Chapter 19
It’s almost noon on Sunday when Micah and I reach Lilah and Deck’s small cabin. It’s nearly hidden in thick woods and feels remote and isolated, although in reality it’s only a few miles from Logan’s headquarters.
I like it immediately. They’ve obviously worked hard to fix it up and make it pleasant and cozy. There are handcrafted wooden chairs on the tiny porch and cheerful red-and-white curtains in the windows.
Like me, they’ve started a small garden recently. The ATV they always use is parked near the front door.
We leave the motorcycle beside it and head for the front door. Lilah comes out with a smile and one hand on the curve of her belly.
She steps down from the porch to hug Micah and then give me a wave in greeting.
I appreciate her sensitivity in not trying to hug me too.
“Come on in,” she tells us. “Deck is in there beating bread dough into submission.”
This comment startles me into a laugh.
“He’s baking bread now?” Micah asks.
“He got it into his head a few months ago and has been working on it ever since. The results haven’t yet been to his satisfaction.”
Her dry, fond tone makes her attitude toward her partner clear, but my warning bells clang anyway. “There’s beating involved in baking?”
“Well, there’s some sort of punching. Don’t ask me why.” She must see something on my face because she adds softly, “Deck is the kindest, gentlest man who ever lived. Ask anyone. You don’t need to worry about that.”
To my relief, she doesn’t sound offended. Just defensive on Deck’s account.
“Okay. Sorry. I worry about every man in that regard.”
“I get it. I used to be like that too. But people still occasionally surprise us in a good way.”
I think about that. Glance up at Micah, who has been listening and watching me. Then I nod. Maybe to Lilah, maybe to Micah—I’m not even sure.
Micah relaxes into a smile and puts a hand on my back. “She wouldn’t be my Kat if she weren’t immediately suspicious of everyone.”
I elbow him playfully in the side (not the side with the gunshot). “Hey, my suspicious nature has kept me safe this far.”
“Yes, it has.” He’s smiling down at me with something that feels like a kiss in his eyes.
Ridiculously, it makes me flush hot.
Lilah appears to be smiling to herself as she opens the front door of the cabin. But all she says is, “Well, I already knew you must have an iron will because there’s no other way to put up with Micah.”
We stay inside until Deck puts the bread in the oven, and then we go outside to hang out since it’s cooler out there. We chat about our backgrounds as Lilah and Deck grill up pork chops and vegetables. Then we eat on a table they have set up around the back of the cabin.
Everything is delicious, and after fifteen minutes, it’s clear that this couple is impossible not to like.
I’d like them anyway after seeing how much they clearly love Micah, but I also like them now for themselves.
I haven’t had any friends for years. Even before Impact, I never had a lot and none I’d consider truly close. But by the time we finish eating, it feels like maybe I actually have two new ones.
The topic of hunting shifts to marksmanship, which leads to Micah bragging about how well I shoot.
I try to shrug it off, but Lilah is clearly intrigued, and somehow the conversation ends with a decision to run a shooting competition between the four of us.
No one anywhere would waste real bullets on target practice, but Deck has a high-quality air rifle that shoots pellets and is accurate at longer distances, so we use that.
It’s all in good fun. In fact, I’m probably the only genuinely competitive person among us. Plus my skill with guns has been purely practical, so I have none of my self-esteem wrapped up in my abilities.
I never even considered myself particularly good at shooting until Micah told me I was.
Deck improvises a target out of a piece of old canvas tied taut between trees, and we take turns shooting at it, moving progressively backward to increase the challenge.
All four of us are good. For the first two rounds, we all hit dead center. On the third round, when we’re quite far from the target, to my shock, Micah misses the center.
He laughs and throws up his free hand. “Predictable. My own friends arrange a game that blows a hole in my image in front of the girl I’m trying to impress.”
He says the words so nonchalantly—like they’re open knowledge—that I blush again. “I really don’t give a damn about such things, but I’m surprised you’re the first out.”
“In my own defense, it’s not skill. It’s my vision. At a distance, it’s not all that great.”
I’d never even thought about it, but of course glasses are few and far between in the world after Impact.
Micah’s vision must not be too bad overall since I’ve never noticed him having trouble with it before.
But without corrective lenses, shooting at long distances can’t be done without perfect vision.
Deck signs something out that Lilah interprets. “Everyone always knew to give Micah close-up jobs.”
Micah twitches his eyebrows at me. “I’m really good in close quarters.”
I can’t help but spill over with giggles at his teasing, obvious innuendo. “All I’ve got to say is you need some better lines.”
Lilah misses just slightly during the next round, so Deck and I back up even farther from the target. We’re quite far away now. It’s not sniper range or anything, but I don’t remember ever purposefully shooting a target at this distance. I don’t actually know whether I’ll be good at it or not.
Deck goes first, and Micah runs over to check the target. “Just off of center,” he calls out. “You can do better, Kat. Hit it dead center.”
I find my chances of doing better than Deck rather iffy, but I position the rifle, line up the sight, and take a deep breath.
Then I pull the trigger.
Micah is closest, so he checks the result. When I hear his whoop of excitement, I know I won.
I really can’t believe it. It didn’t even feel that hard. Just another thing to be done.
Micah is so thrilled one would think he won himself. He runs over, scoops me up in a hug, and twirls me around, still exulting over my victory.
With most men I’ve known—even with Jesse—masculine ego would have interfered with any enjoyment over being beat in such an activity by a woman. But Micah clearly couldn’t care less that he was the loser here.
All that matters to him is that I’m the winner.
Deck is obviously not cursed with obnoxious machismo either. He’s relaxed and smiling as he yields to my triumph, and Lilah is nearly as excited as Micah that I’m so good with the rifle.
I always knew I was good enough to do what I needed to do.
It never occurred to me I was this good.
It honestly has never occurred to me before that I’m particularly good at anything except music and taking care of myself.
But maybe I am.