2. Aria
Aria
The late morning sun slants across my kitchen counter as I stand at the window, coffee mug warming my palms. Outside, Micah crosses his yard to his front door with a camera bag slung over his shoulder. Even from this distance, I can see the easy confidence in his stride.
“Stop staring,” I mutter to myself, but don’t look away.
There’s something magnetic about him—the way his sandy hair falls across his forehead, how his blue eyes light up when he talks about his photography. I’ve only had a handful of conversations with him since moving in next door, but each one leaves me thinking about him far longer than I should.
This morning’s encounter at the park keeps replaying in my mind. The genuine interest in his voice when he asked how I was doing. The gentle way he spoke to Dean. The free photoshoot offer that seemed to come from somewhere real, not just politeness.
Dean’s babbling pulls me from my thoughts. He sits in his highchair, cheerfully smashing banana pieces between his fingers.
“What do you think, little man?” I ask, wiping a smear of fruit from his cheek. “Is Mommy being ridiculous about the neighbor?”
Dean responds by shoving a fistful of banana into his mouth, his green eyes—so like mine—crinkling with delight.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”
Four months in Birch Springs, and I’m still surprised by how quickly this place has started to feel like home.
Back in Toledo, I’d spent my whole life trying to fit in—first in my mother’s rigid expectations, then in an engagement that slowly suffocated me.
Dean’s unexpected arrival had been the catalyst I needed to finally break free.
“We made the right choice,” I tell Dean, lifting him from the highchair. “No more living our life according to other people’s judgments, right?”
The truth is, while everyone in Birch Springs has been welcoming, I’ve kept people at a careful distance.
It’s easier that way—fewer questions, fewer explanations.
The receptionist job at Florence’s veterinary clinic is perfect: friendly interaction during the day, then home to my quiet sanctuary with Dean.
Micah is the first person who’s made me want to lower those careful barriers, even just a little.
After Dean’s nap, we head out to the backyard to enjoy the late summer sunshine. I spread a quilt on the grass and arrange Dean’s favorite toys around him.
I watch him crawl for a colorful stacking ring.
Traditional crawling on hands and knees is a feat he only managed to reach last week.
Before that, he was quite the expert at army-crawling on his belly.
Each milestone feels like it arrives too quickly, a bittersweet reminder that he won’t be my tiny baby forever.
Dean suddenly looks up, his attention caught by something beyond me. A familiar voice calls my name, and my heart does that inconvenient little skip.
“Hey, Aria.”
I turn to find Micah leaning against the fence that separates our yards, one arm propped casually on the wooden slats. How long has he been standing there?
“Oh! Hi,” I manage, hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel. “I didn’t hear you come out.”
“Sorry if I startled you,” he says. “I just spotted you two out here and thought I’d say hello.” His gaze shifts to Dean, who’s now bouncing excitedly, arms outstretched. “Looks like someone’s happy to see visitors.”
“He definitely recognizes you from this morning,” I say, surprised by Dean’s enthusiasm. He’s usually wary around new people—another trait he gets from me.
“Mind if I join you guys for a few minutes?” Micah asks. “Or am I interrupting?”
I hesitate, but only briefly. “We’d love the company. The fence gate’s unlocked if you want to use it instead of?—”
Before I can finish, Micah has already swung himself over the fence with surprising agility, landing lightly on our side.
“—climbing over,” I finish with a laugh. “Show-off.”
“Sorry. Force of habit from childhood,” he says with a slightly embarrassed grin. “My best friend lived next door, and we wore a path between our yards.”
He settles cross-legged on the edge of the quilt, and Dean immediately abandons his toys to crawl toward him. To my astonishment, my usually clingy son pulls himself onto Micah’s lap without hesitation, reaching for the sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar.
“Well, that’s a first,” I say, watching Dean make himself completely at home. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers so quickly.”
“Kids can sense when someone’s a pushover,” Micah jokes, letting Dean examine the sunglasses with careful supervision. “Hey, cool dude. Those are some awesome overalls you’ve got on.”
Dean responds with a delighted gurgle, clenching Micah’s finger in his tiny fist.
“Fair warning—he has a grip like a little vise,” I caution.
Micah just smiles, completely unfazed by the baby commandeering his lap. “Small price to pay for such excellent company.”
There’s a natural ease to how he interacts with Dean, no awkwardness or forced enthusiasm. It’s refreshing after the strained reactions I’ve become accustomed to from most single men encountering a baby.
“So how did you get into photography?” I ask, genuinely curious about the passion I’ve heard in his voice when he mentions his work.
“It was my mom, really,” he says, his expression softening. “She documented everything when I was growing up—every birthday, every school event, even random Tuesday afternoons. She said she never wanted to forget a single moment.”
“That sounds nice,” I say, thinking of my own childhood photo albums—formal portraits and stiff family holiday photos where everyone looked uncomfortable.
“It was. There are boxes of photos in my attic—my whole life captured on film. She meticulously dated every single one.” He smiles at the memory. “I’ve always meant to properly organize them, but never seem to find the time.”
“That would be a big project,” I agree. “Where’s your mom now?”
“Nebraska with my aunt. Her husband passed away a few years back, and Mom moved there to help her through it.” His expression shifts slightly, a faint tension appearing around his eyes.
“Maybe I will get to meet her when she visits,” I say.
He pauses, glancing at me. “Actually, that brings me to something I wanted to talk to you about.”
The sudden seriousness in his tone makes me straighten. “Oh?”
“I need to confess something.” He takes a breath. “I didn’t just come over to be neighborly. I have an ulterior motive.”
My guard instantly rises, years of experience making me brace for disappointment. “What kind of motive?”
“Remember at the park when you suggested I tell my mother I was dating someone?” His words come quicker now, like he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve. “I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s actually not a bad idea.”
I relax slightly. “So you’re going to invent a girlfriend?”
“Well, that’s the thing...” He glances down at Dean, who’s now contentedly chewing on the collar of Micah’s shirt. “I was wondering if maybe you would consider... pretending to be that girlfriend. Just while she’s visiting.”
For a moment, I’m certain I’ve misheard him. “You want me to what?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” he says quickly.
“And I completely understand if you think it’s inappropriate or just too weird.
But my mom has been trying to set me up with someone every time we talk, and nothing I say stops her.
During this visit, she told me that she is bringing a woman to dinner. At my house. As a surprise.”
Despite my shock, I can’t help but laugh. “That’s... impressively persistent.”
“Trust me, you have no idea.” He shakes his head, a mixture of exasperation and fondness on his face. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask. Especially since we barely know each other. But it would just be for five days, and it would save me from excruciating awkward setups.”
I should say no immediately. Pretending to date someone I barely know? Lying to his mother? It’s exactly the kind of messy complication I’ve been avoiding since moving here.
And yet...
“What exactly would this involve?” I hear myself asking.
Relief floods his expression. “Nothing major. Maybe dinner at my place one night, a casual outing in town another day. Just enough to convince her I’m happily involved with someone and don’t need her matchmaking services.”
Dean chooses this moment to let out a big yawn, his small body sagging against Micah’s chest.
“Looks like someone’s ready for another nap,” I observe, grateful for the momentary distraction to collect my thoughts.
“He seems pretty comfortable,” Micah says softly, and I notice how naturally he’s supporting Dean’s weight, one hand protectively at his back.
The sight does something to my heart that I’m not prepared for.
“What about Dean?” I ask, redirecting the conversation. “Where does he fit into this fake relationship scenario?”
“However you want,” Micah answers without hesitation. “He’s part of your life, so he’d naturally be part of our... arrangement. But I’d never presume anything about him.”
I bite my lip, considering. The sensible part of me knows this is a terrible idea. And yet, there’s something disarmingly honest about Micah, even as he’s proposing this deception.
“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” I ask, partly teasing but also genuinely curious.
He grins, looking relieved that I haven’t immediately shut him down. “Well, besides my eternal gratitude... How about that photoshoot we talked about? Full professional session for you and Dean, with prints and a coffee table book included. No charge.”
“Tempting,” I admit.
“And babysitting,” he adds. “I know single parenting doesn’t give you much downtime. I could watch the little guy sometimes, give you a few hours to yourself.”
The offer is surprisingly thoughtful. A few child-free hours to read a book or get a haircut sounds like an impossible luxury.
“Can I think about it?” I finally say. The responsible adult in me needs time to consider all the ways this could go wrong.
“Of course,” he says quickly. “No pressure. Well, a little pressure since my mom arrives on Friday, but I understand if you need time.”
“I’ll let you know soon,” I promise. “It’s just... a lot to process.”
“I completely understand.” He carefully shifts Dean, who has fallen asleep against his chest. “Here, let me hand him back to you.”
Our arms brush as I take Dean from him, and that same electric awareness I felt at the park this morning returns. Dean stirs briefly before settling against my shoulder with a sigh.
“I should probably let you put him down,” Micah says, standing up. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. “Here’s my cell number, in case you decide to rescue me from my mother’s matchmaking schemes.”
I take the card, suddenly feeling shy. “I don’t have a card, but if you want my number...”
“That would be great,” he says, perhaps a bit too eagerly. He unlocks his phone and hands it to me.
I type my number one-handed, balancing Dean with the other, and save it under my name. “There. Now you can reach me if you need relationship advice or... whatever.”
He takes the phone back with a smile. “Thanks. And hey, even if you decide against Operation Fake Girlfriend, feel free to call anytime. Even at four in the morning when this little guy won’t sleep.”
“Be careful what you offer,” I warn, but I’m smiling too. “I might take you up on that.”
“I hope you do,” he says, and something in his voice makes me think he means more than just the late-night calls.
After he leaves, vaulting back over the fence with another display of casual athleticism, I take Dean inside and place him in his crib. I stand there for a moment, watching his peaceful sleeping face and wondering what I’m getting myself into.
The rational part of me knows I should say no. I came to Birch Springs for a fresh start, to build a quiet, drama-free life for Dean and me. Getting tangled up in a web of deception with my attractive neighbor definitely wasn’t part of the plan.
But as I glance at Micah’s business card still in my hand, I can’t deny the little flutter of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him, even under false pretenses.
“What do you think, Dean?” I whisper to my sleeping son. “Should Mommy play pretend for a few days?”
Dean’s only response is a gentle snore, offering no guidance whatsoever.
I tuck the business card into my pocket and head to the kitchen to start dinner, knowing that despite all my reservations, I’m probably going to say yes.
After all, it’s just for five days. What could possibly go wrong?