7. Micah
Micah
Whispering Pines Park transforms completely in summer. The sunlight filters through maple leaves, creating natural spotlights on the grass below. Wildflowers add splashes of color that draw the eye. Even the air feels different—warm and sweet with the scent of growing things.
I adjust my camera bag as I scan the park, spotting Aria and Dean near the small pond. They’ve claimed a spot with a blue blanket beneath them. Even from this distance, I can see Dean crawling energetically around the edges while Aria watches with relaxed attentiveness.
A flutter of nervousness mingles with anticipation in my chest. We haven’t seen each other since that moment on my deck two nights ago. The dinner with my mother had gone barely acceptably, but those quiet moments afterward, sharing truths under the stars, had shifted something between us.
As I approach, Dean spots me first. His excited squeal carries across the grass, his little body wiggling with delight.
“Who do you see?” I hear Aria ask him, following his gaze. When she turns and sees me, her smile blooms naturally. “Of course you spotted Micah first. You have a sixth sense for him, don’t you?”
The genuine pleasure in her expression eases my nerves. I’d suggested this picnic partly to escape my mother’s scrutiny, but mostly because I wanted to see Aria again—without the pressure of performing for an audience.
“Hey,” I say, approaching the blanket. “Beautiful day.”
“It is,” Aria agrees, shifting to make room for me. She’s wearing denim shorts and a loose blue shirt that slips slightly off one shoulder. Her dark hair is caught in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. With sunglasses perched on top of her head, she looks effortlessly stunning.
Dean wastes no time crawling toward me. When he reaches me, he pulls himself up using my leg for support and bounces excitedly.
“Well hello to you too, buddy,” I laugh, lifting him onto my lap once I’m seated. He immediately settles against me with a contented sigh that makes something in my chest tighten.
“He’s been practicing standing,” Aria explains proudly. “The pediatrician says he’s right on track to start walking soon.”
Aria watches us before her eyes narrow playfully. “So, did you ditch your mom in the car, or is she lurking behind a tree somewhere, evaluating my parenting skills?”
I laugh, grateful for her humor. “Neither. She’s visiting her old college roommate in town. They reconnected on Facebook last year.”
“Ah, so we have you all to ourselves this afternoon,” Aria says, her tone light but her eyes holding mine for just a moment too long. “Lucky us.”
Dean babbles in agreement, patting my chest with his small hands.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” I reply, unable to look away from her. The sunlight catches the green flecks in her eyes, making them almost luminous.
She’s beautiful—not just physically, but in how attentively she listens, how she laughs with her whole body, how fiercely protective she is of her son while still encouraging his independence.
I’ve known attractive women before, but there’s something different about Aria.
Something authentic that draws me to her.
“You’re staring,” she points out, amusement dancing in her expression.
I blink, caught. “Sorry. Just... you look really nice today.”
A faint blush rises to her cheeks, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“This old thing?” I joke, gesturing to my simple white button-down and jeans. “Just something I threw on.”
“Well, it works for you,” she says, her gaze traveling over me appreciatively before she looks away, her blush deepening.
The moment stretches between us, charged with something unacknowledged. Dean breaks the tension by attempting to stand on my lap.
“I spoke with my mother this morning,” I say once Dean has settled again. “We talked about her visit with her college roommate. I think the time apart is good for both of us.”
“Is everything okay between you two?” Aria asks with gentle concern.
“We’ll be fine,” I assure her. “And honestly? I’m kind of glad it’s just us today. It’s nice to just...” I trail off.
“Just what?” Aria prompts.
“Just be ourselves,” I finish. “No performance necessary.”
Something flickers across her expression. “Is that what we’re doing? Being ourselves?”
The question hangs between us, deceptively simple but loaded with implications.
“I’d like to think so,” I answer finally. “At least, I’m not acting right now. Are you?”
She considers this, watching Dean play. “No,” she admits quietly. “I’m not acting either.”
The honesty of the moment feels significant, like a doorway opening between us.
“Can I ask you something, Ari?” The nickname slips out naturally.
She tilts her head. “Did you just call me Ari?”
“I guess I did,” I say, suddenly uncertain. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just... no one’s ever called me that before.”
I smile, unreasonably pleased. “I’m glad I get to be the first, then.”
She studies me before nodding. “What did you want to ask me?”
“After our talk the other night, I’ve been thinking about what you said about my mother seeing herself in you,” I say, absently stroking Dean’s hair as he leans against my chest. “I think you might be right. But there’s more to it. She worries I use work as an excuse to avoid relationships.”
“And is she right?” Aria asks, direct as always.
The question catches me off guard. “Maybe partly,” I admit. “Photography is safe. Predictable in its own way. You control the light, the angle, the moment. People are... messier.”
“Especially people with babies,” she says with a self-deprecating smile.
“I don’t mean you,” I clarify quickly. “You’re one of the least complicated people I know—and I mean that as a compliment. You’re straightforward, honest. What you see is what you get.”
She laughs softly. “I’ve been called many things, but ‘uncomplicated’ is definitely a first.”
“Not uncomplicated,” I correct. “Just authentic. Real.”
Her expression softens. “That means a lot, coming from you. Especially since you literally make your living capturing reality.”
“That’s what I love about photography,” I explain. “Looking through the lens, finding those perfect moments of truth. There’s beauty everywhere if you know how to see it.”
“A memory preserver,” Aria says thoughtfully.
“I like that,” I smile. “Much better than ‘guy who takes pictures for money.’”
She laughs, the sound light and genuine. Dean stirs at the noise, blinking sleepily up at us before settling back against my chest.
I glance down at my camera bag, an idea forming. “Speaking of preserving memories... I brought my camera, if you’d be interested in a few photos with Dean?”
Her hand automatically goes to her hair. “Oh, I’m a mess today?—”
“You’re beautiful,” I interrupt, the words escaping before I can filter them. “Honestly, Aria. You look perfect just as you are.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and then she smiles, a slow, genuine smile that lights up her face.
“Alright, memory preserver,” she says. “Work your magic.”
I gently transfer Dean back to her arms and reach for my camera.
Through the viewfinder, I watch them interact—Aria pointing out a butterfly to Dean, his small face following her gesture with rapt attention.
I capture that moment of shared discovery, the connection between them evident in every line of their bodies.
I move around them, finding different angles, different qualities of light. Dean notices me after a few shots and reaches toward the camera with curious hands. I snap that too—his eager exploration, Aria’s laughter as she gently redirects him.
“Try to ignore me,” I suggest. “Just be yourselves.”
“That’s easier said than done with you stalking us like a wildlife photographer,” Aria jokes, but she does her best to act natural.
I capture dozens of images—Dean crawling on the blanket, Aria helping him stand, the two of them examining a dandelion puff with identical expressions of wonder. They’re naturally photogenic in their genuine expressions and interactions.
When Dean crawls off to explore the edge of the blanket, I take a few shots of just Aria. The curve of her neck as she watches her son, the thoughtful set of her mouth, the way sunlight catches in her hair.
“I think that’s enough,” she says eventually. “Your turn now.”
“What? No, I don’t need?—”
“Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand for the camera. “Fair is fair. You can’t hide behind the lens forever.”
Reluctantly, I hand over my camera, showing her the basic controls. Dean crawls back toward me, using my leg to pull himself up again, and Aria captures the moment.
“Perfect,” she murmurs. “You’re so natural with him.”
I look down at Dean, his small face beaming up at me with complete trust, and forget about the camera entirely. We play a simple game where I help him stand, counting to three before gently bouncing him, each bounce eliciting delighted giggles.
“These are going to be wonderful,” Aria says, still taking photos. “Though you could use a haircut. It’s getting a little shaggy on top.”
I laugh, running a hand through my hair. “Is that so? Are you offering your services?”
“Oh no,” she laughs. “Last time I tried to cut someone’s hair, it was my college roommate’s, and she didn’t speak to me for a week afterward.”
She takes a few more shots before lowering the camera. “I think I’ve got some good ones. Want to see?”
She sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch, and we look through the images together. Her photos are surprisingly good—she has a natural eye for composition.
“You missed your calling,” I tell her. “These are really nice.”
“I had a good teacher,” she replies, bumping my shoulder gently with hers.
As we scroll through the photos, a breeze stirs her hair, sending a lock across her face. Without thinking, I reach out to brush it away, my fingers grazing her cheek.
The moment freezes. Her eyes meet mine, wide with surprise and something else—something that mirrors the tightness in my own chest. Time seems to slow as I lean toward her, drawn by a force I can’t resist.
She meets me halfway, her lips soft against mine. The kiss is gentle, tentative at first, but deepens as her hand comes up to rest against my chest. The world around us falls away—everything except the warmth of her mouth on mine and the thundering of my heart.
Dean’s voice breaks the spell. “Mama,” he says clearly, patting Aria’s arm for attention.
We pull apart, both slightly breathless. Aria’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide as she touches her lips with her fingertips.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically, though I’m not sorry at all. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“No, it’s okay,” she interrupts. “I think we both got caught up in the moment.”
“Right,” I agree, though it feels like much more than that. “The moment.”
An awkward silence falls between us as she attends to Dean. I take the camera back, pretending to review the photos while my mind races.
That kiss wasn’t part of our arrangement. There was no audience to perform for, no reason to pretend. It had been real—spontaneous and honest in a way that both terrifies and exhilarates me.
“I should probably get these photos uploaded,” I say finally. “I can print a few for you, if you’d like.”
“That would be nice,” she says. “Most of my photos of Dean are on my phone.”
I nod, packing my camera away. “I got some great shots. He’s very photogenic—like his mom.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “Flatterer.”
“Just stating facts,” I reply. “Photography doesn’t lie.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Doesn’t it? I thought that was the whole point of what we’re doing—creating an illusion.”
“I wasn’t thinking about our arrangement when I kissed you just now,” I admit quietly.
She inhales sharply. “What were you thinking about?”
“Just you,” I say simply. “How much I enjoy being with you. Both of you,” I add, including Dean with a gentle touch to his head.
She’s quiet for a long moment, then looks up, her expression open and vulnerable.
“This is getting complicated, isn’t it?”
“I think it might have been complicated from the start,” I acknowledge. “At least for me.”
She nods slowly. “Me too.”
The admission hangs between us, neither a promise nor a rejection, but an acknowledgment of something real growing beneath our pretense.
As I watch her with Dean, I can no longer deny the truth: I’m falling for her—both of them—in a way that has nothing to do with our arrangement and everything to do with who they are. The very idea terrifies me, not because I’m afraid of commitment, but because I know how much is at stake.
And in just a few days, our pretense will end. My mother will leave, and we’ll have no reason to continue this charade.
Because whatever is growing between us—this fragile, unnamed thing—feels far too important to let slip away.