Page 38 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

It’s been two weeks since I’ve been truly alone with Gray.

Sure, we’ve hung out—almost daily, actually. But always with friends. Always in public. Always with that invisible line drawn between us like a boundary we both agreed to.

I hate it.

And I get it.

I really do.

We made a choice. A good one. A necessary one. The right one.

But it doesn’t make it easier.

Not when I’m sitting next to him in the church café, watching the way he laughs with Micah like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Not when his hand brushes mine by accident during group prayer, and I feel the tremor in both of us when we pull away.

Not when he walks me to my car at night, keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, and says goodnight with his eyes instead of his lips.

And when he does kiss me, it feels less like temptation and more like a promise. Like he’s telling me with his restraint that I’m worth waiting for, worth honoring, worth every boundary we’ve drawn together.

It’s like we’re holding our breath in slow motion.

And I don’t know how long we can stay in this limbo without bursting.

I want to ask him—what happens next? Where do we go from here?

Because if the only way to be closer is through marriage…and I’m not ready for that yet, then what? How do we grow when we’ve drawn a line in the sand and put everything physical on the other side of it?

In every past relationship, getting closer meant more physical touch. That was the rhythm. The unspoken rule. Holding hands. Kissing longer. Staying the night. It was how we marked progress, how we felt seen, wanted, chosen.

But maybe that was the problem.

Because now that I think about it, really think about it, those relationships never grew in the ways that actually mattered. The closeness was surface-level. Temporary. A substitute for something deeper we never really built.

And maybe that lack of real love, the kind that protects and honors and actually knows the other person—maybe that’s why the intimacy always felt a little bit hollow. A little bit like chasing something that kept slipping away.

So now, with Gray…it’s different. Slower. Harder. Yet better.

And I don’t know how to do this.

But I think maybe…that’s the point?

I press the brakes a little too hard pulling into the church parking lot, exhaling as I shift into park.

A few cars are already lined up near the front entrance, all staff and volunteers on a Thursday morning.

I grab my sketchbook and laptop from the passenger seat, trying to shake the restless energy buzzing in my chest.

It’s just a meeting. No big deal.

But I know better.

Because Gray’s probably inside with rehearsing.

And we won’t be alone.

And somehow, that still doesn’t make it easier.

I climb the front steps slowly, the chill of the September wind nipping at my cheeks. Inside, the warmth of the building hits instantly.

I paste on a smile, the one I reserve for being “fine,” and push through the door.

Let’s do this.

The meeting goes well.

Better than well.

The team loved the final Christmas Eve designs, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can actually breathe. Like maybe I’m doing something right.

I walk out of the conference room clutching my empty coffee cup like it’s some kind of trophy. The hallway is quieter now, most people already headed out or lingering in small groups near the exit.

And then I see him.

Leaning against the wall in the lobby, hands in his pockets, head tipped slightly like he’s been waiting. When his eyes catch mine, that crooked smile breaks across his face and my heart does that ridiculous flip thing it always does around him .

“You survived,” he says, voice low and warm.

I laugh, nodding. “Barely.”

He steps forward and opens the door for me, holding it wide as I step into the sharp morning air. The wind bites at my cheeks, but I’m not cold. Not with him standing beside me.

“Wanna grab breakfast?” he asks.

I start to smile but hesitate. The words have been sitting in my chest all morning, and I know if I don’t say them now, I’ll lose the nerve.

“Actually...” I pause, turning toward him. “Can I ask you something first?”

His brows pull together, instantly attentive. “Of course.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, heart thudding. “What does it mean to be saved?”

Gray’s face softens, and he doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me like he knows this moment is heavier than it sounds. Finally, he exhales, his voice low and steady.

“Being saved doesn’t mean you’ve got your life cleaned up and polished. It’s not about praying the perfect prayer or checking every box at church. It’s…realizing you can’t save yourself. That no amount of good deeds or pretending will fix the mess inside.”

He laces his fingers in mine as we walk down the steps toward our cars.

“And then it’s trusting that Jesus already did what you couldn’t.

That when He died and rose again, He carried every mistake, every failure, every sin—yours, mine, all of it.

Being saved is saying, ‘I can’t do this, but You can. I’m Yours.’”

He pauses, eyes searching mine. “It’s surrender. But it’s also freedom. Because the second you belong to Him, you don’t have to keep carrying the weight of proving yourself. You’re already loved. Already forgiven. Already His.”

I swallow hard, throat tight. His words are simple, but they press into all the questions I’ve been holding close since Olivia’s offhand comments weeks ago— it’s like I’m waiting for something to click, and it never does. I want to believe—I do. But I also don’t want to pretend.

Gray must see the storm in my face, because he pulls me in for a hug. “It doesn’t mean you won’t wrestle. Or fall. Or wonder if you’re doing it right. It just means you’ve trusted the only One who can carry you through it. That’s what it means to be saved.”

I’m trying to make sense of the way those words tug at something deep inside me.

“But how?” I whisper. “How do you just…know you’re saved?”

His eyes don’t waver. “You stop trying to fix yourself. You stop pretending you can carry it all. And you trust that He already has. You give Him your mess, your sin, your heart—and you let Him make you new. You ask Jesus to be a part of your life…you surrender and give your life to Him.”

Let Him make you new.

The phrase presses into me like a gentle hand to the heart.

“Surrender,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

Gray nods. “Exactly. That’s the whole point.”

The silence between us stretches. Full of things I’m still figuring out how to say. Full of truth I’m still learning how to believe.

Then he smiles again, gentle and familiar. “Now…how about some pancakes?”

I let out a breath, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

The little diner Gray takes me to is the same one we’ve been coming to for weeks now.

Tucked away on the edge of downtown, its neon sign flickers slightly, casting a warm glow against the early morning haze.

Maple & Main. It’s become our place—the kind of spot where the waitress knows our order before we even sit down and the smell of fresh coffee feels like home.

Gray holds the door open for me, nodding to the hostess as we walk inside. “Morning, Deborah,” he calls out.

She waves back with a grin. “Y’all want your usual booth?”

Gray glances at me, his hand brushing the small of my back. “Usual booth?” he asks with a smile.

I nod, smiling back. “You know I’m a creature of habit.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.”

We slide into the booth by the window, the same one we always do. The cushions are worn and the table wobbles just a little if you lean on it too hard, but it’s perfect. Our little corner of the world.

Deborah appears almost instantly, pad in hand. “The usual?” she asks with a wink.

Gray nods. “Full stack for me, short stack with strawberries for her. Black coffee, cream and sugar.”

She scribbles it down, snapping her gum. “Comin’ right up.”

I lean back in the booth. “You know my order by heart now?”

Gray leans forward, stretching his arm out along the back of the booth, his eyes locked on mine. “I remember everything you say, actually.”

I blush, ducking my head slightly. “That’s dangerous.”

His grin is slow and deliberate. “Guess I like a little danger.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension slipping away. This is easy. Being with him like this. I find myself sinking back into the booth, my body relaxing in a way I didn’t know it needed.

Our waitress brings the coffee, setting it down gently, and we both thank her. Gray picks up his cup, blowing on it before taking a sip. His eyes flick back to me, and there’s that familiar spark of curiosity.

“So,” he starts, setting his cup down, “I’ve told you about my messy past. What about you? What was Ivy like before New Orleans?”

I take a sip of my latte, letting the warmth settle my nerves. “Oh, not nearly as exciting as yours, I’m afraid.”

He arches a brow. “I find that hard to believe.”

I shrug. “Born and raised here in Texas. I grew up in the same house my whole life, did the whole school thing, went to college, then got into graphic design. Pretty standard, really.”

Gray leans back, watching me carefully. “No wild streak? Not even a little?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not unless you count binge-reading romance novels under my covers with a flashlight.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms across the back of the booth. “You don’t fool me, Ivy. I think there’s a little rebel in there somewhere.”

I pause, my fingers tracing the rim of my mug. “Maybe,” I admit, glancing out the window. “But nothing...crazy.”

I’m not sure why, but I feel the urge to tell him. To open up about things I’ve kept buried. My fingers tap nervously against the edge of the table, and the words slip out before I can catch them.

“I wasn’t always...good at relationships.”

Gray’s expression softens, his gaze steady. “Yeah?”