“Huh.”

There is a dirt road that curves up the side of the foothill, right up to the house. It’s extremely well hidden from the main highway. Mr. Young told me that when he saw the Omegatroops rolling through, he knocked down his mailbox and camouflaged the entrance to the turnoff with bushes and trees. It’s like this place was made for a situation like this.

“Chris told me you were doing a charter school,” I say as we walk into the barn. It’s a big wooden building with straw and a couple of animals that stink worse than a litter box.

“Yeah,” Jeff answers. “It was okay. At least I got to get off the property for a few hours every week.”

I don’t respond. If I lived here, with parents like his and a property like this, I don’t think I’d care if I “got” to go to school. Then again, the grass is always greener on the other side. All I wanted growing up was a happy family. I only got half of one. Anyway, I’m sure Jeff has his own reasons for what he wants.

“Cassidy?”

I turn around, watching Chris walk into the barn with a box of tools in his right hand. He’s hauling a couple of pieces of wood over his shoulder. “I’m fixing the leak in the roof,” he announces. “Want to help?”

I think that’s code for “Want to talk?”

I nod.

“Sure.”

Jeff sighs, seeing that he’s been dismissed from the conversation yet again. I smile apologetically but he waves it off. “See you later.”

Chris is already halfway up the ladder.

“How do you do that?” I ask.

“What?” He climbs onto the loft and sets the tools down.

“Climb without using your hands. It’s awesome.”

“Years of practice.” I reach the top and step onto the creaky boards. There’s a bunch of straw up here, and I can see the gaping hole in the corner that Chris is going to fix.

“What happened?” I say. “Did a meteor hit?”

“Nah. Just a couple of weak boards.”

He starts working on patching it up, removing his over-shirt in favor of the black tee. I lean back on the wall and watch him move, not realizing that I’ve been staring until he turns to me. “You’re staring again, Cassie,” he says, a wry grin spreading across this face.

“No, I’m watching you patch a hole,” I reply, embarrassed. “There’s not much else to do around here.”

“Then don’t watch,” he says. “Do.”

“Excuse me?”

He holds out a hammer.

“You hammer in the nail while I hold this last piece of up. Can you handle that?”

“Duh,” I reply, making a face. “If I can survive a week with you, I can do anything.”

“Ha. Ha.” He holds the last piece of wood up to the wall. “Go ahead.”

I take the heavy hammer and pound it against the big nail in the wall. Even with all my muscle power, it’s still hard to drive it through the hard wood.

“Too much for you, Thumbelina?” Chris laughs.

“Shut up,” I say, slapping his chest. “I can do it.”

I pound a few more times, getting the nail in halfway. Enough to hold the board up. Epic win. “Ha,” I say, smug. “See?”

“You’re hitting it at an angle,” Chris replies, rolling his eyes. “That’s why it won’t go in all the way. Here.”

He wraps his arms around me from behind and puts his hands over my hands. My whole body tenses up with his closeness. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in my head.

“Swing back,” Chris says, pulling my arms back, “and hit it head on.”

He slams the hammerhead against the nail and it goes in all the way. In one sweep. What a showoff.

“Lucky shot,” I shrug.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

He draws one hand up my arm, fingering my long hair before tucking it behind my ear. “You know what I think?”

I shake my head, frozen.

“I think you’re stubborn.”

“How enlightening.”

His breath is hot against my cheek. He drops the hammer on the ground, making me jump.“You also won’t admit it when you can’t do something,” he says, and I can feel him smiling against my ear.

“So I have some pride,” I whisper, curling my hands over the top of his, which are now resting on my stomach. “So what?”

“Nothing. I was just making an observation.” He slowly kisses my neck, lingering just long enough to shift his position and brush his lips across the side of my cheek. He stops talking and, miracle of miracles, so do I. I seriously can’t think of any sarcastic, spur of the moment quip.

I must be in love.

He kisses my other cheek, inching his hands up the side of my hips, careful to avoid my bruise. Then, without missing a beat, he tips my head to the right and leans in to press his lips against forehead before dipping his head down. I close my eyes, forgetting about the stupid nail and hammer and end of the world for two seconds, and slide my hand around the back of his neck, bringing his lips down to mine.

I’ve never kissed a guy before, so I’m surprised at how easy it is to fall into. He tastes like coffee and smells even better, filling up every sense in my body. Sensory overload.

Chris turns me around and presses me against his chest, his strong arms caging me in. There’s no escape, and that knowledge sends a thrill through me. He’s holding me so tight that I can’t breathe. Apparently love isn’t only blind, it’s also bad for your health.

Frustrated that I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. Chris holds me upright without flinching, slipping his hands under my legs, sinking down into the itchy straw. I break off the long kiss and rest my forehead against his. Chris is breathing hard — no harder than me, at least.

Both of us just study each other without saying a word. Chris’s face is very relaxed, and he’s smiling softly at me with a look of adoration.

Yes. Adoration. I make a mental note to remember this moment.

I cup the side of his cheek with my hand, feeling the rough stubble under my fingers. I gently kiss him on the lips. He snakes his hand into my hair and returns the gesture before lying on his back, tracing his fingers over every angle of my face. He brushes his mouth across the hollow my throat and I roll to his side, tucked underneath his arm and against his chest.

I toy with the fabric of his shirt for a few moments before he finally breaks the silence with his deep, strong voice. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time,” he says, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

“Was it worth the wait?” I reply, grinning.

“Absolutely. We should have done this sooner.” He kisses me again, sending tendrils of electricity through my body. “Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know.” I prop myself up on one arm, still buzzing with the rush of such intimate contact. “Hey, you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re an older man.”

“Meaning?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m nineteen. You’re twenty-eight. This is practically illegal.”

Chris sits up, laughing. It’s a deep, slightly seductive sound.

“Last I checked, nineteen was over the threshold of legal adulthood,” he replies, pressing his mouth to my temple. “I think mutual consent is part of the equation.”

“What if I don’t consent?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll convince you,” Chris says in a low voice.

“Do tell.”

Chris chuckles and pulls me against him. I have to admit, if there’s one positive thing about the EMP and the Omega takeover — it’s definitely this.

For the next couple of days, I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine. My health is almost completely back to normal. I spend my time helping Mrs. Young around the property, gathering chicken eggs — which are really breakable, by the way — cleaning the house and gathering and preserving food. At night we sit around the dining room table and eat together. We keep the curtains pulled tight so no light will escape. Of course, our lights are just lamps and candles, but still. We don’t want to give ourselves away.