Page 118 of Dare to Hold
We slide into the booth by the window, the same one we always do. The cushions are worn and the table wobbles just a little if you lean on it too hard, but it’s perfect. Our little corner of the world.
Deborah appears almost instantly, pad in hand. “The usual?” she asks with a wink.
Gray nods. “Full stack for me, short stack with strawberries for her. Black coffee, cream and sugar.”
She scribbles it down, snapping her gum. “Comin’ right up.”
I lean back in the booth. “You know my order by heart now?”
Gray leans forward, stretching his arm out along theback of the booth, his eyes locked on mine. “I remember everything you say, actually.”
I blush, ducking my head slightly. “That’s dangerous.”
His grin is slow and deliberate. “Guess I like a little danger.”
I can’t help but laugh, the tension slipping away. This is easy. Being with him like this. I find myself sinking back into the booth, my body relaxing in a way I didn’t know it needed.
Our waitress brings the coffee, setting it down gently, and we both thank her. Gray picks up his cup, blowing on it before taking a sip. His eyes flick back to me, and there’s that familiar spark of curiosity.
“So,” he starts, setting his cup down, “I’ve told you about my messy past. What about you? What was Ivy like before New Orleans?”
I take a sip of my latte, letting the warmth settle my nerves. “Oh, not nearly as exciting as yours, I’m afraid.”
He arches a brow. “I find that hard to believe.”
I shrug. “Born and raised here in Texas. I grew up in the same house my whole life, did the whole school thing, went to college, then got into graphic design. Pretty standard, really.”
Gray leans back, watching me carefully. “No wild streak? Not even a little?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not unless you count binge-reading romance novels under my covers with a flashlight.”
He chuckles, stretching his arms across the back of the booth. “You don’t fool me, Ivy. I think there’s a little rebel in there somewhere.”
I pause, my fingers tracing the rim of my mug. “Maybe,” I admit, glancing out the window. “But nothing...crazy.”
I’m not sure why, but I feel the urge to tell him. To openup about things I’ve kept buried. My fingers tap nervously against the edge of the table, and the words slip out before I can catch them.
“I wasn’t always...good at relationships.”
Gray’s expression softens, his gaze steady. “Yeah?”
I nod, taking another sip of my drink. “I got really good at pretending everything was fine. Like, really good. But…sometimes things weren’t.”
Gray doesn’t interrupt. He just waits, quiet and patient, like he knows if he gives me space, the truth will come.
I swirl the liquid in my mug, watching it chase itself in circles. “I used to think love meant giving everything. Even when it cost me.”
My throat tightens, but I keep going.
“I let guys use me. Not always in obvious ways, but…in ways that chipped at who I was. I’d say yes when I wanted to say no. I’d push down my feelings because theirs always seemed more important. I let their needs, their wants, their approval define everything.”
I finally glance up at him. “I thought if I could just be easy. Low-maintenance. Chill. Then maybe they’d stay.”
Gray’s jaw tightens—not in anger at me, but in the way someone clenches when they’re holding something back. Like it physically hurts him to hear this.
“I didn’t know I was allowed to say no,” I whisper. “Not if I wanted to be loved.”
He shifts forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. But this time, his voice is low. Grounded. Almost fierce.
