I want that.
I clear my throat, trying not to sound too eager. “Yeah. I’d love to.”
His smile widens, and he nods toward the group. “I know you’ll like them.”
We gather in the lobby, the chatter bouncing off the walls as people grab their jackets and make plans for who’s riding with who. Gray throws his arm around an older guy with dark hair and a deep laugh, introducing me with a casual ease that makes my nerves settle.
“Hey Greg, this is Ivy,” he says, patting the guy on the back. “She basically saved the graphics for this week’s bulletin.”
The guy turns to me, his grin stretching wide. “You’re the one who made Paige stop griping under her breath for a whole five minutes? I’m impressed.”
I laugh. “I try.”
Gray chuckles, then turns his full attention to me. “Ride with me.”
“Of course.”
We all head outside, the summer air brushing over my skin as we spill into the parking lot. Laughter and light-hearted banter echo around us as people pile into cars. I slide into the passenger seat of Gray’s truck, the familiarity settling over me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
The burger joint is only ten minutes away from the church. We walk in and the waitress greets them like it’s routine. Like she knows them, which I guess she probably does.
We all cram into two long booths, elbows bumping, knees pressed together. Gray slides in beside me and I’m sandwiched between him and the girl named Paige who tells me all about how she accidentally erased half the graphic earlier that afternoon.
“Accidentally?” Gray teases, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the booth.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, accidentally. You think I enjoy the thrill of being behind schedule every week?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he fires back, and the whole table laughs.
I can’t help but smile as I watch them. It’s easy, familiar. It reminds me of my family back in Ashen Mills. I listen to them talk, tease and poke fun at each other. Every now and then, I catch Gray glancing at me, like he’s making sure I’m still here. Still part of it.
I feel his hand slide under the table, gently brushing mine. It’s not obvious, not a grand gesture, just the smallest connection. And I’m grateful for it.
The waitress takes our orders, it’s chaotic, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
Gray leans in, voice low. “You doing alright?”
I nod, meeting his eyes. “Better than alright.”
He holds my gaze for just a second too long, and I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining the way his fingers brush mine again, lingering just slightly before he pulls away.
And somehow, in this tiny diner, crammed into a booth with a dozen new faces, I don’t just feel like I’m blending into his world.
I feel like I’m a part of it.
The drive back to the church is quieter than the ride to the diner. My hands rest in my lap, fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of my tote bag as Gray keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console.
I replay the afternoon in my head—the way his friends laughed, how easily they pulled me in, how Gray’s hand brushed mine more times than I could count. It’s different. Different from anything I’ve ever known.
We pull into the church parking lot and Gray shifts the truck into park but doesn’t turn off the engine. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel, and I can feel the weight of his gaze settle on me.
“You good?” he asks softly.
I nod. “More than good.”
His smile is gentle, just a tilt of his lips, but it reaches his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”
I glance down at my hands, twisting my fingers together. “Me too.”
