Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Hmm,” she says.
“It was easiest on me. I could think about teen boy stuff. Like hockey and how to outwit the school’s Wi-Fi so I could watch porn.”
She laughs, and when she meets my gaze, we both get a little stuck. It’s a warm night out on the water, and there’s no place I’d rather be.
From the soft look in her eyes, I think Darcy might agree. But when her pole suddenly wobbles, she’s not ready.
Lucky for both of us, I have fast reflexes. I grab the fishing pole before it can wobble out of her hands, and Darcy gasps. “Holy cow! Is that a fish?”
“Let’s hope so. Hold ’er steady.”
She grips the pole. “Now what?”
“Give it a little tug, then start reeling.”
She does, letting out a small, startled squeak as the rod jerks in response. “Oh my God! What is it?”
“Reel it in and find out.” I suppress a laugh as she furiously turns the handle, her whole body tense with concentration.
With a sudden splash, her catch breaks the surface—a small, silvery-blue fish thrashing wildly in protest.
Darcy lets out a delighted shriek. “Omigod! A baby.”
“Hey, it’s not bad for a first catch.” I grab the line and lift the fish up, inspecting it. “Snapper blue. Baby version of a bluefish.”
“Aw!” She beams. “It’s kind of cute.”
“Don’t let it fool you,” I warn. “They’ve got teeth.”
As if on cue, the fish twists in my grip, its tiny, sharp jaws snapping the air.
Darcy yelps and jerks back. “Holy crap. I caught a demon.”
I snort, carefully unhooking the fish. “Bluefish are all bite, even the little guys. This one’s too small to keep, though.”
“Wait! Selfie!” She whips her phone out of her pocket and leans into me. I get a whiff of her perfume as she snaps a shot.
Darcy watches as I lower the fish back into the water. “Bye cutie!” It gives a quick flick of its tail and disappears beneath the surface.
Then she shows me her phone. “Look at us and my prize-winning fish.”
The photo frames us perfectly. We’re both smiling, and the sky is turning pink behind us. I look as happy as I’ve looked in years, outside of a hockey rink.
I hardly recognize myself.
Chapter 19
Like Summer Camp with Côtes du Rhône
Darcy
Eric probably finds me ridiculous, but fishing is exhilarating. We don’t catch anything large enough to keep, though, and now it’s getting dark.
“Come on,” he says finally, removing the hook from my pole. “I can barely see the shoreline anymore.”
“Fine,” I concede. “But this was amazing. Thank you.”
He steers the boat back to the dock and hops out. Then he does something impressive with a rope to secure it. When I try to step onto the dock, though, the boat rocks. I stumble forward, and suddenly I’m pressed against his chest, his hands instinctively catching my waist to steady me.
We both go still.
In the dim light, his face is only inches from mine, close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in his eyes. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. His gaze drops to my lips for just a heartbeat, and my pulse stutters.
Do it, I think. His hands are still on my waist, and I can feel the slight pressure of his thumbs against my ribs.
Then Eric clears his throat, his hands dropping away as he takes a step back.
“Careful there,” he says, his voice slightly rougher than usual.
“Yeah,” I manage, my cheeks burning. “Thanks.”
I’m full of disappointment as we go back inside.
His father pours us another glass of wine, and we do a jigsaw puzzle at the kitchen table until Eric starts yawning. That’s when we head upstairs.
I expect it to get awkward, but it doesn’t. Ten minutes later, I’m lying in the top bunk of his childhood bedroom, feeling content. The window is open to the nighttime breeze, and if I listen carefully, I can hear the gentle sound of the water lapping against the seawall.
Eric shuts out the lamp and tucks himself into bed beneath me. “You okay up there?”
“Never better. It’s like summer camp, but with better food and a nice Côtes du Rhône.”
He chuckles softly.
“It’s beautiful here. But I can see why you don’t come back that often. I understand why it’s painful.”
“You’re right,” he says quietly. “It’s both.”
I fall asleep listening to the gentle sound of the waves.
The next morning, his mother makes us a big brunch, while I help out in the kitchen. The meal goes well enough, but I can tell Eric is eager to get out of the house by the way he carries my bag down to the front door well in advance of our departure time.
His mother pours me another cup of coffee and asks me about my classes at school. It’s all very friendly until she happens to say, “You know, I got some photographs of Danny to bring to the wedding. But I can’t decide on the frame. Why don’t I show them to you so you can help me choose?”