Chapter 3
Micah
Harper Mitchell doesn’t know I’m in love with her. And I need to keep it that way.
Harper, with the wild red hair and opinions about everything. Harper, who has lodged herself somewhere in my chest since she first snapped at me about background checks.
I’ve told no one.
Not Gray, even though he acts like he has me figured out—which, technically, he does, but I’d never admit that out loud.
Not my mom, who keeps asking when I’m going to “find a nice girl” and settle down.
Not the guys I meet with for accountability every other Thursday, even though we’re supposed to be honest about temptation and all that.
Because Harper Mitchell scares me.
Not in a bad way. More like how standing at the edge of a cliff scares you—like one wrong step and you’re free-falling with no idea if there’s anything to catch you at the bottom.
She’s loud. I’m quiet.
She’s spontaneous and colorful and takes up space as if she was born to own every room she walks into. I’m the guy who sets reminders for his reminders and panic-orders the same coffee every morning because choosing is stressful.
She’s a wildfire.
I’m…I don’t know. A box of matches, maybe. Useful in theory. Boring in practice.
And she’s so far out of my league, we’re not even playing the same sport.
I pull into the driveway of my bungalow—tucked into a neighborhood just outside of Downtown Dallas where people actually know their neighbors’ names—and kill the engine.
But I don’t get out. I just sit there, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at my front porch light like it holds the answers to every question scrambling my brain.
She asked me.
Harper asked me.
To the gala. As her date.
Fake date. To make her ex-boyfriend jealous.
I drop my head against the steering wheel and let out a long breath.
This is a catastrophic idea.
Because she’s not asking me to the gala because she likes me.
She’s asking because I’m convenient.
I groan and force myself out of the truck.
Get it together, Micah.
The front steps creak under my weight. The door sticks a little—I keep meaning to fix it—and I shove it open with my shoulder.
Silence has fallen over the house. It’s too quiet.
“Biscuit, I’m home!”
A blur of brown and white fur rockets toward me from the hallway. My ferret—all two pounds of pure chaos—comes bounding across the hardwood like he’s been waiting for me to get home for hours. Which, knowing him, he probably has been.
I crouch down, and Biscuit immediately climbs up my arm, perching on my shoulder like some kind of weasel-parrot. He chitters softly in my ear, his tiny nose twitching as he investigates my hair.
“Yeah, I missed you too, buddy.”
Most people think ferrets belong in cages.
But Biscuit’s been free-range since I adopted him three years ago.
He’s litter-box trained and has the run of the house.
His favorite spots include the tunnel system I built him in the living room, the drawer in my dresser where he’s hoarded approximately seventeen socks, and anywhere I happen to be sitting.
He’s weird. High-maintenance. Requires more patience than most people have.
But I love him.
I scratch behind his ears as I head to the kitchen, Biscuit clinging to my shoulder like a fuzzy scarf. He lets out a happy squeak when I open the treat jar, and I toss him a salmon-flavored puff. He catches it mid-air and scurries down my arm to devour it on the counter.
“You know you’re not supposed to be up here,” I tell him. He ignores me, as usual.
At least someone’s life is simple.
I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over Gray’s name in my contacts.
I should text him. Ask for advice. Maybe get some perspective before I do something stupid like agree to fake-date the girl I’ve been quietly in love with for months.
But my thumb doesn’t move.
Because I already know what I’m going to do.
I’m going to say yes.
Not because it’s smart. Not because it makes sense. But because Harper asked, and I’ve never been able to say no to her.
Even when I should.
I stare at the screen for another moment, then set the phone down on the counter.
Gray can wait.
I need to take this to God first.
Biscuit follows me down the hallway, scampering along the baseboards before darting into my room ahead of me. By the time I walk in, he’s already curled up in his favorite spot on my bed—right behind my pillow.
The space is simple. Bed. Dresser. A chair by the window where I do my morning quiet time. My Bible sits on the nightstand, a dozen sticky notes marking passages I’ve been working through, and my journal is open to this morning’s entry.
I sink into the chair, elbows on my knees, and close my eyes.
“Okay, God. Let’s talk.”
I sit there for a moment, eyes closed, trying to find the right words.
But that’s the thing about prayer—there are no right words. Just honest ones.
“Okay,” I start again, quieter this time. “I know You already know what happened tonight. You were there. In the pantry. Which…okay, I liked more than I should have.”
I open my eyes, staring at the worn pages of my Bible on the nightstand.
“She asked me to be her date to the gala. Her fake date. And I know this is a terrible idea. Fake dating her to make her ex jealous? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. I should say no. I should tell her to find someone else. Someone who doesn’t...”
I trail off, rubbing a hand over my face.
“Someone who doesn’t have feelings for her.”
There it is. Out loud. To God, at least.
“I’ve had a thing for her for months now. And I’ve tried to ignore it, tried to focus on other things, tried to convince myself it would fade. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s gotten worse.”
I lean back in the chair, letting my head rest against the wall.
“And the thing is... I don’t even know where she’s really at with You.
She shows up to everything—Bible studies, volunteering in children’s ministry so much I have to physically stop her and tell her no, go sit in the service instead.
She knows all the right answers. Says all the right things.
But does she actually have a relationship with You?
Or is she just going through the motions? ”
I pause, the question hanging heavy in the quiet room.
“Because I see her serving constantly, running herself ragged trying to do all the things, but I don’t know if she’s ever just... sat still long enough to actually be with You. To know You, not just know about You.”
Biscuit stirs on the bed, stretching before curling back into a tighter ball.
“But God, when I’m around her, I see glimpses of something real.
Something deeper than she’s willing to admit.
Like there’s this whole part of her that’s searching for You, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
And I keep thinking...maybe I could help.
Maybe I could show her what it looks like to actually know You, not just serve You. ”
I pause, knowing how that sounds.
“But that’s probably just me making excuses, isn’t it? Trying to justify wanting something I shouldn’t want.”
I close my eyes again, the weight of it pressing down on me.
“Or maybe...maybe it’s not just me. Maybe You’re pulling me toward her for a reason. Maybe there’s something here I’m supposed to walk through, even if it scares me. Even if I don’t understand it yet.”
The thought settles somewhere deep, equal parts terrifying and hopeful.
“The thing is, I’m going to say yes. I already know I am. Because she asked, and I can’t say no to her. Which is probably a problem. Actually, it’s definitely a problem.”
I absently stroke Biscuit’s fur when he climbs into my lap, the motion calming.
“So I guess what I’m asking is...what do I do with this? How do I spend time with her—pretending to be her boyfriend, no less—without falling harder than I already have? How do I protect my heart when she’s going to walk away the second Collin takes her back?”
The room is quiet except for Biscuit’s soft breathing.
“And God, if I’m honest...I don’t want her to go back to him. Collin doesn’t value her. Doesn’t show up. She deserves someone who actually sees her. Who thinks she’s worth the effort. Who—”
I stop myself.
“Who loves her the way You love her.”
That’s the actual issue, isn’t it?
“I want to be that person. I want to be the one who shows her what genuine love looks like. But I’m terrified that I’m not enough.
That she’ll always see me as the awkward guy who makes bad jokes and sets grills on fire—even though that was one time and it was an accident.
That even if she doesn’t go back to Collin, she’ll never choose me. ”
My voice drops to barely a whisper.
“So I’m asking for wisdom. And strength. And maybe a miracle, because I’m going to need all three to get through this without completely wrecking myself. Help me honor You in this. Even if it costs me everything.”
I sit there in the silence, waiting. Not for an audible voice—I’ve never heard one of those. But for that quiet sense of peace that settles when I’ve finally stopped trying to control everything and just surrendered it.
It doesn’t come immediately.
But slowly, like dawn breaking, something shifts. Not answers. Not a clear path forward. Just...peace. It makes little sense, but somehow holds me steady anyway.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I trust You. Even when I don’t understand.”
I open my eyes, reaching for my phone.
Time to text Gray.
I stare at my phone screen, Gray’s name in my contacts staring back at me.
I should call him instead. Get this over with. Hear him say whatever it is he’s going to say—probably something annoyingly wise that I don’t want to hear but desperately need to.
Before I can overthink it, I hit call.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Took you long enough.”
I blink. “What?”