Page 8 of Dare to Hold
I peek up at him, trying not to smile, but fail big time.
Then he lifts his hand and gently taps under my chin, coaxing my gaze back to his.
“I like you, Ivy,” he says simply. “I wasn’t expecting this spontaneous date to happen today, but here we are.”
There’s no pressure in the way he says it. No intensity, no edge. Just honesty, and maybe a tiny spark of hope.
My heart does that fluttery thing again, but this time, it’s not fear. It’s curiosity. It’s excitement. It’s the unmistakable thrill of being seen and liked.
I look at him for a beat longer than I probably should.
And then I smile. “I might like you too.”
I lean back; fingers wrapped around my mug. “Okay, wait—you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”
Gray’s brows lift, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “Why? You jealous?”
My face heats. “No! I just…I mean, you grabbed my hand too. Technically.”
He chuckles, leaning in slightly, his eyes warm and teasing. “For the record, you grabbed mine first.”
“Technicalities,” I mumble, swirling my coffee, hoping he can’t see how fast my heart’s racing.
Gray tips his head. “If I had a girlfriend, do you think I’d be here with you?”
And just like that, the world tilts, the coffee forgotten, and I fall harder than I ever meant to.
We fall into an easy rhythm, and it feels so rare and effortless.
We keep talking, drifting from one topic to the next like we’ve known each other for more than just a coffee and a dare. The conversation drifts from our favorite snacks to the worst movies we’ve ever seen, then somehow back to our childhood dreams. Gray listens like no one has ever listened to me, with real focus. He asks questions, not just to fill the air, but because he genuinely wants to know.
“So, what did little Ivy want to be when she grew up?” he asks, leaning back like he’s settling in for a good story.
I laugh. “A baker. I had this whole plan to drive a cupcake truck around town, handing out happiness one sprinkle at a time.”
“Cupcake truck? That’s adorable,” he says, grinning. “You’d have been famous.”
I nudge his foot under the table. “Okay, your turn. Let me guess...rockstar?”
His smile tilts, a little sheepish but proud. “Bingo.” He glances down at his hands for a second before meeting my eyes again. “But I didn’t necessarily want the fame. I just loved the way music could say what I never could.”
This has me admitting I have a soft spot for early 2000s boy bands, and I give a whole spiel about how they got me through my middle school years.
“You’re serious?” he asks, nearly choking on his drink.
“Dead serious,” I say, sipping smugly. “Backstreet Boys over NSYNC, obviously.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
I lean in, smirking. “Don’t act like you didn’t have a favorite.”
“I absolutely didn’t,” he insists, though his mouth is twitching.
“Liar.”
And just like that, we’re both laughing. It’s real, honest laughter that fills the space between us. It’s easy. Fun. The kind of moment that feels like it could stretch on forever if you let it.
And when I catch my breath, I swear something in Gray’s face changes. It softens. Like he’s just as surprised by how right this feels as I am.
