My mouth opens, but no words come.
“You walked up like you belonged next to me,” he adds, softer now. “Like you’d always been there.”
I blink, stunned. “Gray…”
He gives me a half-smile, like he’s embarrassed he said too much. “I didn’t expect you to stay in my head after that. But you did.”
For a moment, I forget about the ice cream in my hand, the shop around us, everything. I can only hear the sound of my heart hammering in my chest.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I whisper.
“Me either,” he says, his voice a low hum. “I’m glad we were wrong.”
I glance down, trying to breathe past the ache in my chest. “You surprise me.”
His smile turns playful again. “Good. I like keeping you on your toes.”
Just then, I realize my ice cream cone is melting fast, dripping down the side like a sticky waterfall. “Dang it,” I mutter, twisting the cone and trying to catch it with frantic licks. “This thing is out of control.”
Gray laughs. “Here, let me help.”
Before I can protest, he gently pulls my hand toward him, my fingers still wrapped around the cone, and leans in. I watch, stunned, as his tongue sweeps along the side of the cone, cleaning up the caramel drips like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
My breath catches. I don’t move. Can’t move.
He glances up through his lashes, a grin tugging at his lips. “Crisis averted.”
My jaw drops. “Gray!”
He smirks, unbothered. “What? It was a matter of public safety.”
My face goes red, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”
He shrugs, letting go of my wrist with a wink. “Maybe. But you’re still here.”
Chapter 19
Ivy
My phone buzzes across the desk:Unknown Caller.
Normally, that’s an automatic decline. Straight to voicemail, no guilt. But something about it makes me hesitate. A little nudge in my chest, quiet but insistent, telling me to pick up.
“Hello, this is Ivy Taylor,” I answer, my voice catching just slightly.
“Hi Ivy! This is Greg with New Chapter Church—how are you today?”
“Oh! Hi, Greg. I’m doing great,” I say, though my thumb is already digging at my cuticle, wondering why one of the church’s pastors is calling me out of the blue.
He clears his throat. “So, here’s the thing—we’ve had a huge growth in attendance the past few months, and the pastors decided last week to put together a special Prayer and Worship night. It’s in two weeks, and we’d love to make it something meaningful for the community. We’re a little behind on graphics and Gray mentioned you do freelance design work, and I know you helped Paige a few weeks ago with some design work which was very helpful.”
I sit up straighter, heat rushing to my cheeks at the mention of Gray’s name.
Greg continues, his tone hopeful. “We can offer a small stipend for your time.”
For a second, I forget how to breathe. I left the security of corporate life for the uncertainty of freelancing, but the idea of something steady here, in a place I’m beginning to love, doesn’t feel random. It feels like a door opening.
My pen is already in my hand before I realize it.
