The summer sun was relentless, spilling golden light over the park as volunteers gathered to repaint the peeling walls of the community center. The paint fumes mingled with the scent of freshly cut grass, and the chatter of voices filled the air like a symphony of beginnings. I stood near the supply table, clutching a paintbrush and a roller tray, trying to blend into the crowd.
Mia nudged me with her elbow, her sharp gaze scanning the group. "Look at them, Alicia. Half of these people are only here to take selfies and post about how 'kind-hearted' they are."
I laughed quietly, but her words stung a little. It wasn't that I disagreed—it was just that I didn't want anyone to think that about me. I was here because it felt like the right thing to do. It wasn't about being noticed.
"Are you even listening?" Mia asked, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm listening," I replied, dipping my brush into the sky-blue paint and focusing on the wall in front of me.
I was halfway through my first stroke when a loud voice called out behind me.
"Hey, can someone pass me another roller?"
The voice was deep, warm, and effortlessly confident. I didn't turn around at first, hoping someone else would respond.
"Guess I'll grab it myself, then," the voice said, this time closer.
I looked up just in time to see him—Ken. He was taller than most of the other volunteers, with messy black hair and an easy smile that seemed to catch the sunlight. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but there was something magnetic about him.
"Mind if I borrow this?" he asked, pointing at the roller tray next to me.
"Sure," I said, stepping aside.
He took it, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment. "Thanks. You're saving lives out here."
I laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking or just being sarcastic.
"Ken!" a voice shouted from across the park. It was Jake, the owner of the ice cream shop everyone in town loved. "Stop flirting and get to work!"
"I'm not flirting!" Ken called back, his grin widening. "I'm being friendly."
Mia leaned in, her voice low. "Don't let him get to you. He's trouble."
I wanted to say something witty, but the words didn't come. Instead, I kept painting, hoping Ken wouldn't notice the blush creeping up my neck.
---
By lunchtime, the volunteers had divided into small groups, sitting on the grass and sharing sandwiches and water bottles. Mia and I sat under a tree, watching the others.
"He's looking over here," Mia muttered, her voice laced with annoyance.
I followed her gaze and saw Ken walking toward us, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his smile disarming.
Mia sighed. "It's a free country."
Ken laughed, unbothered by her tone, and plopped down next to me. "So, what's your story?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
"I mean, why are you here? Most people come to these things to look good on Instagram. You don't seem like one of them."
I hesitated. "I guess I just wanted to do something meaningful."
He tilted his head, studying me. "That's cool. Most people don't care about stuff like that."
Mia rolled her eyes. "You're not fooling anyone, Ken. We all know your cousin roped you into this."
Ken shrugged, unbothered. "Guilty as charged. But hey, free food and good company—can't complain."
Despite Mia's best efforts to keep the conversation short, Ken stayed with us for the rest of the lunch break. By the time we returned to painting, I couldn't deny that I was intrigued by him.
---
As the day wore on, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park. Most of the volunteers had already left, but a few of us stayed behind to clean up.
"Need help?" Ken asked, appearing beside me as I tried to move a heavy bucket of paint.
"Sure," I said, stepping aside.
He lifted the bucket with ease, his muscles straining slightly under the weight. "You're stronger than you look," I joked.
"And you're funnier than you look," he shot back, his grin teasing but not unkind.
We carried the bucket to the supply truck together, the silence between us strangely comfortable.
"So, do you always volunteer for stuff like this?" he asked as we walked back.
"Not always," I admitted. "But I like helping people. It feels… grounding."
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's a good way to put it. Grounding."
For a moment, I thought he might say something else, but then Jake called his name from across the park.
"Looks like I'm needed," he said, flashing me a quick smile. "See you around, Alicia."
I watched him walk away, my heart beating a little faster than it had any right to.
---
That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about him. There was something about Ken that felt different. It wasn't just his charm or his confidence—it was the way he seemed to see through the surface, as if he was looking for something deeper.
But I barely knew him. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to.