Page 26 of Dare to Hold
The sun’s warm but not suffocating, the kind of perfect late-summer afternoon that makes the park’s walking path feel more like a runway for strollers, joggers, and overly enthusiastic dog owners. Harper and I claimed a picnic table under a maple tree, sandwiches from the deli spread between us, shopping bags tucked by our feet.
I tear into my turkey club, the knot in my stomach has nothing to do with hunger. “So… tomorrow.” I keep my voice casual, but it still comes out a little tighter than I mean. “I’m nervous.”
Harper glances up from unwrapping her sandwich. “About church?”
I nod. “I have no idea what to expect. I mean, I’ve seen church in movies, but that’s probably not the same thing.”
She smiles like she’s been waiting for me to ask. “It’s not as scary as you think. They’ll probably have someone greet you at the door, maybe give you a bulletin or program. The music will be… well, different than a concert, but still really good. And people might introduce themselves after. Or not. It depends on the church.”
I tilt my head. “And you know all this… how? You said earlier you’ve been before?”
Her smile quirks a little. “Oh, yeah. I grew up going to church. Every Sunday morning, every Wednesday night—pretty much my whole childhood.”
I freeze mid-bite. “Wait. How did I not know this? I’ve known you since kindergarten.”
She laughs lightly, but there’s a flicker of something quieter in her eyes. “You know how my parents are. Not exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”
I do know. They’ve always been polite to me, but there’s a strictness to them that makes me feel like I’m on some sort of invisible grading scale.
“Our church was really small,” she goes on. “Just outside Ashen Mills. And honestly… I didn’t really want to bring friends. Not because it was bad, it just…wasn’t my favorite place back then.”
I nod, letting her keep it surface-level.
“But since then, I’ve tried other churches. Sometimes I’ll watch online. And…” She pauses, picking at the crust of her bread. “You know what? I kind of miss it. I can’t go tomorrow, but maybe I’ll tag along with you next time. I miss the community part of church the most. Serving in the kids’ area was always my favorite.”
A faint shadow passes through her expression before she shakes it off. “I guess I’ve been meaning to go back for a while. Just… haven’t found my place yet.”
I grin. “Of course you ended up a teacher.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Some things are just built in.”
We linger over the last bites of our sandwiches, drifting into talk about work deadlines and weekend errands. By the time we toss our trash and gather our shopping bags, theafternoon sun has shifted, casting long shadows across the grass.
We hug goodbye in the parking lot, and I head home, the weight of tomorrow sitting quietly in the back of my mind.
That night, I stretch out in bed, but sleep doesn’t come easy. My mind runs through a hundred what-ifs—what the music will sound like, how the people will act, whether I’ll fit in at all.
And most of all…what it’ll be like to see Gray again.
This clearly matters to him. And if this thing between us goes anywhere, I know it’ll have to matter to me too. The thought is equal parts exciting and terrifying.
Somewhere between nervous and hopeful, I finally drift off, tomorrow already pulling at me.
The hum of my coffee maker fills the quiet of my kitchen, the scent of vanilla drifting through the air as I lean against the counter, staring at my phone like it might tell me what to wear.
Church.
I’m going to church this morning.
With Gray.
Well, not with him technically. He’ll be on stage. I’ll be somewhere in the crowd, pretending not to fall apart at the seams.
I wrap my hands around my mug, trying to steady myself.
This week has been better than I expected. Freelancelife still feels like walking a tightrope without a safety net, but somehow, miraculously, I landed two new clients. Real ones. Who were excited about my designs, who didn’t treat me like I am replaceable.
And somewhere between it all, I texted Gray.
