Page 100 of Dare to Hold
Our eyes lock. Something shifts—subtlebut sure.
The air gets thicker. Quieter.
I step closer, slow but certain, until she’s right in front of me. My hands find her waist, and I pull her in, letting my arms wrap around her like I’ve been waiting to do it all night.
She melts into me, her cheek resting against my chest, and I close my eyes for a second, breathing her in.
No words.
Just her heartbeat against mine, the warmth of her skin through my shirt, and the quiet hum of something sacred settling between us.
And I think—not for the first time—how easy it was to fall in love with this girl.
“I’m proud of you, you know that?” I murmur into her hair, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.
She tilts her head, eyes meeting mine. “For what?”
I look at her—really look—and there’s too much I could say. Too much she doesn’t even realize she’s carrying with strength and grace.
“For everything,” I say softly. “For this new job. For stepping into this whole new world like you were made for it. For showing up—fully, bravely, even when it’s hard.” I shake my head a little, the weight of it catching in my throat. “Just…I’m proud of you.”
Her smile makes my chest ache in the best way. She whispers a simple thank you, and it hits deeper than she knows.
I brush my thumb along her cheek, letting the softness of her skin slow my thoughts. I should go. I know I should go.
“I should leave before I change my mind,” I say, though I don’t move.
My hand slips from her cheek to her shoulder, trailingdown the line of her back. When I reach her waist, I pause. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the pull between us tighten.
My eyes flick to hers—searching, asking.
She doesn’t move.
So I let my hand drift a little lower, fingers grazing the curve of her hip. The contact sends a jolt through me, not just of want but of awareness—of how close we are to crossing lines I’ve worked so hard to honor.
I feel it in her breath, the way it catches.
I feel it in my body, how badly I want to stay right here.
I want her, but more than that, I want her to know she’s safe. That I’ll choose restraint when it matters.
So I let my hand move again—up, not down—sliding back to the space between her shoulder blades, pressing my palm there like I’m grounding us both.
I lower my forehead to hers, eyes closed, trying to breathe past the ache.
“You have no idea how hard it is to leave,” I whisper.
Her hands fist in my shirt, tugging me closer. Her voice is quiet, tentative. “You don’t have to.”
The words hit me like a wave.
And for half a second, I think about staying.
But I can’t. Not if I want to do this right.
I pull back, just enough to meet her eyes. My voice is rough, barely controlled. “Yeah, I do.”
I run my thumb along her spine, slow and steady. “Because if I don’t, Ivy... I won’t be able to stop.”
