front of me. My hands find her waist, and I pull her in, letting my arms wrap around her like I’ve been waiting to do it all night.

She melts into me, her cheek resting against my chest, and I close my eyes for a second, breathing her in.

No words.

Just her heartbeat against mine, the warmth of her skin through my shirt, and the quiet hum of something sacred settling between us.

And I think—not for the first time—how easy it was to fall in love with this girl.

“I’m proud of you, you know that?” I murmur into her hair, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.

She tilts her head, eyes meeting mine. “For what?”

I look at her—really look—and there’s too much I could say. Too much she doesn’t even realize she’s carrying with strength and grace.

“For everything,” I say softly. “For this new job. For stepping into this whole new world like you were made for it. For showing up—fully, bravely, even when it’s hard.” I shake my head a little, the weight of it catching in my throat. “Just…I’m proud of you.”

Her smile makes my chest ache in the best way. She whispers a simple thank you, and it hits deeper than she knows.

I brush my thumb along her cheek, letting the softness of her skin slow my thoughts. I should go. I know I should go.

“I should leave before I change my mind,” I say, though I don’t move.

My hand slips from her cheek to her shoulder, trailing down the line of her back. When I reach her waist, I pause. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the pull between us tighten.

My eyes flick to hers—searching, asking.

She doesn’t move.

So I let my hand drift a little lower, fingers grazing the curve of her hip. The contact sends a jolt through me, not just of want but of awareness—of how close we are to crossing lines I’ve worked so hard to honor.

I feel it in her breath, the way it catches.

I feel it in my body, how badly I want to stay right here.

I want her, but more than that, I want her to know she’s safe. That I’ll choose restraint when it matters.

So I let my hand move again—up, not down—sliding back to the space between her shoulder blades, pressing my palm there like I’m grounding us both.

I lower my forehead to hers, eyes closed, trying to breathe past the ache.

“You have no idea how hard it is to leave,” I whisper.

Her hands fist in my shirt, tugging me closer. Her voice is quiet, tentative. “You don’t have to.”

The words hit me like a wave.

And for half a second, I think about staying.

But I can’t. Not if I want to do this right.

I pull back, just enough to meet her eyes. My voice is rough, barely controlled. “Yeah, I do.”

I run my thumb along her spine, slow and steady. “Because if I don’t, Ivy... I won’t be able to stop.”

The words are out before I can stop them—raw, honest, unguarded.

And I see it on her face. The way her eyes drop to my mouth.

My hand tightens reflexively on her back, my heart hammering like it’s fighting against every ounce of self-control I’ve got left.

For a split second, I almost cave.

But I don’t.

I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to remember who I am now. Who I want to be for her.

And then, slowly, I let her go.

My hands fall to my sides like they’re protesting the decision, and I take a step back, putting space between us I don’t actually want.

Her eyes are wide, uncertain. And the ache that hits me in that moment is sharp—like walking away from something I’ve spent years hoping to find.

“I have to go,” I say, but it comes out hoarse. Like I’m trying to convince myself.

She nods, but her silence says everything. She doesn’t want me to go either.

I rake a hand through my hair, hesitating at the door. Every part of me is pulling in two directions—toward her warmth, her trust, her lips still tinged with goodbye…and toward the promise I made to do this the right way.

I glance back, meeting her eyes one last time, my voice softer now. “But if you only knew how much I didn’t want to walk away.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “I know.”

I reach for the doorknob, fingers tightening around it, but my heart won’t let me go just yet. I turn back, needing her to hear this. “If you need anything, anything, you call me. I’ll be there.”

She nods, her eyes shining. “I will. And Gray?” She hesitates, cheeks flushing pink as the words spill out, shaky but sure. “I love you.”

That’s all it takes. I cross the space between us one last time, cupping her face like I need to memorize it, and kiss her—desperate, tender, full of everything I’m feeling.

“I love you too, Ivy,” I murmur against her lips, my voice thick.

I linger, forehead resting against hers for a beat longer, then force myself to step back before I ruin what we’re building by risking it all.

“I’ll see you soon,” I whisper, and then the door clicks shut behind me.

And the moment it does, the silence hits like a wall.

I reach my truck and stand here for a beat, staring at the night sky, hands in my pockets, trying to breathe around the ache in my chest.

I didn’t stay.

Not because I didn’t want to.

But because I did.

Because I want her for more than a moment.

And that’s what makes walking away the hardest choice I’ve ever made…and the most important one too.

The coffee shop smells like cinnamon and roasted beans—comfort baked into the air. I spot Jack right away in the back corner booth, same place as always, sipping on what’s probably his second cup of black coffee.

His head lifts when I walk in. “Hey, stranger.”

I slide into the booth across from him, shrugging off the cool morning air. “Hey, old man.”

Jack smirks. “Still clinging to that insult, huh? Pretty sure I’ve earned ‘wise’ by now. ”

“Wise men don’t wear socks with sandals,” I mutter, eyeing his feet.

He barks a laugh. “You came in with attitude today. What’s up?”

I shrug, leaning my elbows on the table. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Something on your mind?”

I stare down at my coffee. “Yeah. Ivy.”

Jack raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, which is how I know he’s listening.

“She’s…incredible,” I say slowly, like I’m trying the words out. “She’s kind and bold and real in a way I didn’t know I needed. I told her I loved her last night, but…”

Jack’s smile is soft but knowing. “But?”

I let out a breath. “Last night we were at her apartment. Nothing happened—nothing we’d regret. But it got…close. Like, too close.”

Jack’s expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he’s taking that in.

“I stopped it,” I add quickly. “I told her I’m waiting until marriage. Even told her I haven’t always, but I am now.”

“And how’d she take it?”

“Better than I expected.”

Jack nods slowly. “So what’s the problem?”

“I’m proud of us. I am. But it scared me, Jack. Because it wouldn’t have taken much for things to go the other way.”

Now Jack’s expression hardens—not unkindly, but like he’s shifting into mentor mode.

“Gray,” he says carefully, “you shouldn’t be spending time alone at her apartment.”

My brows furrow. “What? You think I shouldn’t hang out with her? ”

“I think you’re playing with fire. You’re a man. You just said how close it got. Next time? You might not stop.”

I bristle, sitting back in the booth. “You don’t get it. We love each other. We’re careful. I’m not gonna throw the whole relationship in the trash just because of one close call.”

“I’m not telling you to throw it away,” Jack says, calm but firm. “I’m telling you to protect it.”

I don’t answer. Not right away.

He leans in a little. “You think boundaries are about restriction. But they’re not. They’re about vision. You’ve got a vision for this relationship, right? For something holy and real and built to last?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then act like it. Set yourselves up to win. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

I stare out the window, jaw clenched.

Jack lets the silence sit for a beat before adding, “Look. You don’t have to decide right now. Just…pray about it.”

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “Yeah. Okay.”

Jack softens again, tapping his fingers on his mug. “I know it feels like you’re being told to walk away from something good, but that’s not it. You’re just being invited to guard it differently.”

I nod slowly. “It just feels…extreme.”

“Gray, so is temptation.”

He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.

But maybe I needed to hear it.

I let out a breath, quieter this time. “I’ll pray about it.”

Jack gives me a small nod. “Good. And in the meantime, remember this—any relationship built on honoring God doesn’t lose momentum when you slow the physical down. It gains depth. ”

That sticks with me.

And as I leave the coffee shop, I realize I’ve been thinking about how not to lose Ivy…but maybe it’s time to think about how to protect what we’re building—even if that means saying no before things ever get too far again.