Chapter 23
Micah
We end up at a bistro a few blocks from the church—a cozy spot with white tablecloths and a brunch menu that makes my mouth water.
Once we’re settled with drinks and have ordered, Mariah leans forward with a smile.
“Okay, I have to ask. How did you two actually meet? Harper’s been vague about the details.”
Harper and I exchange a glance.
“At church, actually,” I say.
“Really?” Shawn raises his eyebrows. “That’s sweet.”
“It wasn’t sweet at first,” Harper admits, laughing. “We actually got off on the wrong foot.”
“Oh, this I have to hear,” Mariah says, clearly delighted.
Harper looks at me. “You want to tell it, or should I?”
“I’ll start. You can correct me when I get it wrong.”
She grins. “Deal.”
“So Harper came in with her friend one Sunday morning,” I begin, reaching for my water glass. “And there was a little boy in the hallway—one of her former students—upset and separated from his dad.”
“He ran straight to me,” Harper adds. “Like a full sprint, arms out. What was I supposed to do, sidestep him?”
“She didn’t sidestep him,” I confirm. “She also didn’t have a name tag, a visitor badge, or any record on file in our system.”
Mariah’s eyes are already dancing. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Harper says. “And this one comes around the corner like he’s about to make a citizen’s arrest.”
“I was doing my job,” I say, keeping my voice even, which only makes Harper laugh harder.
“He literally said, ‘And I’m just supposed to take your word for that?’” Harper widens her eyes, doing a passable impression of my tone. “To a kindergarten teacher. About being a kindergarten teacher.”
Shawn lets out a laugh. “That’s rough, man.”
“In my defense,” I say, holding up a hand, “we have policies for a reason. I didn’t know her.”
“So what happened?” Mariah leans forward, chin in her hand.
“She filled out the background check,” I say.
Harper lifts her fork. “Out of spite.”
“Completely out of spite,” I agree.
“And then I looked him dead in the eye and told him I’d see him next weekend.” Harper smiles at the memory, something almost fond in it. “He told me they’d contact me if it was approved.”
Shawn shakes his head, grinning. “And you still ended up together?”
Harper glances at me, just for a second. “Eventually, we figured out how to be in the same room without arguing.”
“Mostly,” I add.
Mariah laughs, reaching for her glass. “I love that. The best ones always start a little sideways.”
“That’s a great story,” Shawn says. “You two seem great together.”
“We are,” Harper says, glancing at me. “He keeps me grounded. And I... well, I keep things interesting.”
“That’s one word for it,” I tease.
She kicks me lightly under the table, and I grin.
Our food arrives, and the conversation shifts to lighter topics—Mariah and Shawn’s own relationship story, their thoughts on the sermon, recommendations for other things to check out at New Chapter.
But at some point, Harper turns to me and whispers, “You know, you didn’t have to give up your Sunday morning for this.”
“I wanted to.”
“Still. It’s a big deal. Don’t you, like, never take Sundays off?”
“Congratulations,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “You’ve found my weakness.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And that is?”
I look at her, and for once, I don’t hide what I’m feeling.
“You.” I wink, keeping my tone light and teasing, but there’s truth underneath.
Harper’s cheeks flush pink, and she looks away, flustered.
“You’re just being funny,” she mutters.
“Maybe.”
But as she bites her lip, trying not to smile, I know she felt it too.
The truth buried in the joke.
Because she is my weakness.
And every time I’m around her, it gets harder to pretend she’s not.
By the time lunch ends, I’m exhausted in the best way.
The conversation has been easy. Laughter has been frequent. And Harper’s been leaning into me all afternoon—little touches, shared glances, the kind of comfortable intimacy that makes Mariah and Shawn exchange knowing smiles.
We walk them to their car, and Mariah pulls Harper into a hug.
“Thank you so much for today. We loved the church. And we love seeing you so happy.”
“Thank you for coming,” Harper says. “It means a lot.”
Mariah pulls back, keeping her hands on Harper’s shoulders for just a moment, the way people do when they mean what they’re about to say. Then she looks over at me.
“I hope we’ll see you at the open house next month, Micah. After all, her classroom is like her second home—I think you’d love seeing it.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say, and I mean it.
Something flickers across Harper’s face—quick enough that I almost miss it. A softness she doesn’t quite have time to hide before she looks away.
Shawn steps forward and shakes my hand, his grip firm and warm. “Take care of her, Micah.”
“I will.”
They drive off, and suddenly it’s just Harper and me, standing in the parking lot, the afternoon sun warm on our faces.
“That went well,” she says.
“It did.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime, Freckles.”
She looks up at me, and there’s something soft in her expression. Something I don’t know what to do with.
“You know, I had a very productive day off planned,” I say. “Yard work. Groceries. Very exciting stuff.”
She laughs. “And?”
“And somehow I ended up here.” I shake my head slowly. “You are my weakness.”
Harper doesn’t laugh.
Doesn’t roll her eyes or fire something back. She just looks at me for a half second, something shifting behind her expression—and then she steps forward and wraps her arms around me.
I freeze for half a second, then wrap my arms around her too, holding her close.
She fits perfectly against me. Her head tucked under my chin. Her hands pressed flat against my back like she’s steadying herself. The faint scent of her shampoo, something floral and sweet, curling around us both.
We stand like that for a long moment, and I let myself have this.
Just this.
The parking lot is quiet. Somewhere down the street, a bird calls once and goes still. The afternoon light has gone golden and warm, and I’m hyperaware of every single point of contact between us—her fingers curled against my back, the soft rise and fall of her breathing, the way she hasn’t moved.
Neither have I.
Then she pulls back slightly. Just enough to look up at me.
And the way she’s looking at me; her eyes are soft. Searching. Like she’s trying to figure something out she’s been turning over for weeks. Like maybe she’s finally letting herself look.
My hand moves before I’ve made the decision to move it, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. My fingers linger against her cheek, and I feel the moment her breath catches—a small, quiet thing that undoes me completely.
“Harper,” I whisper.
I don’t even know what I’m asking.
But she seems to.
Because she doesn’t step back. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t deflect with a joke or a grin or one of the hundred ways she usually keeps the world at arm’s length.
She just looks at me with those bright green eyes, and I can see the exact moment she realizes what’s about to happen — and chooses not to stop it.
I lean in. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving her every chance to pull back.
She doesn’t.
Her chin tilts up, almost imperceptibly. Her eyes flutter closed. The space between us shrinks to nothing…
WAAAAH! WAAAAH! WAAAAH!
A car alarm detonates through the quiet parking lot, loud and jarring and absolutely merciless.
We fly apart as if electricity shocked us.
Harper’s hand flies to her chest. “Oh my.”
I run a hand through my hair, my heart pounding. “That’s—”
“Loud. That’s really loud.”
Across the parking lot, someone’s frantically clicking their key fob, trying to shut off the alarm on a silver sedan.
Whatever that moment was, it has completely shattered.
Harper takes another step back, wrapping her arms around herself. “I should—I should probably get going.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.”
“I have lesson plans to finish. For tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
She’s not looking at me now. Just staring at her car keys like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Harper—”
“Thank you again,” she says quickly. “For today. It really meant a lot.”
“I’m glad I could be there.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
The car alarm finally stops, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.
Harper gestures toward her car. “I’m just gonna—”
“Go. Yeah. I’ll see you later?”
“See you later.”
She walks to her car, and I watch as she gets in, starts the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot.
She doesn’t look back.
And I’m left standing there, hand still tingling from where I touched her face, wondering what the heck just happened.
We almost kissed.
No.
I almost kissed her.
And she didn’t stop me.
She was going to let it happen.
Which means—I press my hands to my face, trying to get my racing thoughts under control.
God, what am I doing?
This is fake. It’s supposed to be fake.
But nothing about the way she looked at me just now felt fake.
Nothing about the way my heart is currently trying to beat out of my chest feels fake.
I climb into my truck and sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.
Then I pull out my phone and call Gray.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey, man.”
“I almost kissed her.”
Silence.
“Gray?”
“Define ‘almost.’”
“Like, hand-on-her-face, both-leaning-in, would-have-happened-if-not-for-a-car-alarm almost.”
“A car alarm?”
“Don’t ask.”
More silence.
“Micah.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to be fake dating.”
“I know.”
“This doesn’t sound fake.”
“I know Gray, hence why I am calling you.”
I hear him exhale slowly. “Okay. What do you need from me?”
“I don’t know. Someone to tell me I’m not losing my mind.”
“You’re not losing your mind.” A beat. “You’re just in trouble.”
“Helpful. Thanks.”
He lets out a short laugh. Then, more seriously, “Meet me in ten minutes, the coffee shop by my place. We’ll talk it through.”
“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah, okay.”
“See you soon, man.”
He hangs up.
And I sit there in my truck, staring at the spot where Harper’s car was parked, replaying that moment over and over.
The way she looked at me.
The way she didn’t pull away.
The way everything in me wanted to close that distance and kiss her like I’ve been wanting to since two nights ago.
Please let it be me, I’d prayed.
And for just a moment, in that parking lot, it almost was.