Page 40 of Dare to Hold
We don’t talk much at first. She watches the trees blur past, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the window. I glance over sometimes, quick glances that don’t last long enough.
The quiet isn’t heavy. It’s comfortable. Like neither of us needs to fill it. But still, I want to do something—something that will make her smile again.
So, when I spot a patch of wildflowers along the side of the road, I ease the truck onto the shoulder.
Ivy turns to me, brows lifted. “What are you doing?”
I throw it in park and grin. “Stay here.”
Before she can argue, I’m out of the truck, crossing the ditch toward the little cluster of flowers growing wild and unbothered. I crouch down, picking the best ones I can find—yellow, purple, white—nothing fancy, just simple and real.
When I come back, she’s leaning out the window, chin resting on her folded arms, watching me with that curious, amused look that makes my heart race.
I hold out the small, messy bouquet, and she takes them slowly, like she’s afraid they might fall apart in her hands. She lifts them to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhales. The tiniest smile curves her lips, and it feels like she’s not just smelling wildflowers—she’s breathing in this whole moment.
When her eyes open again, they’re warmer, softer. “You’re something else, Gray.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I slide back into the driver’s seat, her flowers now resting in her lap, her thumb tracing one of the petals like it’s the most delicate thing in the world. It’s not long until we pass a faded sign for the old overlook. I almost drive by, almost. But then, without thinking, I turn the wheel, and gravel crunches under the tires as we pull off the main road and onto the winding path.
She glances over, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So where is this mysterious place you’re taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
She laughs, a little skeptical, but she settles back against the seat.
The overlook is empty. It always is. It’s a spot I foundyears ago when I needed somewhere quiet, somewhere I could breathe and not have to be everything for everyone.
I back my truck up near the edge and kill the engine. Beyond the guardrail, the sun sets behind downtown Dallas, which looks like a thousand tiny lights spilled across a blanket.
Without a word, I hop out, dropping the tailgate with a soft thud. Ivy slides out after me, curiosity in her eyes as she climbs up to sit beside me. The evening air wraps around us, it’s cooler up here, quiet except for the hum of the city far below.
Ivy leans forward, elbows on her knees. “How did you find this place?”
“Just one of those nights when I needed somewhere to go,” I say, shrugging.
She glances over; her face soft in the glow of the city lights. “You come here often?”
I nod. “When I need to think. Or not think.” I watch her take it all in, her eyes reflecting the view like tiny sparks. “Figured you might like it.”
Her smile is slow and real. “You figured right.”
We sit there for a moment, our legs swinging off the edge of the tailgate, the silence settling between us and it is so comfortable. I almost leave it there. Almost. But then I lean back on my palms, eyes on the city.
“I have a serious question.”
She angles toward me, raising an eyebrow. “Serious?”
“Very,” I say, keeping my expression flat.
She laughs, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Alright, hit me.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
Her head drops back, and she laughs—a deep laugh, thesound carrying into the night. “That’s your serious question?”
I shrug. “Look, it says a lot about a person.”
