11. Robin
ROBIN
Ispent entirely too much time getting ready for a pumpkin patch. Which was ridiculous, a pumpkin patch wasn't a date that required preparation. It’s barely a date at all. It wasn't a fancy dinner, or a wedding, or one of those places where reservations came with a dress code and tiny portions.
People wore flannel to pumpkin patches. Half the attraction was wandering around outside while pretending not to spend thirty dollars on apple cider and getting lost in a corn maze.
And yet there I was standing in front of my bathroom mirror for the third time. Checking my eyeliner… Again.
"This is embarrassing," I told my reflection.
My reflection wisely offered no opinion.
I leaned closer to the mirror and adjusted some hair that had fallen out of place before rapidly hating myself for caring.
Who was this person?
Certainly not Robbin’ Banks, my roller derby counterpart.
Robbin’ Banks routinely left the house with wet hair and enough confidence to compensate for any fashion-related shortcomings.
Robbin’ Banks didn't spend fifteen minutes deciding between two nearly identical lip glosses.
And she definitely didn't get butterflies over a man.
And yet, I glanced toward my phone sitting on the bathroom counter. The lock screen was empty. No new texts.
God, I had it bad. It was more than a crush, and more than just a hook up. I genuinely liked him.
I liked the nerdy science teacher with the tattoo sleeve and the irritating habit of making me smile at my phone.
A knock sounded at my door before I could spiral any further. My pulse kicked into a higher gear. When did I become so pathetic?
I grabbed my jacket from the couch and headed for the door.
When I opened it, I promptly forgot every sarcastic thought I'd been having because Micah stood in the hallway with his hands shoved into the pocket of a dark hoodie, jeans worn soft from use, with black Chucks peeking out.
The autumn chill had painted his cheeks faintly pink, and his blond hair looked perfectly tousled in a way that should've been illegal.
Micah smiled the second he saw me like he was genuinely excited to be standing outside my apartment.
"Hey, trouble."
I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms in a last desperate attempt to appear unaffected.
"You're wearing a NASA hoodie."
Micah looked down at himself. "Excellent observation."
"You’re not an astronaut."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I’ve seen your very pretend spaceships."
He laughed softly. God, that laugh. I would do embarrassing things to hear it.
I was in trouble. It was the kind of trouble you didn't see coming because it arrived disguised as comfort, the kind that slipped past your defenses one text message at a time. It was the reason you checked your eyeliner before a pumpkin patch date.
The drive was easy. I stared out the passenger window while autumn trees blurred past in shades of gold and orange, my stomach twisting in a way I didn't particularly appreciate.
This was ridiculous, I didn't get nervous. I was Robbin’ Banks. I could hack into a megachurch, hip-check grown women for fun, and tell off anyone who deserved it without breaking a sweat. Yet somehow a science teacher in a NASA hoodie had me questioning basic motor function.
Before I could spiral any further, Micah reached across the center console and rested his hand lightly on my thigh. The touch was casual. My body relaxed. Without thinking, I laced my fingers through his free hand.
The effect was instant. The tension that had been buzzing beneath my skin eased. My first instinct was to analyze it. I wanted to figure out what was happening in my chest and why this man affected me differently than anyone else.
Instead, I forced myself to stop. For once, maybe I didn't need to understand everything. Maybe I could just enjoy it. Micah squeezed my hand gently and smiled without taking his eyes off the road.
"There she is."
I frowned.
"There who is?"
"The version of you that doesn’t look like she is five seconds away from fleeing from a moving car."
"I was not,” I said trying to fight the smile.
"If you say so."
Unfortunately, he was smiling when he said it, which made it difficult to be properly offended. The music shifted to another song, and Micah turned the volume up slightly. I'd already learned he had strong opinions about music.
"What is this one?" I asked.
His whole face lit up. It was ridiculous how quickly it happened. It was the same way he came alive talking about Star Trek, or teaching, or one of his students.
"This is Pearl Jam," he explained.
And just like that he was off. Talking about albums and lyrics and concerts he'd never gotten to see because he was born too late. Explaining why certain songs mattered and how music could capture a specific moment in time.
I found myself smiling as I listened. I didn’t understand half of what he was talking about, but he cared deeply about it. There was something intoxicating about watching someone talk about something they loved.
By the time we reached the pumpkin patch, he'd somehow connected grunge music to astronomy and Star Trek in a way that only made sense inside his own head, yet I hung on his every word.
The parking lot was little more than a massive field packed with trucks, SUVs, and families hauling small children toward hayrides.
Micah finally found a spot near the edge and shut off the engine. The music died. The sudden quiet felt strangely intimate. Micah turned toward me. His blonde hair fell, slightly covering one of his ice blue eyes as a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the front of his hoodie and kissed him.
His surprised laugh disappeared against my mouth.
One arm slid around my waist as he kissed me back, pulling me closer across the center console.
The angle was terrible. The gear shift was digging into my stomach and somewhere my elbow got trapped. None of that mattered.
I smiled against his mouth when he laughed softly and pulled me closer anyway.
"Hi," he murmured.
"Hi."
I kissed him again before he could keep teasing me. For one blissful moment, the entire world disappeared. Then someone smacked the hood of the car so hard both of us jumped.
"What the—"
A familiar voice shouted from outside. "Get a room!"
I knew that voice. That was a voice I heard yell at me a couple times a week. I would recognize the dulcet tones of my captain any day.
Micah groaned and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel.
Outside the windshield, Mel stood with her wife, Becca, and their son Leo.
“I did not know they were coming.”
Micah finally looked back at me, still laughing despite himself.
"We should probably go."
"Yeah, they’ll only get worse."
His smile softened. For a second we simply looked at each other. And somehow that felt even more delicious than the kissing. Then we climbed out of the car and headed toward the pumpkin patch, joining the chaos that was already waiting for us.
“Please tell me this is just a little family outing and the whole team isn’t coming.”
“I could call them,” Mel said with an evil grin.
Her wife, being a good influence she was, just took Mel’s hand. “Oh, leave them alone. Alex and Eleanor are meeting us with Ava, but that’s it.”
A car drove by them kicking up dust. “In fact, I think that is them.”
Leo was already off running after the car.
“We’ll see you guys later,” Mel said with a smile before following her little family to the car that had just pulled into a spot.
Hand in hand we made our way towards the noise.
The pumpkin patch was exactly as autumnal as I had expected.
There were haybales, corn mazes, apple cider, and pumpkins galore.
Children ran through the rows shrieking while exhausted parents carried far more pumpkins than any family reasonably needed.
It was kind of fun, not that I planned to tell Micah that.
We moved through the patch together before stopping to drink some cider and pet some goats, but I found myself watching Micah.
Not intentionally, at least not at first. It just kept happening.
I watched as he took a handful of animal feed and handed it to the little girl next to him before having a conversation with her dad about what the little pellets were actually made of.
He had a way of being fully present and curious in conversations that fascinated me.
No one was that interested in everything… only he was.
Part of me wanted to write it off as fake, but it wasn't performative. I was good at spotting performance. My newfound side hustle of crime existed because I knew how others hid ugly truths behind polished smiles. Micah wasn't performing. He genuinely cared.
I was watching him help a small child lift a ridiculously oversized pumpkin into a wagon when Mel appeared beside me.
"You got it bad."
I nearly choked on my cider.
"I do not."
Mel snorted. The sound contained thirty years of accumulated skepticism. "Robin."
"What?"
"You've been staring at him for ten minutes."
I whipped my head in another direction. "That's not true."
"As much as it pains me to say this, he actually seems like a really great guy."
"He is… maybe too good."
Mel shrugged, “I don’t know, he seems pretty genuine to me.”
“Oh, I think it is too. And that’s all part of the problem.”
“I’m not following.”
“He’s like… perfect,” I said as he looked over at us and waved.
Mel smiled and waved back. “Well, I think that is a problem you'll have to tackle head on… or maybe from behind,” she said with an approving glance as he bent over to pick up another pumpkin for a kid.
I elbowed her. “Knock it off or I’m telling your wife you were checking out my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” she shot back at me, way too loudly.
“Will you just shut up?”
Mel took a sip of her cider and returned to her family looking entirely too pleased with herself. I glanced toward Micah again. This time he was watching me with a curious expression.