Before she can press further, the waitress returns with our plates, sliding hers in front of her and mine in front of me. The smell of fresh pancakes and bacon fills the air.
I pick up my fork but glance at her again. “Okay, my turn. What’s one thing most people don’t know about you?”
Her eyebrows lift. “That’s a dangerous question.”
I grin. “I like dangerous questions.”
She taps her fork against the edge of her plate, pretending to think. “Most people don’t know…that I once won a pie-eating contest at the Ashen Mills Fall Festival.”
I almost choke on my coffee. “Wait—what?”
Her laugh bubbles out, warm and unguarded. “Pumpkin pie. No hands allowed. I still can’t look at one without remembering it.”
“That’s…actually impressive.” I lean forward. “And slightly terrifying.”
“Your turn,” she says, pointing her fork at me. “One thing most people don’t know about you.”
I think for a second, then lean back casually. “Most people don’t know…I’m a dad.”
Her fork freezes midair, eyes going wide. “You’re a—wait, what?”
I can’t hold back the grin. “Cat dad,” I clarify, drawing the words out.
She exhales a laugh, shaking her head. “Gray, you cannot pause like that. I almost dropped my fork.”
“That’s the fun part,” I say, smirking. “His name’s Goliath. He’s enormous. Thinks he runs the place. Honestly…he’s probably right.”
Her eyes sparkle. “I need to meet him someday.”
“He would love you,” I say.
She smirks, then tilts her head. “Okay, my turn. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet?”
I think about it, swirling the coffee in my cup. “Hmm…play an outdoor set in the middle of nowhere. Like—stars overhead, fireflies, just a few people who actually care about the music.”
Her smile softens. “That sounds perfect.”
“What about you?” I ask, leaning in. “Biggest thing on your list?”
She stirs her coffee, eyes dropping to the table. “Honestly? I want to restore an old house. Not for a flip. Just…to live in. Something with creaky floors and history in the walls. Maybe back in Ashen Mills.”
I picture it—her barefoot in some sunny old kitchen, laughter echoing down the hall. “Yeah,” I murmur, “I can see that.”
We linger over the last bites, talking about everything and nothing, but the clock on the wall doesn’t care. Ivy sighs, setting down her fork. “I really should get to work.”
“Or,” I offer, leaning back with a grin, “you could just call in and let me kidnap you for the rest of the day.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Tempting, but I can’t. I have deadlines.”
I tilt my head, pretending to consider. “Okay. Then maybe tomorrow morning you can sneak away for something more fun?”
Her brows lift. “Fun like what?”
“Rehearsal. At church,” I say. “Nothing fancy—just me, the worship team, and a whole lot of coffee.”
She hesitates, the corner of her lip catching between her teeth. “I don’t know…”
I lean in, voice dropping just a bit. “Come on, Ivy. You’ll get a front row seat to the music before anyone else hears it.”
