Page 18 of Dare to Hold
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 myfingers 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.”
