Page 74 of Dropping the Ball

He eyes my shirtdress of Baltic blue poplin, cinched at the waist with a thin gray belt. When his eyes drop to my high-heeled Mary Janes, he shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“You’re underestimating me,” I tell him.

A trace of his smile appears. “I doubt it. Meet me at my truck.”

I shake my head but go, leaning against the door as I wait for him to appear. He comes through the side gate a few minutes later with an armload of studs.

“Want to get the tailgate?”

“Sure, now you need me,” I say, walking around to help. “I’m an old-fashioned girl and believe men should open doors, but I’ll do it this time.”

“There’s a button on the taillight.”

I hit it and lower the tailgate. When it’s loaded and shut, he walks to the passenger side to open the door.

“All right, old-fashioned liar, I’ve got the door for you.”

“Liar? How dare you, sir.”

“You’re as old-fashioned as I am,” he says, shutting the door after me.

I pick up the discussion when he gets in on his side. “I’m old-fashioned in some ways.”

He starts the truck. “Like what? You seem like you would definitely buy your own flowers.”

I smile. “I would if I wanted some.”

“Girl, get those flowers. You don’t need a man,” he says in a vapid sorority girl voice.

“You’re right. Besides flowers, what would I possibly do with a man?”

“You tell me.” His tone is somewhere between teasing and serious.

My smile fades. This was not a smart joke to run with.Nice one, Katie. Just punch the bruise. “Micah—”

“No to whatever you’re about to say. Doesn’t need to be dug up. We’re good.”

Right. Change of subject. “I had no idea you live so close to the warehouse. You grew up here?”

“We moved here in middle school. My uncle bought it and said we could live in it until I was done with school. He didn’t charge us rent.” He shrugs. “He’s bought cars that cost more than our house did at the time, so it wasn’t a big deal to him, although he always made it a big deal to us. Told my mom to handle utilities and bills. Told me to handle the yard. And I’ve been here ever since.”

I want to ask so many follow-up questions.Here in a stuck way? Do you wish you could leave? Why did you buy it?But that’s we’re-starting-a-relationship personal, not coworker personal. “How did you get all the way over to Hillview every day? Your cousin?”

“Rode my bike at 6:30 every morning down to Ponca and locked it up behind a tire store. Caught the Metrobus and rode it an hour to a Starbucks on Northland where I met my cousin. Same thing in reverse after school.”

Hillview hadn’t started until 8:30. “It took you two hours to get to school every morning?” I’m trying and failing not to sound appalled.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he says. “Kayla liked to be early, so it was more like ninety minutes.”

“Micah, that’s—”

“Fine,” he says. “It was fine. It’s why I was tired and moody most days, but I wasn’t going to blow a chance like Hillview. Andif it makes you feel any better, I got a lot of studying done on the bus.”

“Did you like growing up here?”

“Mostly.”

His tone doesn’t invite me to dive into that answer. Guess that was still too personal. I glance through the window as we turn out of his street, struck again by the mix of houses from dilapidated to renovated to condos. “Looks like this area is changing. Gentrifying, you said?”

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