Page 73 of Dare to Hold
“Hey, buddy,” he says gently. “That’s a real bummer.”
The kid sniffles, nodding slowly. “It was my favorite…”
Gray glances at the sad splatter of mint chocolate chip smeared across the tile and nods solemnly. “Yeah, that’s the good stuff.” He looks up at the woman behind the counter. “Can I get another scoop? On me.”
Her eyes widen, and she nods quickly, already scooping out a fresh mound of mint chocolate chip. The kid stares atGray like he just grew a cape and flew in from a comic book.
“Thank you,” the boy whispers, cradling the cone like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
Gray pats him on the back, standing up and walking back over to me, wiping his hands on his jeans. He slips back into the booth like it was nothing, like he didn’t just make that kid’s entire day.
I’m staring at him, my cone paused mid-air. “That was really nice of you.”
He shrugs, taking a bite of Rocky Road. “It’s just ice cream.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not.”
Gray glances up at me, his eyes meeting mine. For a second, the lightness fades, replaced by something deeper. “I guess you’re right.”
The silence lingers between us, warm and comfortable, until I finally clear my throat. “So, you do this often? Save the day in random ice cream shops?”
He laughs, breaking the tension. “Only on Wednesdays.”
He catches me watching and raises an eyebrow. “What? Do I have ice cream on my face now?”
I shake my head, grinning. “No. Just, you’re really committed to that cone.”
He glances at it. “You can’t mess around with ice cream. It’s a race against time.”
I laugh. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely.”
I snort. “Didn’t realize I was eating with such a pro.”
He leans in slightly, voice playful. “Stick with me. I’ll teach you a few things.”
My stomach flips. “You’resomething else.”
He tilts his head. “Something good?”
My breath catches. “Maybe.”
His eyes drop to my lips for a second and I feel heat rise up my neck. Then he leans back, casual, but his eyes never leave mine.
“You wanna know something?” he asks.
“That depends,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Is it embarrassing?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
He grins. “First time I saw you. New Orleans.”
The memory hits like a wave—the dare, his hand in mine, the way the noise of the street melted away.
“I remember thinking,” he says slowly, almost like the words cost him something, “that you were the boldest, most unforgettable girl I’d ever seen.”
