Page 20 of Dare to Hold
I glance down at my coffee, trying not to grin.
He shifts in his seat, biting his lower lip for the briefest second before leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. “So, would you ever come to church with me?” His voice is light, but there’s something tentative underneath it, like he’s testing the waters. “That was a serious offer.”
Of course he would say that. I mean, he’s on the worship team. It’s kind of his thing. Still, the question catches me off guard. Not in a bad way, just…it’s unfamiliar territory. Church wasn’t something we ever did growing up. It’s not that I’m against it. I just don’t know how to believe in something I’ve never been part of.
I raise an eyebrow. “You really want me to come?”
“Yes.” His smile is easy, but I catch the way his fingers drum against his leg before he steadies them on the table. “Come for the music. Stay for the message. Have lunch with me after.”
I fold my arms. “That’s a pretty strategic invite.”
He shrugs. “I’m just saying, you won’t regret it.”
I study him for a moment, then finally nod. “Okay. Sure. I’llcome.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number?”
I rattle it off while he types it in, just as a calendar notification pops up on my screen. I glance at the time.
“I’ve got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes,” I say, the words catching in my throat. I don’t want this to end, not when we just found each other again.
“I should get going anyway,” he says, though his eyes linger on mine. “Rehearsal.”
“Guess this is goodbye again.”
“Not goodbye,” he says, standing up. His voice is lower now—smooth, warm, like honey poured slow. “Just ‘see you soon.’ I’m holding you to that lunch after church.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “You’re confident.”
He hovers over the table, close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. His voice dips just for me. “Only about the things that matter.”
It’s ridiculous, the way those simple words can set my pulse racing. Heat blooms low in my chest, curling into my stomach until I’m shifting in my seat, suddenly aware of every inch of space—or lack of it—between us. My fingers grip my coffee cup like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.
Because this isn’t just playful banter. There’s weight in his tone, something steady and unshakable that makes me want to believe him…about everything.
And I hate that part of me already does.
The bell above the door jingles as he steps out, tugging at the collar of his black leather jacket like it’s second nature. Broad shoulders, easy strides. Every step is deliberate, like he owns the ground under his boots. In the dimmorning light, he looks dark and untouchable, almost dangerous.
Almost.
Because I know better.
The man who just walked out isn’t some brooding stranger with a secret past—though, judging by the way he wears that jacket, he could pull it off. He’s a worship pastor. The guy who sings about grace and love and a God I’ve never known. That still throws me. I wouldn’t have guessed it in a million years when I met him in New Orleans.
But now? Now I can’t unsee the contradiction—leather and light, mystery and ministry.
My eyes track him through the café window as he crosses the street, my pulse tripping over itself like a lovesick fool. He pushes a hand through his hair, glances over his shoulder once, and I’m gone—completely lost in a daydream that’s one breath away from embarrassing.
And then—ding.
My laptop springs to life with a notification, snapping me out of the fantasy. My Zoom meeting is starting.
Reluctantly, I drag my gaze away from the window, slip on my headphones, and try to remember how to function like a normal human being. But it’s useless.
