And because every time I lead worship in a room full of kids with chipped armor and stubborn hearts, I remember the night He showed up for me.
Still, four days without Ivy felt like four weeks. I don’t know when she became my soft place to land, but I’m not fighting it.
I’d texted her the second I got into town, and when she said “Come over,” I didn’t even go home first.
Her apartment complex comes into view, andmy foot taps the brake like I’m trying to slow time, like I need a second to breathe before I see her.
But I don’t slow down.
Not really.
I park. Climb out. Heart thudding louder with each step toward her door.
She opens it before I can even knock, like she’s been standing there waiting, and maybe she has. She’s wearing my oversized sweatshirt, the one I let her borrow after our first kiss in the rain and she has yet to give it back. Her smile spans from ear to ear and the sight of her wrecks me.
“You’re back,” she says, voice warm and sweet and way too much for a guy who hasn’t kissed her in four days.
I can’t help it—I pull her into my arms without a word.
She melts into me, like she always does. Arms winding around my back like they never want to let go. And I don’t want them to. Not for a second.
“Missed you,” I murmur, my face buried in her hair. The scent of vanilla and floral fills my lungs, and I feel myself exhale for the first time all day.
“Me too,” she whispers against my shoulder.
I lean back, just enough to see her face—those bright eyes, that faint pink rising in her cheeks, the curve of her mouth like she’s trying not to smile too wide.
And then…I don’t wait.
I kiss her.
Not soft and slow, not this time. It’s deep, drawn-out, four days of missing her pressed into a single breath. Her fingers twist into my shirt, and I feel the ache rise in my chest—the ache of wanting her close and not knowing how to be near without unraveling a little.
She kisses me back like she’s been waiting for this exactmoment. Like the past four days built up a hunger that only now is being met.
But even as the intensity climbs, there’s still that thread of care—of reverence. I cradle her face in my hands, thumbs brushing her jaw as I pull back just an inch, trying to catch my breath.
She’s breathless too, blinking up at me like I just knocked the wind out of her in the best way.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Hi.”
I laugh, resting my forehead against hers. “Hey you.”
A beat of silence. And then she tugs my hand, cheeks flushed. “Come in. I made cookies.”
I raise a brow, still recovering. “You baked? For me?”
“Don’t get used to it,” she teases, already pulling me inside.
“Oh, I will,” I say, following her inside. “This is how it starts, you know. Next thing you know, we’re married and you’re packing my lunch.”
She snorts. “You wish.”
Yeah, I do.
Her apartment is warm, cozy in that lived-in way. Soft lighting. A blanket tossed across the couch. Two mugs on the coffee table and a plate of cookies that actually look edible.
We settle in, side by side. Closer than we need to be, but still not close enough.
