Gray
I promise I’m not stalking you. But I did pray we’d run into each other again, so technically this is God’s fault.
I actually squeal. Out loud.
Then immediately slap a pillow over my face.
I can’t. I literally cannot with him.
He’s flirty and sweet and sarcastic and somehow, has managed to leave me speechless more than once.
I stare at the screen, cheeks burning, grinning like a fool while I read his text messages over and over again.
Chapter 6
Gray
The morning sun cuts through the blinds, spilling golden light across the living room floor. I nudge the apartment door shut with my shoulder, my black Vans whispering across the floor as I head for the counter. My keys land with a soft clink in the ceramic dish, right beside a stack of unopened mail I keep pretending I’ll get to.
It’s not messy in here, but it’s no showroom either. A hoodie’s slung over the couch arm, my Bible sits open on the coffee table, and the dining tables buried under loose sheets of lyrics. Some are half-finished, some are just single lines I can’t shake—pieces of prayers I keep trying to turn into songs.
A loud, throaty yowl comes from the kitchen.
“I’m coming, Goliath,” I call.
The big white cat rounds the corner, tail high like he owns the place—which, to be fair, he kinda does. I crouch down, scooping him into my arms before he can get to his food dish. He’s heavier than he looks, solid muscle and attitude, but he melts into me like we’ve been best friends forever.
“Remember when I found you?” I murmur, scratching behind his ears until he leans into my hand with that low, rumbling purr. “Hiding under that dumpster behind that venue in Austin, all skin and bones and ready to claw the world to pieces.” I smile faintly at the memory—him hissing at me for twenty minutes straight before finally letting me wrap him in my sweatshirt. “Guess we were both a little lost that night.”
He blinks at me. Slow. Judgmental.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into this morning,” I tell him. “Remember that girl I told you about? The one from New Orleans—the one I couldn’t stop thinking about?”
Another slow blink.
“Yeah. Her.” My grin tugs tight. “Turns out she’s here. In Dallas. Just…sitting in my coffee shop like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”
He flicks his tail like he’s still not impressed.
“I know,” I say, dropping my voice. “She’s even prettier than I remembered. And yeah, I invited her to church. Don’t give me that look—you’ll see. She’s worth it.”
I set him down, fill his bowl, and watch him dig in like food’s the only thing worth living for. My gaze shifts to the corner where my favorite guitar waits. Sunlight cuts across the strings, making them glint like they’re itching for me. I pick it up, sink into the chair by the window, and let my fingers find a slow, familiar chord progression—something that’s been stuck in my head since New Orleans.
But even with music filling the air, my head’s not here. It’s back at that coffee shop. Back to the way Ivy looked when she saw me, like she’d been thinking about me too all this time.
Three months. Every single day, she’s crossed my mind. Sometimes in flashes—her laugh, the wayshe tucked her hair behind her ear. Other times it’s been heavier, like a weight I carry without meaning to. And now she’s here. Close enough to reach again.
I strum the last chord and let it hang, the low hum fading into the quiet.
The next couple of hours blur together in the best way—finishing the song I’ve been working on since before Christmas, starting another one that’s been buzzing in my head all morning, and pulling together the final set list for this weekend’s services. I play through each song once, making sure it feels right. When it clicks, I jot quick notes on the chord charts and slide them into my folder, ready for rehearsal.
I glance at the clock and sigh. “Alright, Goliath, I’ll be back before dinner,” I tell him, standing to stretch. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” He blinks like he’s already plotting something.
I grab my leather jacket from the back of the chair, sling my guitar case over my shoulder, and lock up behind me. The late morning air is warm, the kind that sticks to your skin, and I let it wake me up as I head for New Chapter Church.
By the time I pull into the church lot, the sun’s climbing higher, painting the brick building in gold. A few scattered cars sit near the front entrance, the quiet hum of a weekday morning settling over the place.
Inside, the sanctuary is a different story. Cables snake across the stage, Caleb’s already behind the drum kit,tapping out a lazy beat on the hi-hat, and Jess is at the keys, warming up with a run of chords that sound like they belong in a movie soundtrack.
