I grab my phone, wanting to dive in more, and quickly search: bible verses explaining grace. Ephesians 2:8-9. My fingers tremble just a little as I flip to the page, the thin paper whispering with each turn. Finally, I spot the words.
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9
My chest tightens in the best possible way.
I uncap a highlighter, the mint green one, because why not start with my favorite color, and drag it slowly across the lines.
These two verses are the first things I’ve ever marked in a Bible.
And somehow, it feels like the first step toward something bigger.
Chapter 10
Gray
Goliath is out cold, a warm, snoring weight sprawled across my lap. I absently run a hand over his fur, my other hand hovering over the notebook balanced on the arm of the couch. There’s a fresh page open—supposed to be filled with lyrics for a new song or at least the set list for Sunday—but all I’ve managed so far is a few half-formed lines that don’t go anywhere.
Because my head’s not here. It’s two miles away, in a coffee shop where I saw Ivy last week.
It’s almost Friday. Almost time to see her again for our scheduled breakfast date.
But I don’t know if I can wait that long.
All week, I’ve lived for her name lighting up my phone.
A text in the morning, usually something random like her latest coffee order or a blurry photo of the sunrise.
A string of messages by lunch full of banter, thoughts about a verse she read, or a meme she knew would make me laugh.
And somewhere between dinner and midnight, a call that lasts way too long and ends way too soon.
It’s become our rhythm.
Easy and constant, like breathing.
And I can’t get enough of it.
Every ping of my phone is a rush of dopamine. Every message feels like a thread pulling her closer. But somewhere in the back of my mind, the worry whispers—Am I overwhelming her?
Am I trying to hold something that needs space to breathe?
She hasn’t said anything. In fact, she meets me there. Text for text, call for call.
Still, part of me panics when I haven’t heard from her in a few hours. Not because I don’t trust her. But because I’m scared she doesn’t want this as much as I do.
I shake my head, pocket my phone, and reach for the song sheets on my desk. Work. Focus. I know how to do that.
I make it about three minutes before I’m pulling my phone back out.
I stare at the screen. Tell myself it’s not a big deal. It’s not pushing if I’m just checking in. Just making sure she’s good.
I’m still holding the phone when it buzzes.
A text, not from her. But a reminder from the group thread about Sunday’s setlist.
I groan, tossing the phone onto the couch cushion.This is ridiculous, Gray.
Just wait. Control yourself. You don’t need to be the one always reaching out.
