Page 35 of Dare to Hold
I glance down at Goliath, who’s now lounging on thecounter like a furry judge, tail flicking in quiet disapproval. I wish I had his level of calm.
I let out a shaky breath. “Almost there. I’ll send them tonight.”
The pressure’s on. Good thing I’ve got some new inspiration…and one very patient cat.
Chapter 9
Ivy
I don’t like not being prepared.
Sunday at church, when everyone around me opened their Bibles, I just…sat there. Hands empty. Heart pounding.
It wasn’t like anyone pointed or whispered, but I felt it—like I’d shown up to a test without even knowing there was one. And I hated that feeling.
Besides, if I really am going to try this whole Jesus thing…shouldn’t I take it seriously? Isn’t this book like super, important?
What could go wrong? I don’t like it, and I lose out on the man of my dreams? The man who consumes my thoughts every time I close my eyes? The one whose voice still echoes in my head from yesterday?
Gray, leaning forward, hand warm against mine, his tone so steady it made my chest ache:I’m not expecting you to suddenly have it all figured out. But would you be willing to try?
It was the way he said try. Like he wasn’t asking me to perform or prove something. Just…take a step.
And after the way he helped me finally understand grace and mercy, how could I not?
Grace—God giving me something I don’t deserve. Mercy—not giving me what I do deserve. Both, wrapped up in love so deep I can’t begin to measure it.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, staring through my windshield at the bookstore.
Okay, Ivy. Step one.
I pop the door open, cool air brushing against my legs as I climb out. The faint smell of coffee drifts from the little café tucked in the corner of the store, mixing with the warm scent of paper and ink that greets me the second I step inside.
Somewhere in here, there’s a Bible with my name on it.
Easier said than done.
I weave past the fiction shelves, glancing at bright covers and bold titles, my usual comfort zone. I’ve never needed help in a bookstore before—this is my natural habitat. But the Christian section? Apparently, it’s hiding.
I slow my steps, scanning the aisle signs. Cookbooks. Travel. Self-help. Where in the world are they keeping Jesus?
I must look as lost as I feel because a voice pipes up beside me. “Can I help you find something?”
I instantly wave him off. “Oh, no. I’m good.”
Except…I’m not. Not even a little.
Two more steps and I stop, pivoting awkwardly back toward the poor bookseller who’s halfway down the aisle now. “Wait! Actually…yes.” My voice comes out sheepish. “I’m looking for…uh…Bibles.”
He smiles like it’s the most normal request in the world. “Right this way.”
And just like that, I’m trailing behind a stranger to the one place in this store I’ve somehow never set foot in.
When we turn the corner, I stop short.
There they are—rows and rows of Bibles, stacked and lined up like they’ve been waiting for me. Suddenly I feel that same strange, warm ache I did on Sunday during the music.
Maybe this won’t just be about being prepared.
