Chapter 26
Micah
I’m still staring at my phone ten minutes after Harper hangs up.
The screen is dark, but I can still see her face in my mind—tear-streaked, vulnerable, beautiful. The way she looked at me through the camera after I prayed for her. The way her expression shifted from exhausted to hopeful.
I want to stop performing and start actually knowing Him.
Those words.
Man, those words.
I set my phone on my nightstand and lean back against my headboard, a smile tugging at my lips despite the late hour.
This is what I live for.
Pointing someone to Jesus. Watching the light come on. Seeing someone realize that faith isn’t about striving—it’s about staying connected.
Harper Mitchell is starting to understand what it means to truly have a relationship with Jesus.
And I got to be part of that.
Biscuit appears from his tunnel system, chittering softly as he climbs up onto the bed.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, scratching behind his ears. “Big night.”
He tilts his head, like he’s asking for details.
“Harper called. Well, texted first. Then I called. Then we accidentally FaceTime’d.” I pause, replaying the moment. “She’s wrestling with her faith. Really wrestling with it. Not just going through the motions anymore.”
Biscuit climbs onto my chest, settling in.
“And yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I’m falling for her. Hard. But tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about pointing her to the source. To Jesus. Not to me.”
Biscuit chitters again, like he’s skeptical.
“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m also falling for her. But that’s secondary. Her relationship with God comes first. It has to.”
I close my eyes, replaying the conversation.
The way she admitted she’s been performing her whole life. The way she broke down when she said she’s tired of trying to be enough. The way she looked at me after I prayed—like maybe she was starting to believe that God’s love isn’t something she has to earn.
This is why I do what I do.
This is why I run children’s ministry, why I lead Bible studies, why I stay up late answering questions about faith.
Because watching someone encounter Jesus—really encounter Him—is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Even if it’s complicated by the fact that I’m completely in love with her.
I open my eyes and look at Biscuit. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
He squeaks in agreement.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
I glance at the clock. It’s almost midnight.
I should sleep. I have a meeting with the children’s ministry team at 9 a.m. tomorrow, and then curriculum planning in the afternoon.
But I’m too wired. Too full of adrenaline and hope and this overwhelming sense of gratitude that God let me be a part of Harper’s journey tonight.
So instead of sleeping, I grab my Bible from the nightstand and flip to John 15.
I read the passage slowly, letting the words sink in.
“I am the vine; you are the branches. The one who remains in Me and I in him produces much fruit, because you can do nothing without Me.”
I think about Harper—about how exhausted she’s been, trying to produce fruit on her own. Trying to be good enough through sheer effort.
And I think about how freeing it will be for her when she finally lets go and just stays connected.
“God,” I whisper into the quiet of my room.
“Thank You for tonight. Thank You for giving me the words to say. Thank You for opening Harper’s heart to hear them.
Please keep working in her. Help her learn what it means to remain.
And help me...” I pause, swallowing hard.
“Help me love her well. Even if that means just loving her as a friend.”
Biscuit nuzzles against my hand, and I smile.
“Alright, buddy. I should probably try to get some sleep.”
I set the Bible aside, turn off the lamp, and settle under the covers.
Biscuit curls up on the pillow next to me, and I close my eyes.
And for the first time in weeks, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Not because I think Harper’s falling for me.
But because she’s falling for Jesus.
And that’s infinitely better.
I’m in the church supply closet on Wednesday afternoon, taking inventory of craft supplies for this weekend’s curriculum, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out, expecting a text from Marcus about Sunday’s setup or maybe Gray asking if I want to grab lunch.
But it’s Harper.
Harper
SOS
I freeze, craft supplies forgotten.
SOS?
My mind immediately spirals. Is she okay? Did something happen? Is this about her faith? About Collin?
I’m about to hit call when another text comes through. Followed by several others.
Harper
Friday night
Bowling
You
Me
And all the elementary staff at my school
Including Collin
It’s couples’ team building night
You in??
I stare at the screen.
Then I start grinning.
Like, full-on, can’t-stop-myself grinning.
She’s asking me to attend another fake dating event.
Which means she’s not done with this yet.
Which means I get to spend more time with her.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
I jump, nearly dropping my phone, and turn to see Gray standing in the doorway of the supply closet, arms crossed, smirking.
“I’m not smiling,” I say automatically.
“You’re definitely smiling. You look like someone just told you Christmas is coming early.”
“I’m just—” I gesture vaguely at the shelves. “Happy about the googly eyes. We have a lot of googly eyes.”
Gray raises an eyebrow. “Googly eyes.”
“Yep.”
“That’s what’s making you smile?”
“Absolutely.”
He steps into the closet, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms. “Try again. Who texted you?”
I hesitate. “Harper.”
He already knows. I can see it on his face—the slight lift of his brow, the way he’s clearly trying not to smile. “And?”
“She asked me to go bowling Friday night. With her coworkers.”
“Ah,” he nods slowly. “Collin going to be there?”
“Well…yeah.”
“So she wants you to show up and play the part.”
“Yeah.”
Gray is quiet for a second, studying me with that look he gets when he’s choosing his words carefully. We talked about all of this over coffee. He knows about the almost-kiss, knows about the fake dating, knows exactly how sideways this has gotten.
Which is probably why he doesn’t look surprised. Just concerned.
“And you said yes.”
“I’m about to.”
“Even though—”
“Even though it’s fake. I know, Gray.”
He exhales. “Micah. A few days ago you called me from a parking lot because you almost kissed her. Now you’re grinning at your phone like a teenager because she wants you to go bowling.” He tilts his head. “You see how this looks, right?”
“It’s just bowling.”
“That’s not what your face is saying.”
I shove my phone into my pocket. “I’m fine. It’s one more event. No big deal.”
“Micah.”
“What?”
“You’re lying.”
I open my mouth to argue.
Then close it.
Because he’s right.
It is too much. It’s been too much since the gala. Since the kiss. Since Sunday, when we almost kissed again. Since last night when I prayed with her over FaceTime and realized I’d do anything to help her grow closer to Jesus—even if it means watching her chase after someone else.
But I can’t say that to Gray.
Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real.
And I’m not ready for it to be real.
“I’m handling it,” I say finally.
Gray doesn’t look convinced. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re setting yourself up to get your heart broken.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
“I can’t abandon her, not now.” I meet his eyes.
“She’s figuring out her faith, Gray. She called me late last night, and we talked for over an hour about what it means to remain in Jesus.
She’s wrestling with real questions. She’s done performing.
And I got to be part of that. So yeah, maybe the fake dating thing is complicated.
Maybe it hurts sometimes. But if it means I get to walk alongside her while she discovers what a real relationship with God looks like? It’s worth it.”
Gray is quiet for a long moment.
Then he sighs. “You really care about her.”
“Yeah.”
“Like, more than just friends.”
“Yeah.”
“And she has no idea.”
I shrug. “Probably not.”
“Micah—”
“I know, okay? I know this is a terrible idea. I know I should tell her how I feel. But right now, she needs a friend. She needs someone who’s going to point her to Jesus, not distract her from Him. And if that means I have to keep pretending for a little while longer, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Gray studies me for another moment, then shakes his head. “You’re a better man than I am.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. When I was falling for Ivy, I couldn’t keep my feelings to myself for more than five minutes. You’ve been doing this for weeks.”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just scared.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
“I’m not scared,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me.
“Keep telling yourself that, man.” Gray pushes off the shelf.
He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, then pauses and looks back. “For what it’s worth? I think she’s lucky to have you. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left standing in the supply closet, surrounded by construction paper and googly eyes, wondering if he’s right.
Am I scared?
Maybe.
But I pull out my phone anyway and type back a response.
Micah
I’m in. What time?
Three dots appear immediately.
Harper
Pick me up at 6pm!
Micah
Sounds good, Freckles.
Harper
Thanks, Dimples. You’re the best.
She has no idea.
No idea that I’d do anything for her. No idea that every time she calls me Dimples, I feel it everywhere. No idea that I’m completely, hopelessly in love with her.
And maybe that’s for the best.
Because right now, she needs to focus on Jesus.
Not on me.
So I’ll keep pretending.
I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep being her fake boyfriend while she figures out her real relationship with God.
And when it all ends, I’ll deal with the heartbreak then.
But for now?
I’m going bowling.