Then…
“You’re going to church now?!” Harper shouts. “How fun! I used to go all the time growing up, but that’s beside the point.”
“I mean, maybe?” I say, my voice going way higher than normal. “He made it sound like a free concert. With lunch after.”
Harper grins. “Lunch with him after, I assume?”
“Obviously,” I mutter, hiding my face behind a pillow.
Olivia raises a brow. “This seems too good to be true.”
“Tall, dark, handsome, tattooed and he sings about Jesus?” Harper nearly squeals, “It may seem too good to be true, but this is perfect for you Ivy!”
I can’t help but laugh. “I still can’t believe I ran into him.”
Harper leans closer to the screen. “This Sunday, right?”
“Yeah” I say, the nerves beginning to well up inside me again. “I mean, I’ve never even been to church. What if I have no idea what I’m doing?”
Olivia shrugs. “You’ll be fine. Just nod when everyone else nods. And maybe don’t yell ‘Amen’ unless you’re super sure.”
Harper adds, “Wear something cute but holy. In both senses.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, but my heart is still jumping like it’s on a trampoline. “I don’t know what this is, but it feels like something.”
They all go quiet for a second.
Then Harper smiles. “Ivy, this is definitely fate.”
After hanging up with the girls, I toss my phone onto the couch and let out a long, dramatic sigh. My apartment is quiet. Too quiet after the chaos of group chat laughter and teasing.
Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, casting warm patterns on the hardwood floors. My place is small, just a one-bedroom with a kitchen that’s way too tiny for anyone who actually cooks, which I don’t, but it’s mine. With thrifted wall art, mismatched furniture and a candle on the coffee table that smells like cinnamon and nostalgia. It’s cozy and safe.
I curl up on the couch, pulling my favorite blanket over my lap, and stare up at the ceiling.
Church.
He asked me to church.
It’s not that I’m against it or anything. I just, don’t know anything about it. What if I stand when I’m supposed to sit? Or sing the wrong words? Or everyone there can tell I don’t belong?
What if it’s weird?
Worse, what if I don’t like it?
My phone buzzes next to me.
Unknown Number
You looked really pretty today. I can’t wait to see you again this weekend.
My heart does this ridiculous skip-jump like it’s auditioning for a rom-com.
It’s him.
Gray.
Before I can even process how to respond, another message comes through.
