Page 47 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

Sunday morning hums through my apartment, the sound of worship music spilling from my phone speaker and bouncing off the walls. I’ve got the volume cranked just high enough to drown out my nerves, letting the lyrics anchor me as I move around the room.

The mirror reflects a girl who almost looks put together—a soft cream sweater dress that skims just above my knees, a pair of brown boots, and gold hoop earrings that Harper swore would “class up any outfit.” My hair is loose except for one side pinned back, simple but enough to feel intentional.

It’s not glamorous, not perfect, but it feels like fall.

I smooth my hands over the knit fabric and take a steadying breath. Today is the Thanksgiving service. And I want to be ready—not just on the outside.

Then my eyes fall to the small gold bracelet lying on the dresser. I pick it up, fingers tracing the inscription I know by heart: 1 Corinthians 13:13 .

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love .

Gray gave me this when I got my part time job on the church design team—when I was still figuring out who I was, what I believed, where I belonged. He said he loved me that day, but I had loved him long before he said it.

I hesitate, fingers lingering on the clasp. We’re not together. Not right now. But this reminder of him, of the way he’s always seen me, supported me, loved me without asking for anything in return—it feels like grace.

I fasten the bracelet around my wrist, the metal cool against my skin, and meet my own gaze in the mirror.

God, I really miss him.

The ache is so deep it steals my breath.

And I know I can’t go another day without saying it. Without telling him what’s been true all along.

I spot Harper’s bright red hair before I even make it to the front doors. Olivia’s beside her, holding two travel mugs.

“Saved you one,” Olivia says as I walk up, handing me a cup with a little smile.

I blink. It hits me all at once—that’s the first time I’ve seen her smile at church. Not her polite, go-through-the-motions kind of smile. A real one, small but genuine.

“Thanks,” I say, fingers brushing hers as I take the cup. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

We fall into step together, the hum of conversation around us as people filter through the doors.

It feels easy—comfortable in a way it didn’t used to.

I sip my coffee and let myself enjoy the moment.

The warmth. Their laughter. The steady rhythm of footsteps carrying us toward the auditorium where the doors are open wide.

Harper tugs my sleeve, voice hushed. “Um…okay, this place is packed.”

She’s right. The rows are already full, people squeezing in where they can, coats being shrugged off and draped across laps. A few ushers stand near the back, gently guiding people toward open spaces.

One of them spots us and waves us forward. “There’s room near the front.”

I blink. “Like…front, front?”

“I’m not sitting that close,” Olivia says, her eyes wide with a mix of horror.

Harper shrugs with a grin. “I don’t think we have any other option Liv.”

We weave down the aisle, the sanctuary buzzing softly with conversation, organ music drifting in the background. I catch glimpses of familiar faces—volunteers I’ve worked with, friends from around town, older couples dressed in their best.

And then we slip into a row, just three rows from the front.

I glance up at the stage. The worship team is gathering, adjusting microphones, tuning instruments. My breath catches when I spot his guitar resting against a stool.

Gray.

Seeing that guitar so close—knowing he’ll be just a few feet away after all these weeks—makes my pulse skip, my hands tremble slightly as I smooth my dress over my knees.

It’ll be the closest I’ve been to him since the day I told him I needed space.

And now ?

Now I don’t know how I’ll make it through this service without my heart giving me away.

“Alright,” Pastor Jack says, his voice steady but kind, “let’s bring this together. We’ve talked about what it means to live thankful, grateful, and blessed. Not as a catchy slogan, but as a way of walking with Jesus every day.”

He lifts his Bible, flipping back a few pages.

“First—thankful. Scripture says in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, ‘Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.’ Notice it doesn’t say give thanks for all circumstances.

Some of what you’re walking through is hard.

Heavy. But God’s Word says that in every circumstance, there’s still reason to thank Him—because He’s with you in it.

Thankful isn’t about pretending life’s perfect.

It’s about anchoring yourself to the One who never changes. ”

He pauses, letting the words settle.

“Second—grateful. That’s more than polite appreciation.

Colossians 3:16 tells us, ‘Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly…singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.’ Gratitude flows when we realize we don’t deserve this grace, and yet God pours it out anyway.

Grateful hearts worship. Grateful hearts see the fingerprints of God in ordinary moments—sunrises, laughter, friendships that carry us through.

Gratitude shifts our focus from what’s missing to what’s already been given. ”

Pastor Jack leans forward slightly, his voice lowering.

“And third—blessed. That word gets tossed around a lot, but Jesus defined it in Matthew 5:3 when He said, ‘ Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ Being blessed isn’t about possessions or perfect circumstances.

It’s about knowing you belong to Him. It’s about peace that doesn’t make sense, joy that can’t be stolen, hope that reaches further than the grave.

Blessed means you are held—fully, securely—in the love of God through Christ.”

He closes his Bible softly. “So as we go about our week, remember this: thankful looks back and says thank You. Grateful looks around and says I see You here. And blessed looks forward and says I trust You still. That’s the life Jesus invites us into. That’s the posture that changes everything.”

My chest tightens, the words settling heavy and gentle all at once. Thankful. Grateful. Blessed. It sounds so simple, but sitting here, it feels impossible. My past is littered with regrets, my present is full of questions, and my future feels like one big unknown.

I swallow hard, palms damp against my knees. My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure Harper and Olivia can hear it.

“If you’re sitting here thinking, I still have questions…but I know it’s time to come home, I want to walk you through what that looks like. You don’t have to have it all figured out first. Right now, right here, you can take that step. Would you pray this prayer silently, right where you are?”

I bow my head, but it’s already happening—my heart cracking wide open. Every word he says sinks deep, like he’s speaking directly to the ache I’ve been carrying.

“Repeat after me. Just pray something like this in your heart: God, I don’t understand everything, and I still have questions I can’t answer.

But I know this—I’m a sinner, and I’ve lived for other things besides You.

And yet, I believe You died for my sins.

I believe the cross counted for me because of Your love.

I believe You rose from the dead, and You live to give life to anyone who will call on Your name.

My lips move with the words, barely a whisper.

My chest feels tight, like the weight of years is pressing down and lifting all at once.

I’ve tried so hard to be enough, to hold myself together, to pretend I didn’t need saving.

But right now—sitting here in this crowded room—it feels like every wall I’ve built is crumbling.

“I don’t understand it all yet, but as best as I know how, I choose to live for You first. Today I receive the free gift of forgiveness—not because of anything I’ve done, but because of what You’ve done for me.

No matter how long I’ve walked away or how far I’ve rebelled, thank You that Your grace is still enough.

Thank You for adopting me as Your son or daughter, for making me Yours. ”

Tears slip down my cheeks as a strange peace settles over me. Steady. Like I’m finally standing still after a lifetime of chasing everything else.

“Now, with heads bowed and eyes closed…if you prayed that prayer today, if you’re crossing the line of faith and choosing Jesus—here in a moment, I’m going to count to three.

And when I do, I want you to raise your hand.

Because something happens in us when we respond outwardly to what God is doing inwardly. It’s an act of bold faith.”

He pauses, voice steady but urgent.

“One—God loves you more than you can imagine. Two—you’re not here by accident; He brought you here for a reason. Three—lift your hand. Right now. Don’t wait. Say with your whole life, I’m coming home. God, I need You. I receive Your forgiveness.”

A ripple of movement passes through the room. Jack’s voice softens, filled with awe. “Yes…hands go ing up. Keep them raised, high and steady. What a picture of grace—people all over this room saying yes to Jesus.”

I don’t even think.

I lift my hand.

It shakes, but it’s high. Bold. Like my soul is reaching toward heaven.

And in the stillness of that moment, I open my eyes—mostly to wipe the tears blurring my vision.

That’s when I see him looking down at me.

Gray.

He’s on stage, near the side, his head lifts just enough for our eyes to meet.

His gaze hits me like a wave.

And he sees it.

He sees me.

My hand, still raised. My tears. My yes to Jesus.

And his face—oh, his face. I swear I see it—one tear, sliding slow down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

He just…watches me. Like the world stopped spinning and all he can do is stare.

My breath catches. My hand lowers, but it doesn’t matter. Because that moment—it’s etched into me.

He’s not proud of me because I chose him.

He’s proud because I chose Jesus.

And I’ve never felt more seen. More loved. More free.

Pastor Jack ends the sermon and the music begins as people around me stand to worship.

All I can feel is the warmth spreading through my chest and the truth settling deep in my bones.

This is the beginning.

And it’s real.

The final song ends and the sanctuary erupts into hushed chatter and the shuffle of feet. People are hugging, laughing, wiping tears. But I can’t move.

My chest is tight, like my heart is too full to contain it all. I just gave my life to Jesus.

And all I want, all I need—is to see him.

Gray.

It hits me like a tidal wave. The pull. The ache. The urgency in my chest that screams go to him. I don’t know if it’s the Spirit, adrenaline, or just everything inside of me that’s ever loved him rising up at once, but I can’t stay still.

“Ivy?” Harper touches my arm gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Ivy, what are you doing?” Olivia asks, her brows pinched as I start weaving through the row of people.

“I…I have to find him,” I breathe, already turning toward the side of the stage.

I ignore their voices as they call after me, the heel of my boots clicking too loud against the tile as I push through the side hallway. The backstage door is cracked, and I slip through it, the hum of post-service chatter echoing through the walls.

There they are—members of the worship team, still gathered, still glowing from the service. But no Gray.

Panic rises in my throat.

“Hey,” I call breathlessly, scanning their faces. “Have you seen Gray?”

One guy—Luke, I think his name is—blinks at me, startled. “He left quick. Right after the song. Didn’t even stay for the last prayer.”

My heart sinks. “Do you know where he went?”

Luke just shrugs, and I don’t wait for more.

I turn on my heel and sprint back toward the sanctuary, pushing through the side door into a blur of bodies. The crowd has thickened—families hugging, kids darting around legs, people moving in every direction.

I spin in a circle, breath catching in my throat.

Where is he?

And then I see him.

Across the room. Moving fast. Eyes scanning. Chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

Searching.

For me.

“Gray!” I call, voice trembling.

His head snaps toward me.

And everything else disappears.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t stop. He runs.

So do I.

I weave past a woman with a stroller, duck around a couple taking a photo, barely miss knocking a kid to the ground.

And then…

We collide in the middle of it all.

His arms wrap around me before I can say a word, pulling me into his chest like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

I clutch his shoulders, burying my face against his neck, and I don’t care who sees or what they think. The tears come all over again—laughter and relief tangled together.

“I saw you,” he whispers, voice rough against my ear. “I saw your hand. Ivy… ”

“I couldn’t wait,” I whisper back. “I had to find you.”

His hands frame my face, his forehead resting against mine, both of us breathless in the middle of the chaos.

“You found so much more than me tonight,” he says softly.

I nod, the smile breaking through the tears. “I know. But I still needed you too.”

We hold each other there, steady in the swirl around us.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m running to catch up or running to prove I belong.

I’m just home.