Page 140 of Dare to Hold
Even if it breaks me a little to do it right.
I push up from the floor and glance toward the corner of the room, where my guitar leans against the wall.
For a moment, I hesitate.
Then I cross the room, pick it up, and settle back onto the couch. My fingers hover over the strings, and I let them fall into a quiet rhythm—something slow, steady. Like a heartbeat.
The song’s been in the works for months, pieces of it scattered across napkins, notebooks, and the notes app onmy phone. It started as a love song. Then it became a prayer. Now…it’s both.
I flip open my notebook and scan the scribbled lines, some crossed out, others circled. There’s one section I’ve rewritten half a dozen times—the chorus. It never felt finished.
But now, something in me shifts. Maybe it’s the prayer. Maybe it’s the release. But suddenly, the words come.
Soft at first, then stronger.
I’ll wait in the quiet, no need to be sure
Of timelines or answers—I’ll stand and endure
Love isn’t pressure, it’s patience and grace
I dare to believe... you’re worth the wait.
I pause, the final line settling in. My throat tightens. I whisper it again, slower this time, letting it sink in.
I dare to believe...you’re worth the wait.
I scribble the line down, fingers trembling. It's not just lyrics. It’s a release. A vow.
I set the notebook down and lean the guitar against the couch, wiping my eyes with the heel of my palm.
That’s it.
That’s the chorus.
And when the time comes—when she’s ready—she’ll hear the whole song. Not as a plea. Not as a fix. But as a promise.
Until then, I’ll wait.
And I’ll pray.
Because she’s worth that.
Chapter 35
Ivy
Harper’s apartment smells like spiced pumpkin and cinnamon, the kind of warm, sweet scent that clings to your sweater and makes you want to linger. A fall garland drapes across the bookshelf, little pops of orange and gold leaves catching the light. On the coffee table, a candle flickers beside a half-finished mug of cider, and a plaid blanket is thrown carelessly over the arm of the couch.
I’m curled up on the couch with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around my legs, Harper bustling in the kitchen with her chai latte concoctions while Olivia sits beside me, unusually quiet.
“You okay?” I ask gently, nudging her with my elbow.
She gives a small nod, her fingers wrapped tightly around the warm mug Harper just handed her. “Yeah. Just…been thinking a lot.”
Harper flops onto the armchair across from us, sipping from her snowman mug. “About?”
Olivia’s eyes shift to mine, then drop to the blanket. “About that brunch. When I said all thatstuff to you.”
