There’s a pause that stretches between us. I feel it like a current, buzzing just under my skin.
I swallow, my eyes flickering to his mouth for just a second before darting back to his eyes. His gaze doesn’t waver, and for a heartbeat, I think he might lean in to kiss me.
My breath catches. My pulse pounds. I don’t move.
But neither does he.
He clears his throat, glancing forward. “I should…I should let you get home.”
Disappointment floods my chest before I can shove it back down. I nod quickly, fumbling for the door handle. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got some work to get done anyway.”
I step out of the truck, the hot air stinging my skin like a wake-up call. I feel foolish, like I misread something. But before I can spiral, I hear his voice growing closer.
“Ivy, wait up.”
When we reach the driver’s side of my car, he hesitates, then turns to face me fully. “Thanks for today,” he says softly, his eyes holding mine. “For coming to rehearsal and meeting my friends.”
I nod, but the lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. Instead, I open my arms for the hug I so desperately need, and he steps into them without a second of hesitation.
His arms wrap around me in a warm, grounding embrace. One hand presses gently to my back, the other brushes my hair. I melt into him before I even realize it, the stress of the awkward truck moment, the questions I haven’t found words for slowly fall away.
Just for a second, nothing else matters.
Neither of us moves.
It’s the kind of hug that feels like it’s trying to say something more, like maybe if we hold on long enough, we won’t have to say goodbye this time.
But eventually, we do.
He pulls back just an inch, eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing the moment. “Drive safe, okay?”
I nod again, this time barely whispering, “You too.”
I slip into the driver’s seat, close the door gently, and he waits there until I pull away.
Why has he not kissed me yet? Am I overthinking this relationship?
My mind spins, thoughts colliding as I pull onto the highway.
He likes me…right? Like, likes me, likes me?
Or is this just a friendship? Maybe that’s what this is. Coffee and late-night drives and lingering glances that I’m reading way too much into. No, that can’t be it.
I chew on my bottom lip, eyes locked on the road as I drive home. I’ve never felt like this so fast before. Like I’m walking a line between something real and something imagined. And the not-knowing twists my stomach.
But more than that…the not-kissing.
In my past relationships, everything progressed faster. A couple of dates, and then suddenly, it’s late nights and tangled sheets. Gray doesn’t move like that. He’s careful and intentional.
And I’m starting to realize I don’t know what to do with that.
I pull into my apartment complex and turn off the engine, hands still gripping the wheel.
Do Christians even kiss?
I shake my head, laughing softly at myself. Of course they do. I think. Right?
I sigh, finally reaching for my keys. As I step out and lock the door behind me and for a moment, I swear I can still feel the brush of his hand, the warmth of his gaze.
