Page 51 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Ivy

We walk side by side through downtown Dallas, the city lights soft yet bright, the air cool but not cold—that perfect December evening in Texas where you don’t need a jacket but you’re glad for the excuse to stay close.

Dinner had been easy, so easy and filled with laughter and stolen glances that made my heart race even after all this time.

We’d tucked into a cozy booth at one of Gray’s favorite little spots downtown.

He listened, hanging on every word as I told him how I’d finally done it—how I’d set my baptism date for just after the New Year.

“I wanted to wait until the Christmas rush was over,” I’d explained, fingers tracing the rim of my glass, “so I can really take it in. So I can remember it.”

Gray’s eyes had softened, his hand reaching across the table to lace his fingers with mine.

“You’re going to remember it, Ivy,” he’d said, voice low, full of that quiet confidence I’ve come to love. “Because it’s not just a date. It’s yours. Your moment with Him. ”

And just like that, any lingering nerves melted away.

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of soft teasing, shared bites of dessert, and quiet looks that said more than either of us dared.

By the time we stepped out into the crisp night air, my heart felt full.

As we turn the corner, I pause in front of a shop window—the glow of neon letters spelling out: TATTOOS & PIERCINGS catches my eye.

I linger at the window, studying the designs, fascinated.

Gray stops with me, his hand resting lightly on my back. I glance up at him, noticing again the way his tattoos peek from beneath his shirt collar, curling up the side of his neck.

“Can you just…walk in and get a tattoo?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

He laughs, that low, easy sound that always makes me smile. “Well, yeah. If they’ve got an open spot. If not, you make an appointment. Why?” He grins down at me, eyes dancing. “Thinking about getting one?”

I lift my chin, playful but serious. “Yeah, actually. I am.”

His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ohhh, you are speaking my love language now.”

Before I can backpedal or overthink it, he grabs my hand and pulls me gently toward the door.

“Gray!” I protest, laughing, but I let him lead me inside.

The shop smells faintly of antiseptic and ink, the walls lined with bold designs, the buzz of a machine steady in the background.

Gray doesn’t hesitate. He lifts our joined hands and announces—loud enough for the entire room to hear, “We’re here to get our first tattoo!”

Every head turns. A guy behind the counter raises a brow.

Gray flashes that mischievous grin of his, squeezing my hand. “Well, not me obviously. This little one here.”

My cheeks go up in flames. “Gray!”

He just laughs, so proud, so utterly unbothered. “What? Gotta mark the moment, babe.”

I shake my head, trying to look exasperated, but I can’t stop smiling.

The hum of the tattoo shop feels louder now that I’m actually in the chair. Gray leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching me with that look of his—the one that’s equal parts amused and head-over-heels.

Across from me, the artist, a girl about our age with lavender streaks in her hair and a half-sleeve of delicate line work, flips through sketches as we talk.

“So you’re thinking something faith-related?” she asks, kind and patient, no pressure in her tone.

I nod, chewing my lip. “Yeah. At first, I thought maybe a small cross on my wrist. Or a word, like grace or redeemed.”

I glance down at my arm, imagining it, but somehow, none of it feels right.

She tilts her head, offering a soft smile. “Maybe you should think about it a little longer. You want to love what you get on your skin permanently.”

I pause. The noise of the shop fades.

Then I know.

I swivel in the chair, eyes locking on Gray. “Do you have a pen and paper?”

He blinks, confused, as the artist hands me a notepad and pen.

I shove it toward him. “Here. Write the word love.”

He furrows his brow. “What?”

“Just…write it,” I insist, heart pounding .

A beat passes, and then I see it click. That big, lopsided grin takes over his face, the one that makes my knees weak.

Without a word, he doodles the word love on the paper—his messy, familiar scrawl.

Love

When he hands it back, I take the pen and add my own version beneath his, small and careful.

Love

“You’re getting both?” he asks, half-joking.

“Nope,” I say, eyes shining. “You are too.”

His grin grows. “Now that’s a forever kind of dare.”

The artist smiles at us, genuine and warm. “I love this,” she says, taking the paper. “I’ll be right back.”

And as she disappears toward the back, Gray catches my hand, squeezing it gently.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice low, sincere.

I nod, heart full. “Absolutely.”

He smirks, that playful spark lighting up his eyes. “Well, that’s it then. We’ll be branded with each other for the rest of our lives. Can’t think of anything more official than that.”

I laugh, shaking my head as my cheeks flush. “Is this your version of a proposal?”

He leans in just enough to make my heart race. “Nah. When I propose, you’ll know. But this? This is pretty close.”

When the artist returns with the stencils, I look between her and Gray, heart thudding.

“You go first,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my voice is a little too high-pitched to pull it off.

Gray grins, eyes gleaming. “Ohhh, I see how it is. Let me be the guinea pig, huh?”

I smirk, crossing my arms. “Exactly.”

He slides into the chair without hesitation, shooting me a wink as the artist preps his arm.

“This one’s gonna hurt the most, right?” he teases the artist with a straight face.

She snorts. “Sure, tough guy. It’s tiny script. You’ll survive.”

But the second the needle starts buzzing and touches his skin, Gray lets out an exaggerated hiss.

“Ahhh—nope! Yep, this is it. Worst one I’ve ever gotten. Easily.”

My eyes go wide. “Gray!”

He scrunches his face, groaning dramatically, peeking at me from the corner of his eye. “Bury me with my guitar.”

“Stop!” I laugh, covering my face as my cheeks burn. “You’re so mean!”

The artist pauses, shaking her head with a smile. “Don’t listen to him. He’s fine.”

Gray relaxes, grinning like he just won a prize. “Kidding, babe. Barely feel a thing. But your face? Totally worth it. ”

I stick my tongue out at him, heart racing, torn between exasperation and total adoration.

And as I watch him all relaxed and confident, letting this silly, spontaneous forever mark be part of us—I know I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.

When the artist finishes with Gray, he hops out of the chair, flexing his arm like he just conquered something heroic. “Didn’t even hurt,” he says with a wink, all swagger.

But as I slide into the chair, my pulse picks up now that it’s my turn.

Gray moves close, crouching down so we’re eye level, his hand finding mine.

“Hey you,” he says softly, his gaze locking onto mine. “Eyes on me, okay? Just me.”

I nod, my breath shallow.

“You’ve got this, Ivy. Just breathe.” His thumb traces slow, steady circles over my skin. “In…and out. That’s it.”

The artist positions my wrist, and I feel the cool swipe of antiseptic. My heart pounds, but I can’t look away from Gray.

His eyes hold me there—full of nothing but love.

“You’re brave,” he murmurs, so quiet only I can hear. “You’re doing amazing.”

The needle hums to life. I flinch as it touches my skin, but Gray tightens his grip gently, his other hand brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, the words wrapping around me like armor. “Almost done, sweetheart.”

Every second feels like forever and no time at all. And then—the needle lifts. The artist leans back, wiping my skin gently.

Before I can even process it, Gray’s hand slides to my wrist, his lips pressing a soft kiss right above the fresh ink .

His eyes find mine again, his voice thick with emotion.

“Forever now, Ivy.”

And in that moment—his touch, his words, his heart so wide open—I know I’ll never forget this.

Christmas already feels like a blur—our first one together.

We drove back to Ashen Mills, spent the weekend wrapped in family chaos and casseroles.

Gray crashed on the couch, I stayed in the guest room, and in between the noise of nieces and nephews and the endless parade of food, we stole little moments that felt like ours.

Sweet. Ordinary. The kind of ordinary that felt like a gift.

And honestly, Christmas Eve had been its own gift too.

My designs for the service went up without a hitch—garlands of greenery, candlelight service, and a stage that felt warm and welcoming without being overdone.

People kept stopping me to say how beautiful it looked, and for once, I didn’t second-guess it. I just let myself be proud of the work.

Now, just a week later, it’s New Year’s Eve, and the scene couldn’t be more different.

The low hum of music fills Micah’s cozy house, laughter spilling from the kitchen where someone’s trying—and failing—not to burn the queso.

Someone yells for a game of charades. Someone else is handing out flimsy gold paper hats.

The whole place feels alive, buzzing, like it can’t wait to tip over into midnight.

I’m tucked in the corner of the couch with Harper and Olivia, legs curled beneath me, a mug of cider warm in my hands. The three of us are nestled together on a patchwork of blankets and pillows we dragged over earlier. It feels like home—even in someone else’s living room.

“It’s hard to believe this year’s almost over,” Harper says, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“I know,” I say, exhaling slowly. “It flew.”

Olivia stretches her arms over her head with a content sigh. “It’s weird. A couple months ago I thought I was stuck, like my life was frozen in place. But now...I feel like it’s finally thawing out.”

Harper nudges her. “I’m proud of you, Liv.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Don’t make it weird.”

“No promises.”

I glance at both of them, my heart full to bursting. “So...updates?”

Harper’s eyes light up first. “Okay, I’ll go. I’m actually kind of excited to go back to school after the holiday break. I miss my kids. I know they’re five and sticky and wild, but they’re mine, you know? I get to be part of their beginning.”

“That’s beautiful,” I say honestly, already knowing she’s going to be one of those teachers who changes lives.

Olivia sits up straighter. “Therapy job is still good. Hard sometimes, but good. I actually helped a kid this week process something really heavy and...I didn’t freak out. I didn’t freeze. I was just there. Present. That’s new for me.”

Harper reaches over and squeezes her arm. “That’s amazing, Liv.”

“And you?” Harper turns to me. “How’s our little church graphics queen?”

I grin. “Busy, but happy. I’m still doing my freelance work on the side, but being part of the team at church has been... grounding. Like I finally stopped floating and planted some roots.”

We fall quiet for a moment, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts as a new year waits quietly on the other side of midnight.

“So,” Harper says, nudging my leg, “whose turn is it?”

I blink. “Turn for what?”

“The dare,” Olivia supplies, grinning. “We’re overdue.”

We all pause, trying to remember. Who dared who last?

“Didn’t I dare you to hold a stranger’s hand in New Orleans?” Harper jokes.

“I dared you to eat a bug that one time,” I say.

“And I dared Olivia to go to that church picnic,” Harper adds.

We stare at each other for a beat before dissolving into laughter.

“Okay,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye, “I guess we can’t remember. So...let’s just all dare each other something this time.”

They both nod.

I go first. “I dare us to never lose faith. Even when it’s easier to run.”

Harper lifts her cider. “I dare us to love without pretending. No masks. No performance.”

Olivia swallows, eyes glossy. “I dare us to be brave—even when it’s scary.”

We clink our mugs together like a promise.

And in that moment, I feel it—the warmth of friendship, the steady beat of healing, and the quiet, wild hope of a brand new year waiting to begin.

From the kitchen, someone starts the countdown.

Ten.

Nine .

Eight...

I jump to my feet before I can even think. Harper blinks up at me. “Where are you going?”

I grin, heart racing. “To find my man.”

Olivia waves her hands dramatically. “Go! Run! Live your New Year’s Eve movie moment!”

Seven.

Six.

Five...

I dart out of the living room, weaving through clusters of people and balloons and voices yelling over one another. My pulse thrums in my ears as I round the corner toward the hallway.

Four.

Three...

And then I see him.

Gray, standing at the other end of the crowd, head turning side to side like he’s searching for someone.

For me.

Two...

His eyes lock on mine.

One.

We both move at once—shoulders brushing past friends and furniture, feet stumbling in our rush. Then suddenly, I’m in his arms, and the whole room erupts in cheers and countdown noise and confetti, but all I hear is the way he exhales when he pulls away from our kiss.

“Happy New Year,” I whisper, breathless.

His hands cup my face as he looks at me like I’m his whole world. “Best one yet.”

And when he kisses me again, everything else disappears.