Page 7 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

Early mornings in Dallas are my favorite. Before the traffic builds on Elm Street, before the sidewalks buzz with office workers clutching to-go cups, before life feels like it’s moving faster than I can keep up with.

My hands are shoved in the pockets of my leather jacket as I walk my usual route to Royal Brew, the coffee shop I’ve been coming to for years. Routine keeps me grounded. And Lord knows, if I don’t keep my routine, that’s when the doubt creeps in.

I push open the café door, the scent of fresh coffee wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. The line is longer than usual, the buzz of the room flooding me like a song lyric. Pulling out my phone, I start typing notes.

When the morning breaks, Your mercy’s new

You walked the fire just to carry me through

My hearts still bruised, but You hold it whole

You never let go, You never let go .

I’m lost in it, fingers flying over the screen, so deep in thought that the world around me fades.

Until I hear a voice.

“Can I get a vanilla oat milk latte, please?”

My fingers still. My brain blanks.

I know that voice.

My jaw goes slack as I snap my head up, eyes locking on the woman ordering her coffee.

She’s standing a couple of spots ahead, small in frame but holding herself like she’s trying to take up less space.

One hand grips the strap of her bag, the other tucks a piece of hair behind her ear even though it’s already in place.

Her weight shifts from one foot to the other.

She’s full of nervous energy, but her spine is straight, like she’s willing herself to stand tall.

Her hair’s just like I remember—dark, loose waves spilling halfway down her back, the ends brushing the curve of her waist. Even from here, I catch the faintest trace of a floral blend when the air moves between us. And I don’t need to see her face to know.

Ivy.

I’m frozen.

She pays, slipping a bill into the tip jar, and steps aside to wait for her drink. My heart slams against my ribs, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Is Ivy really here? In Dallas?

What do I do? What do I say?

My fingers twitch at my sides, my mind scrambling for some kind of logical explanation.

This can’t be real. For three months, all I’ve thought about is her.

That one day in New Orleans, that random moment that somehow altered the entire course of my life.

I told myself it was just a fleeting thing, that I’d forget about her eventually. But I never did.

I kept replaying that afternoon like a song stuck on a loop.

The way she grabbed my hand, how a single touch from a stranger managed to shake something loose in me. The way she laughed, wide open and unguarded. The way she looked at me, like I wasn’t just some broody, intimidating guy.

People usually make up their minds about me before I even open my mouth. I mean, I get it. The tattoos, my wardrobe consisting of mostly black clothes, the dark hair. I’m used to the assumptions. Used to being misunderstood.

But Ivy, she was different.

Even if she was a little unsure at first, she saw through the rough edges in a matter of minutes. And somehow, that scared me more than anything.

For three months, I’ve been wondering what would’ve happened if I had asked for her number. If I had chased after her when she walked away. If I had done something, anything, to keep her in my life.

But I didn’t. And now, by some impossible twist of God’s timing, she’s here.

“Sir?”

I blink, the memory shattering as I snap back to the present. The barista is staring at me expectantly.

Crap.

It’s my turn to order.

“Just a black coffee,” I say, my voice rougher than I expected.

The barista nods and rings me up, but my mind is elsewhere. My eyes flick to the spot where Ivy had been standing waiting on her drink, only to find it empty.

She’s gone.

Panic grips me. Did I just miss my chance?

I grab my coffee as soon as it’s placed on the counter, barely hearing the barista call out my name. My head swivels, scanning the café, my heart hammering in my chest.

And then, I see her.

She’s tucked into the corner by the window, fingers curled around her cup like she’s soaking up the warmth.

The light spills across her face, catching on eyes I’d swear are brighter than I remember—soft, searching, impossible to look away from.

She’s not wearing much makeup, but she doesn’t need it.

Her skin is clear, her lips full, the kind of natural beauty you can’t fake.

Her shoulders are relaxed now, the earlier nerves gone, but there’s still a quietness about her, like she doesn’t realize she’s drawing every bit of my focus.

At the same time, she looks up, her gaze locking with mine.

Her lips part in shock.

Everything else falls away. The noise of the café, the clatter of mugs, the buzz of conversation—it all fades into nothing. It’s just her and me.

I can hear the song lyrics forming in my head.

Met you in the middle of a moment I didn’t see coming

Your hand in mine like a spark in the dark

Something, an invisible force, a magnetic pull, draws me forward.

Three months, and I’ve thought about her every single day.

I’d be mid-song on a Sunday morning and catch myself picturing the way she laughed in New Orleans, the way she tilted her head when she was trying not to smile.

I can still see her standing in the middle of that crowded street— confident and shy all at once—and how I couldn’t stop staring at her lips, fighting the urge to close the distance right then and there.

I told myself it was just a moment. One of those once-in-a-lifetime encounters you look back on but never get to repeat. But here she is.

And I’m not the kind of man who believes God wastes moments like this.

Before I realize it, I’m standing at her table. Then, without thinking, without asking, I sit down across from her.

Silence stretches between us, thick with something unspoken.

She’s real. She’s here.

And this time, I’m not letting her go.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the small café table, still trying to convince myself this moment is real.

Ivy blinks a few times, like she’s doing the same. Then, slowly, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Gray?”

“Hey, you.” The words slip out softer than I mean them to, like any louder might shatter the moment and send her disappearing.

She exhales a breathy laugh and shakes her head. “I—I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Believe it.” My mouth curves into a smirk, my confidence kicking in. “Unless you regularly run into guys you once picked up on a dare?”

She groans, covering her face for a second before peeking at me through her fingers. “Oh boy, you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Her laugh is soft but full of warmth, and something about it makes my chest feel lighter. It’s been three months, but sitting across from her now, it’s like no time has passed. Like my world just realigned into the place it was supposed to be all along.

She stirs her coffee absentmindedly, her eyes dancing over my face. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting coffee,” I tease, taking a slow sip of mine.

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I live here.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You live…in Dallas?”

“Yeah. Been here a couple years. And you?”

“I live here too.” She shakes her head, laughing. “I can’t believe this.”

She’s been here this whole time. Three months of aching, dreaming of a possibly impossible future and she was here.

“You and me both.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “You look good.”

“So do you,” I say, my voice dropping just slightly.

“You are wearing a leather jacket.”

“I am.” I let out a laugh. “Just for you.”

The tension between us is palpable now. The café fades away, and it’s just us, like that afternoon in New Orleans.

But this time, I don’t have to wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

Because now that I’ve found her again, letting her go isn’t an option.

Ivy blinks at me, like she’s still trying to process that I’m actually sitting here in front of her. Honestly, I’m trying to process it too. Of all the coffee shops in the city, of all the mornings she could’ve walked in, she picked this one.

She laughs under her breath, a hint of disbelief in her eyes.

I grip my coffee cup, half expecting this moment to slip through my fingers like a dream. “So…what have you been up to these past few months?”

Her fingers skim the lid of her cup, tracing the rim. “Work, mostly. Nothing too exciting.”

I tilt my head, watching her. “What do you do for work?”

She hesitates for half a second. “I’m a freelance graphic designer.”

My brows lift. “Oh yeah? That sounds cool.”

She shrugs, smiling softly. “I like it. I get to work in sweatpants and make things look pretty for a living. Logos, websites, random event flyers, whatever pays the bills.”

I chuckle. “So, you’re the reason every cute coffee shop has aesthetic menus and perfectly filtered Instagram posts.”

“Guilty.” Her grin widens. She shifts in her seat, her fingers gripping her coffee cup a little tighter. “So…what do you do?”

I smirk, letting the suspense linger. “Take a guess.”

Her brows pull together as she eyes me. “Hmm…let’s see. Mysterious. A little broody. Smart. Hot.”

I choke on my coffee. “Hot?”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” I lean back, grinning. “But keep going. I like where this is headed.”

Ivy squints at me over her coffee cup, lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Fine. My guess is something secretive. Are you like a private investigator or something?”

I chuckle. “Not quite.”

She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to crack a code. “Okay, I give up. What do you do, stranger?”

I lean back in my chair, tapping the side of my cup. “I sing and play guitar on my church’s worship team. ”

She laughs, a short, surprised sound. “Wait, seriously?”

Her eyes widen, searching my face for the punchline.

I raise an eyebrow. “Why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Because…” She gestures vaguely at me, trying not to smile too big. “That was a joke, right?”

I run a hand through my hair, not saying anything yet. Just watching her.

She blinks. “Wait. That wasn’t a joke?”

“Nope.” I let the word hang there.

She stares for a beat, then bursts out laughing again. “Sorry, it’s just…you don’t look like you’d sing at a church.”

I fold my arms, playing along. “And what exactly does someone who sings at a church look like?”

“Well,” she says, waving her hand in front of me, “not like this.” Her voice softens, but her eyes are dancing. “Not all tall and broody in black, with tattoos down both arms and that whole ‘mysterious musician’ vibe going on.”

I lean in slightly, grinning. “Says who?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again like she’s not sure how to respond.

I flash a wink. “Jesus loves everybody, Ivy.”

This time, she laughs with me.

Then, there’s a quiet moment between us. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, still smiling.

“So…” I say casually, “since you live here, you should come check it out sometime. My church.”

Her brows lift. “Oh, um. I’ve never really, been to church before.”

“Then you’re overdue,” I say, my tone light.

“I don’t know what to expect.” Her eyes dip to her coffee.

“You can expect melodies that feel like a hug you didn’t know you needed, a message that just might surprise you, and if you stick around after…lunch with me.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away again, like she’s trying not to smile too hard. “I bet they don’t include that last part in the announcements.”

“No,” I say softly, “that part’s just for you.”

Her eyes meet mine and the café noise fades into the background.

And I can tell, she’s thinking about saying yes.