Page 48 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

The drive was mostly quiet.

Ivy held my hand the whole way, her fingers laced through mine like they belonged there. Like we’d made it through something only God could’ve carried us through.

Now we’re here. The overlook.

I’ve brought her here a few times before, but tonight is different. Everything’s changed and the stars are truly brighter, the view deeper, and somehow, so is my heart.

The truck bed creaks as we settle into the blanket I keep in the back seat, a second one draped over our laps. Cold air nips at our cheeks, but I hardly notice. Ivy leans against me, quiet. Still.

And I don’t want to be the one to break the silence, but my chest is so full I don’t know if I can keep it in much longer.

She beats me to it.

“It’s beautiful up here,” she says softly, voice like a prayer in the quiet.

I glance down at her, the faint golden light from the buzz of downtown Dallas reflecting in her eyes. “Not half as beautiful as what I saw tonight.”

She blushes, but doesn’t look away.

“Ivy…when I saw you…” My voice breaks. I clear my throat and try again. “When I saw your hand raised, I thought my heart might stop.”

“I didn’t mean to look up,” she says, her smile small, almost shy. “I was crying and needed a tissue, and when I did…there you were.”

“And there you were,” I echo, my hand brushing hers. “Choosing Jesus.”

She nods slowly. “I meant it. Every word of that prayer. Every tear. I meant it all.”

I don’t realize how tightly I’ve been gripping the edge of the blanket until I feel my knuckles ache. I release it and reach for her hand instead.

“I’ve never stopped praying for you,” I whisper. “Even when you asked for space. Even when it broke me not to reach out more than I did.”

Her eyes lift to mine, glassy but steady. “I know. I felt it. In the silence. In the stillness. Somehow…I still felt you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know how to stop loving you. And I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t,” she says quietly. “You just loved me from a distance. And it gave me the room to finally see God for who He is—not just through your eyes, but through mine.”

We fall quiet again, the sounds of the wind rustling in the trees around us.

“I’ve never wanted to get this part wrong,” I admit. “Not with you.”

Ivy leans her head on my shoulder. “So let’s get it right. Together. ”

The stars above us are scattered like promises—some already fulfilled, others waiting to be.

Ivy shifts beside me, her voice soft but sure. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

She pulls the blanket a little tighter around us. “Were you really thinking about marriage? Before I asked for space?”

I pause. Not because I don’t know the answer—but because the truth is heavier than I expected.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “I was.”

Her breath catches, and I glance at her. She’s not pulling away. If anything, she’s leaning in.

“I was praying about it. A lot.”

She bites her lip, then looks down. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I was scared. Not just of faith. But of you.”

That stings, but I wait.

“Because you were everything I never believed I deserved. And part of me thought…if I let myself really love you, I’d ruin it.”

“You could never ruin it,” I say. “But I get it. I do. I’ve ruined things before by trying too hard to hold on. But this, what we have now, it’s not something we’re holding up on our own.”

She nods, quiet again for a moment before speaking. “I don’t want to rush anything. But I also don’t want to live like I’m scared of love anymore.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “That sounds like faith to me.”

“I want our foundation to be solid,” she continues. “Built on Him. Not just feelings. ”

“Then let’s build it together,” I say. “Slow. Intentional. Faith-first. No pressure. Just…pursuit.”

She leans into me, head resting on my chest. “Okay.”

For a moment, we just sit like that, the night quiet around us, the city lights flickering below like scattered stars.

Then I shift slightly, pulling out my phone and opening my Notes app.

“What are you doing?” she asks, tilting her head to look up at me.

I smile, thumbing in a new title.

“I want to write it down,” I say quietly. “So we remember. So we can come back to it when things get hard. This is our start.”

And I begin to type, reading it aloud as I go.

Gray + Ivy Pursuing Jesus & Each Other:

Jesus first, always.

We pray together before big decisions.

No being alone behind closed doors.

We protect physical boundaries — save sex for marriage.

We pursue emotional intimacy more than physical.

We go to church together and serve where we’re called.

We speak truth in love, even when it’s hard.

We encourage each other’s personal walk with God.

We take dating seriously — we’re pursuing marriage, not just “seeing where it goes.”

We give each other grace when we mess up.

We celebrate small wins and answered prayers.

We check in regularly about boundaries and how we’re doing.

We ask for accountability when we need it.

We choose intentional time together.

We remember: Faith. Hope. Love. The greatest is love.

Seek Godly counsel when needed

I glance over at her, the screen glowing softly between us. “Anything you want to add?”

She blinks fast, a tear slipping down her cheek, and shakes her head, smiling. “No. I’d say that’s everything.”

Ivy’s quiet voice breaks the stillness. “Gray…can I ask you one more question?”

I glance over at her, smiling. “You can ask me a million questions. We’ve got forever together, remember?”

She hesitates, like she’s gathering courage. “The next step after giving your life to Jesus is to tell the world…with baptism, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” I say, my heart already thudding, somehow sensing where this is going.

She lifts her gaze, eyes shining. “Gray…will you baptize me?”

For a second, I can’t move. The weight of her words hits me square in the chest, and I feel it—that overwhelming mix of joy, gratitude, and awe.

I stand, pacing a few steps along the gravel, the city lights below blurring as I blink back the burn in my eyes. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding like I just ran a mile.

Then I stop.

And I drop to my knees in front of her, right there by the tailgate.

Her brows knit together, concerned. “Gray?”

But I’m smiling—wide, wrecked, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Ivy,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “You just asked me the greatest honor of my life. Do you know what it does to me…that you trust me with this? That I get to stand with you as you declare your faith, your future, your forever with Him? I’d move mountains for you.

Baptizing you? That’s the easiest yes of my life. ”

Her eyes fill, and I take her hands in mine, kissing her knuckles gently.

“And for the record…” I add, my grin turning crooked, trying to lighten the tears shining in both our eyes, “you’re about to make me ugly cry in front of the entire city of Dallas. So thanks for that.”

She laughs, the sound breaking through the emotion like sunshine.

And in that moment, I know: I am going to be getting on one knee sooner than later.

The cab of the truck is warm as we sit in the parking lot outside Ivy’s apartment. It’s approaching midnight, but neither of us are tired. How could we possibly sleep after what just took place?

“So…what’s Thursday look like for you?” I ask, keeping the conversation flowing.

She shrugs, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “My family does Thanksgiving lunch. It’s chaotic and loud and someone always ends up crying over a burnt casserole, but it’s tradition.”

I chuckle. “Sounds cozy.”

“What about you?” she asks, twisting in her seat to face me. “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

I hesitate. “Micah usually invites me to his family’s thing. It’s always open-door. But I told him I might just stay home this year.”

Her brows knit. “Stay home?”

I nod. “Yeah. I don’t know. I wasn’t really in the mood for…conversations. Figured I’d finally finish that song I’ve been writing for months.”

She stares at me, then shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

I blink. “What?”

“There is no way I’m letting you spend Thanksgiving alone,” she says, a mix of sass and warmth in her voice. “Come with me. Seriously. Meet the chaos. The casserole. All of it. It’s about time anyway.”

My heart stutters. “You’re serious?”

She bites her lip, then grins. “I am. I want you there.”

It hits me harder than I expect—that small invitation, that open door. Not because of the holiday, but because she’s choosing me again. Not just as a boyfriend, but as someone she wants in her world .

“I’d be honored,” I say softly.

She smiles, then looks down at her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“Ivy?” I say, my voice low.

She lifts her gaze.

I lean closer, my voice teasing but wrapped in something deeper. “Can I kiss you?”

Her breath catches, eyes flicking to my mouth and back again.

“Because I’m not too sure how much longer I can last without it.”

Her laugh bubbles out, half joy, half disbelief, like she can’t believe we’re finally here. “I dare you.”

That’s all I need.

I close the distance, my lips finding hers in a kiss that feels like exhaling after holding my breath for weeks. It’s soft at first, like I’m trying to memorize the feel of her all over again. The truth of her. The miracle that she’s here.

But then she leans in. Her hands slide up my jaw, fingertips tracing the stubble there, and everything inside me unravels. The world around us blurs—the quiet night, the distant hum of traffic, the stars scattered above—until there’s only this. Only her. Only us.

The kiss deepens, not rushed, but certain. Like coming home. Like finding something I thought I’d lost for good. I can feel her heart racing against mine, her breath mingling with mine, the steady rhythm of two people who’ve waited, ached, for this exact moment.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, foreheads still pressed together, laughter spilling between us like we can’t contain it. Her smile is radiant, cheeks flushed, eyes shining in the dim light.

I brush a thumb across her cheek, still not quite believing. “Worth the wait,” I whisper.

Her lips curve, soft and sure. “It sure was.”

It’s just past midnight when I step into my apartment, the door clicking softly behind me as I toe off my shoes and shrug out of my jacket.

I pull my phone from my pocket and type the words without hesitation.

Gray

Made it home. I love you Ivy.

I stare at the message for a second longer, then hit send.

The silence wraps around me like a blanket as I move through the familiar motions—turning off lights, brushing my teeth, grabbing a clean t-shirt. My body’s tired, but my heart…it’s wide awake. Thrumming.

A low yowl cuts through the quiet.

Goliath hops onto the bed like he owns the place, tail flicking as if to scold me for staying out so late.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, tossing my jeans into the hamper. “I know it’s past your bedtime.”

He blinks at me, slow and unimpressed.

I sink down onto the mattress, scratching behind his ears until he purrs. “You’ll never believe it, buddy,” I say, grinning like a fool. “She kissed me. Well, I kissed her. But still. It happened. After two months of wondering if I’d ever get that chance again—she’s mine. We’re back.”

Goliath stretches out, rolling onto his side like he couldn’t care less, and I laugh. “Don’t give me that look. You’re the only one who’s heard me talk to the ceiling every night. You know.”

The cat yawns, tucks his paws beneath him, and settles.

I lean back against the headboard, my chest still buzzing, my heart still racing. “She’s worth it, Goliath. Every prayer, every mile of distance, every second of waiting. She’s worth all of it.”

Goliath purrs louder, like maybe he agrees—or maybe he just wants breakfast early. Either way, I can’t stop smiling.

Eight weeks.

Eight weeks of ache. Of trying to be strong.

Of letting go when everything in me wanted to hold on tighter.

I’ve never fought so hard not to fight for something.

But now, standing here in the stillness of my apartment, I finally understand what Jack meant.

Patience over pressure. Stillness over striving.

It was worth every quiet night. Every unanswered prayer. Every lonely drive home after church.

Because tonight, she ran to me. She chose me—fully, freely, faithfully.

And more than that…she chose Jesus.

A laugh slips out, quiet and awestruck. I run a hand over my face and shake my head. “Thank You,” I whisper into the dark. “I didn’t deserve any of this. But thank You.”

I slip into bed, tugging the blanket over my chest, the weight of the day finally settling around me like peace. It feels different this year, like maybe this is what Thanksgiving is really about. Thankful for the waiting. Grateful for the second chance. Blessed by the God who makes all things new.

Thursday, I’ll meet her family .

Thursday, I’ll walk into her world—not as the guy she’s dating, but as the man who waited.

And if the moment’s right…

I might just ask her dad for his blessing.