“C’mon,” I murmur, sliding my hands to her waist. I lift her down from the tailgate, her shoes hitting the gravel softly. My hand finds hers without even thinking, and I don’t let go as I walk her around to the passenger side.
I open the door and wait until she’s settled in, seatbelt clicked, before closing it gently and circling around to my side.
When I climb in, the cab is warm from her presence, the air thick with rain and electricity. I start the engine, resting one hand on the wheel and the other palm-up on the console between us—close enough that if she wants it, it’s hers.
She does take it, slipping her fingers into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world…until the first flash of lightning streaks across the sky and she drops my hand with a breathless, “Two hands on the wheel, Gray.”
I bite back a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
The truth is this storm isn’t half as bad as it looks on her radar app. I’ve driven through worse. But I’ve got precious cargo tonight—someone who hates storms andtrusts me to get her home safe. And that trust? I’m not taking it lightly.
The rain starts in light, uneven taps on the windshield, the wipers sweeping them away as we head toward the city lights. The wind pushes against the truck, but I keep it steady, thinking about the story in Mark where Jesus calmed the storm with just a few words. If I could, I’d do the same for her right now—not just the one in the sky, but the one in her chest.
“Almost there,” I say, glancing at her. Her shoulders loosen a little, and she nods, watching the road like it’s the only thing keeping the storm from catching us.
By the time we pull into her complex, the rain has eased into a mist. The wind’s still tossing the trees, but it’s lost the bite it had earlier.
I park in front of her building, already reaching for my door handle. She gives me a look like she might argue, but I’m not giving her the chance. I’m out of the truck and around to her side in seconds, opening her door and offering my hand.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yeah, I do.” My voice leaves no room for debate.
She slips her hand into mine, and I walk her up the path. She pulls out her phone, glancing at her radar app. “Huh. It’s already moved north. Guess it wasn’t that bad.”
“Maybe not,” I say, though I’m not about to admit I knew that the whole time. Bad or not, she deserved to feel safe.
At her door, she pauses, her hand still warm in mine. “Thanks for…you know, everything tonight. For not making me feel silly.”
“You could never be silly to me.”
Her lips twitch into a smile, and she glances down atour joined hands like she’s thinking about letting go—but doesn’t. For a beat, neither of us moves. The rain softens to a whisper against the awning, and she finally looks back up at me, eyes shining in that way that makes my chest feel too small.
Then, before I can process it, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.
It’s over too quickly, the brush of her lips lingering in my mind as she steps back—but still, she doesn’t open the door right away. She lingers there, her back against it, like maybe she’s not ready for the night to end either.
“Goodnight, Gray.”
“Night, Ivy.”
Only then does she slip inside, the door clicking shut between us. I just stand there in the quiet hallway, one hand braced over the spot her lips touched, staring at the closed door like I’m trying to memorize the moment.
If I had any doubts before tonight, they’re gone now. I’m in trouble—good, beautiful trouble.
Chapter 11
Gray
This week has flown by.
After my date with Ivy on Wednesday night—overlook, tailgate, storm clouds—I haven’t been able to shake the image of rain in her hair, how we almost kissed.
Thursday was back to real life. I spent the morning finalizing the set list for Sunday—three songs I know the band will nail, two that’ll stretch us just enough to keep things fresh. Later that night I went to The Well with a few friends for trivia night. We lost by two points, thanks to a ridiculous “Who invented the waffle iron?” question I still say was a setup. Didn’t matter though—it felt good to laugh until my sides hurt.
And now it’s Friday morning.
The sun’s breaking over the rooftops, and my truck smells faintly of coffee from the thermos in the cup holder. I’ve had this breakfast penciled in since the moment we planned it, and it’s been the one thing on my calendar I’ve been counting down to all week.
