Page 70 of Dare to Hold
Gray and I have only grown closer. We’ve carved out time for movie nights, late walks around the park with iced coffees in hand, and even a disastrous attempt at cooking dinner together that ended in takeout and laughter on the kitchen floor. Some evenings it’s as simple as me tucked under his arm on the couch, listening to him strum his guitar while I pretend to read.
And in the middle of it all, something in me has shifted. I’ve gone to church every Sunday without fail. Every morning, I open my Bible before the day can swallow me whole. Half the time I don’t fully understand what I’m reading, but modern apps and devotionals fill in the gaps—and when they don’t, I’ve got a boyfriend who somehow never tires of my endless questions about faith.
Now, I’m back at my desk, the glow of my laptop screenstill lingering after a Zoom call that ended with polite goodbyes and awkward waves. I sink into my chair, the silence of my apartment pressing in after thirty minutes of forced smiles and professionalism.
This is it—my biggest gig yet. A new client who could actually put my name on the map if I don’t screw it up. But now that the adrenaline from smiling through the meeting has worn off, the weight of their feedback lands like a brick in my chest.
The first round of design edits flashes on my screen, bleeding in more red than I’d like.
I scroll through the notes slowly: adjust the spacing here, change the color scheme there, try a more modern font. None of it is awful. In fact, most of it makes sense. But all I see is critique. Not of the design—of me.
I drag my hands down my face and blow out a breath. This is supposed to be the one thing I’m good at, the place where I don’t feel like a fraud. But right now, all I hear are the whispers of self-doubt clawing their way to the surface.
Maybe they made a mistake asking me.
My phone buzzes from the edge of the desk. I reach for it, half-hoping it’s Gray, but it’s just Harper lighting up our group chat.
Harper
Picnic after church on Sunday. You’re both coming.
Olivia
Nope.
I smirk, typing back.
Ivy
Did you even think about it?
Olivia
I did. For a full ten seconds.
Harper
I’m picking you up. Wear something cute.
Olivia
Wear something cute to go stand outside and swat flies? Hard pass.
Harper
Yes, Olivia. God forbid you look cute while eating potato salad.
Olivia
I’m not going. Y’all have fun.
Harper
You know what Liv, I didn’t want to have to do this but here we go. I dare you to come to the church picnic with us tomorrow.
I chuckle, shaking my head. I glance at my phone, equal parts horrified and impressed. That was genius. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself—it is Olivia’s turn for a dare, after all.
Harper’s relentless optimism is a force of nature, and Olivia’s stubbornness is the only thing I know strong enough to withstand it. But now? This is going to be good.
