Tears fill my eyes. “It’s beautiful.”
“I wanted you to have a reminder,” he says quietly, taking the bracelet from my hand and fastening it around my wrist. “Of how much faith I have in you. How much hope I have in our future. And how much…love I have for you.”
His fingers brush my skin, lingering just long enough to make my heart skip.
“I love you Ivy,” he adds.
My breath catches, and the words tumble out, soft but certain. “I love you too, Gray. I think… I’ve been falling for you since that first dare.”
His grin softens into something deeper, something that makes my knees feel unsteady. He leans in, just enough for his forehead to brush mine, and for a heartbeat, we stay like that, wrapped in the weight of what we’ve just said.
Then I clear my throat, turning back to the stove, my heart still racing. “Well… we can officially celebrate with mediocre pasta and day-old breadsticks.”
Graychuckles, leaning against the counter. “Sounds perfect to me.”
The words settle in my chest as I turn back to the stove, where the pot of pasta is still simmering. I grab the spoon and give it a quick stir.
I grin, sprinkling a bit of parmesan over the pot and turning off the burner. “You say that now. Just wait until you’re actually eating it.”
He reaches over, grabbing a piece of bread from the counter and taking a bite. “I’m not too worried.”
“Famous last words,” I tease, ladling the pasta onto two plates and setting them on the coffee table.
We sit cross-legged on my living room floor, plates balanced on the coffee table between us. He swears it's the best thing he’s ever eaten, which is either wildly flattering or proof that the man doesn’t cook.
Music plays low from my phone. The overhead lights are off. Just the warm flicker of a single lamp in the corner, casting a soft glow over the room. He reaches for another breadstick, and I take the opportunity to study him—the curve of his smile, the way his lashes frame his eyes when he looks down.
“Okay, seriously,” Gray says, pointing his fork at me. “What did you put in this?”
I laugh, twirling my fork through the last bit of spaghetti. “Um…garlic? Salt? A touch of desperation?”
He raises an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. “If desperation tastes like this, I’m concerned for your mental state.”
I snort, covering my mouth with my hand. “I guess I’m just that good.”
Gray’s eyes soften, his smile turning genuine. “You are.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I glance down at my plate. “It’s just pasta.”
“And I’m just a guy,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “Sometimes simple things are the best things.”
I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth as I let the words settle, nestling into the spaces between us.
He catches my eye, his smile turning a little sheepish. “That was deep, huh?”
I chuckle, taking a sip of my water. “Yeah. Very hallmark-movie of you.”
Gray leans back against the couch, stretching his legs out. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
“Oh yeah?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. “Name one thing that would surprise me.”
He tilts his head, considering. “I know how to juggle.”
I burst out laughing. “No you do not.”
Gray shrugs. “I do. Two years ago, one of the kids in the youth group begged me to learn. So, I did.”
I cross my arms, skeptical. “Prove it.”
