Seek Godly counsel when needed
I glance over at her, the screen glowing softly between us. “Anything you want to add?”
She blinks fast, a tear slipping down her cheek, and shakes her head, smiling. “No. I’d say that’s everything.”
Ivy’s quiet voice breaks the stillness. “Gray…can I ask you one more question?”
I glance over at her, smiling. “You can ask me a million questions. We’ve got forever together, remember?”
She hesitates, like she’s gathering courage. “The next step after giving your life to Jesus is to tell the world…with baptism, right?”
“Yes ma’am,” I say, my heart already thudding, somehow sensing where this is going.
She lifts her gaze, eyes shining. “Gray…will you baptize me?”
For a second, I can’t move. The weight of her words hitsme square in the chest, and I feel it—that overwhelming mix of joy, gratitude, and awe.
I stand, pacing a few steps along the gravel, the city lights below blurring as I blink back the burn in my eyes. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding like I just ran a mile.
Then I stop.
And I drop to my knees in front of her, right there by the tailgate.
Her brows knit together, concerned. “Gray?”
But I’m smiling—wide, wrecked, overwhelmed in the best way.
“Ivy,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “You just asked me the greatest honor of my life. Do you know what it does to me…that you trust me with this? That I get to stand with you as you declare your faith, your future, your forever with Him? I’d move mountains for you. Baptizing you? That’s the easiest yes of my life.”
Her eyes fill, and I take her hands in mine, kissing her knuckles gently.
“And for the record…” I add, my grin turning crooked, trying to lighten the tears shining in both our eyes, “you’re about to make me ugly cry in front of the entire city of Dallas. So thanks for that.”
She laughs, the sound breaking through the emotion like sunshine.
And in that moment, I know: I am going to be getting on one knee sooner than later.
The cab of the truck is warm as we sit in the parking lot outside Ivy’s apartment. It’s approaching midnight, but neither of us are tired. How could we possibly sleep after what just took place?
“So…what’s Thursday look like for you?” I ask, keeping the conversation flowing.
She shrugs, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “My family does Thanksgiving lunch. It’s chaotic and loud and someone always ends up crying over a burnt casserole, but it’s tradition.”
I chuckle. “Sounds cozy.”
“What about you?” she asks, twisting in her seat to face me. “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”
I hesitate. “Micah usually invites me to his family’s thing. It’s always open-door. But I told him I might just stay home this year.”
Her brows knit. “Stay home?”
I nod. “Yeah. I don’t know. I wasn’t really in the mood for…conversations. Figured I’d finally finish that song I’ve been writing for months.”
She stares at me, then shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”
I blink. “What?”
