Page 45 of Making It Up

She nods. “And specifically while you’re still on the clock, so they don’t send someone else, but also at the end of your shift, so you can stay.”

I take a beat and really take in all the details. Yes, she’s dressed in hunting camo and sitting in a deer blind, but the food she has, and the fact that she drove out here as the sun was setting, and no one else is around…

“So this is a date?”

She smiles. “Not just a date. The perfect date for a guy who loves to hunt and be outdoors, right?”

I’m actually suddenly not sure what to say. I had expected her to suggest we meet in Lincoln for dinner, or that I come to her house, but park my truck four blocks away.

This all took some set up. She did this because she thought I would like it.

And because she has a mischievous streak. I can’t forget that part. She looked up ways to get turned in for breaking the rules and get me sent out as an officer. There’s an undeniable sparkle in her eyes when she talks about that.

I push off the doorway and step further into the blind. “So now what? No gun, so you don’t want me to take you out hunting. It’s off-season and too dark anyway.”

She sets her phone to the side with the flashlight on, shining upward. It hits the ceiling and lends a soft glow to the enclosure. She criss-crosses her legs and leans in to grab a grape.

“I don’t need you to teach me to hunt. My dad taught me, and I don’t really like it. I wasn’t going to confess that so early into our relationship though.”

I wonder if she has any idea how hearing her call this a relationship actually shakes me. This is dangerous. But she can call it whatever she wants, I remind myself. That doesn’t change the trajectory. She’ll figure out that this is a bad idea, then she’ll end it. No matter what she calls it.

So, fuck it. I sink down onto the floor in front of her, also criss-crossing my legs.

“I’m surprised they don’t have chairs out here,” she says.

“I’m sure they do during hunting season.”

She grins and pops the grape into her mouth, chewing for a moment.

“So you know how to hunt?” I ask.

“Well, I know how to shoot a gun. And I know the general idea of hunting. But I’ve never gone. I do not want to kill animals.” She shrugs. “He taught us to shoot and then invited us along. Austin and Harlow went, and I stayed home. Harlow went the one time and that was it for her. Austin hunted with him though.”

“You know how to shoot though?” I press. I had no idea.

And I need to stop assuming I know anything about this woman, clearly.

“Line up some targets or some old beer cans and I don’t do too bad.”

It shouldn’t surprise me that Scott taught his kids to shoot and offered them a chance to hunt.

“I’m better with a handgun though.”

I freeze in reaching for a strawberry. “You can shoot a handgun?”

“Yep. I even own one.”

“Your dad, right?”

She nods. “For self-defense. He makes us do regular target practice. Otherwise, it is locked away safely at my house. I don’t like it, but I’m comfortable enough with it.”

“You’re a good shot though?”

“If I wanted to hit somebody, I could,” she says, tipping her chin up slightly.

“Good,” I say simply.

She gives me a faint smile. I don’t probe into what that means.