by Lacey Black
“Still do,” I mumble aloud.
“My point is, you’ve got to take a risk to reap the reward, Malcolm.”
“Thank you, Grandpa. This has been an educational and slightly nauseating conversation,” I state, standing up and grabbing the bag. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few hours of work I need to finish.”
As I turn to head to my office, Grandpa hollers, “Have fun tonight. I hear the fish are biting.”
Waving, I secure myself inside my office, ready to get to work. The sooner I complete my to-do list, the quicker I’m home and fishing with my new little friend.
And out of all the things I could do tonight—all the women I could be with—the thought of it being anyone but them is unfathomable.
“Malcolm!” Trace hollers, running up the driveway to where I stand.
“Hey, Champ. Are you ready to go fishing?” I ask, dropping to my knees in front of him.
“Yep! I broughted my Spider-Man pole,” he informs.
“Great. Let’s help your mom get her stuff inside and settled, and then we’ll go wet a line, okay?”
“Okay!” Trace runs back to the trunk of the car and helps Leni remove her things. The third and final item she pulls out is a short Spider-Man pole with bright green line and a red and white bobber.
“You carry the pole, and I’ll help your mom with this tote,” I inform the little guy, who carefully handles the fishing device, carrying it into the garage.
“It doesn’t have a hook on it. My dad removed it after their excursion because Trace kept wanting to play with it,” Lenora says, trailing behind as we step inside the mudroom.
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, holding the door open for her to enter. “Probably smart of him,” I add, glancing back to see Trace pretending to cast beside my car.
“Trace, not too close to Mr. Wright’s car, please,” she hollers before stepping inside completely.
The little boy runs inside, excitement radiating from his tiny body, as he helps his mom unpack her things. The second he has the last item set on the floor, he turns to face her with big, hopeful eyes. “Can I go now?”
She grins at her son. “You have to listen to Malcolm the whole time, okay? And be very careful.”
He sighs, as if he’s heard her request for caution many times in the past. “I be careful, Mommy.”
“And I bought a life jacket,” I add, hoping to ease some of the worry lines around Leni’s eyes.
She looks up, meeting my gaze, and gives me a grateful smile. It sends my heartbeat into stroke-level territory, and I don’t know why. I’ve never reacted to a simple grin before, not the way I do with hers. “Thank you.”
I’m pretty sure she’s not just referring to the life jacket I purchased.
I nod and turn to Trace. “Ready to go, Champ?”
“Yes!” he bellows, throwing his hands in the air and running to grab his fishing pole.
“Do you need me for anything?” I ask, happy to see her for the first time since last Friday night at ice cream. Even though we’ve texted a few times randomly since, I haven’t locked eyes on her in six long days. Monday night, my committee meeting went long, resulting in her already leaving the building by the time I was finished, which sucked because I really wanted to see her.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she replies, those gorgeous hazel eyes a little brighter than usual.
Nodding, I state, “Holler if you need anything. We’ll just be out back.”
I watch her gather what she needs for the kitchen and begins her work. It’s weird I could stand here and watch her work the entire time, but that’s not going to happen. There’s a little boy with his face practically pressed against the sliding door, anxiously waiting for me to join him outside.
I already dug out what we needed from the shed and placed it on the back patio. The new life jacket, worms, net, and a small tacklebox is ready to go. “All right, Trace, let’s put on your life jacket and take our stuff to the dock.”
He shows me his missing teeth as he grins up at me. “That’s the same colors as my pole,” he declares as I hold up the red and white striped vest.
“It is.” I make sure it’s secure and tight before picking up the box of supplies and container of worms.
“Where’s yours?”
I stop and face the child. “My what?” He pulls on his life jacket. “Oh, I didn’t bring one for me.”
“Mommy says you should always have a life jacket around the water.”
His words are simple, yet a direct reminder of how much his mother loves him. “Then I should probably put one on too, huh?”
Trace nods eagerly and follows me to the shed. Honestly, I don’t know when the last time I wore one was. I don’t wear it when I kayak or canoe, mostly because I’m a great swimmer. But they always say lead by example, right? That’s why I dig one out of the shed, blow off the dust, and slip it on over my T-shirt.
Finally, we’re all set to go fishing.
I find myself explaining everything to a very curious little boy as I secure the hook onto his line and bait it. He giggles as the worm wiggles against my fingers, leaving smears of dirt in its wake. When the pole is finally ready to cast, we take position at the end of the dock.
“You got this, Champ?” I ask, handing over the pole.
Trace nods eagerly, presses the big red button, draws back the pole, and lets it fly. Considering it’s a small kid’s pole, he does a great job.
“Perfect,” I compliment, reminding him to set the line.
Then, we take a seat at the end of the dock. Our feet dangle, but mine are much closer to the water than his. He swings them anxiously but tries to keep his pole as still as possible. Every once in a while, he’ll reel a bit of his line, making sure to keep it tight. Considering he’s only five, he’s doing very well with what his grandpa clearly taught him.
After only a few minutes, he gets a bite. “Very slowly get ready to set the hook,” I whisper, watching as the bobber dips below the water. “Now.”
Trace jerks back on the pole, setting the hook inside the fish’s mouth, and starts to reel. The end of the small pole bends downward, but if he’s struggling to pull it in, he doesn’t show it.
“Nice and steady, Champ. You got it,” I state, standing up and grabbing the net. When he gets the fish to the surface, I drop to my knees and scoop it up. Trace jumps up now, kneeling right beside me and watching in utter fascination as I bring his catch onto the dock. “Look at the size of that catfish.”
“It’s huge!” he declares, obviously proud of his fifteen-inch catfish.
“It sure is. Stand up and you can hold your fish. I’ll take a picture for your mom.”
He does, lifting his pole and grabbing the line. I help him get into position and grab my phone. I’m able to snap a handful of pictures with Trace grinning proudly as he holds up his big catch. He struggles to keep holding up the fish, so I step in and grab the line.
With the fish back on the dock, he bends over, watching my every move as I grab pliers from the tacklebox and carefully remove the hook. When it’s free of the sharp object, I lift the fish carefully, and hold it up. “Do you want to hold it?”
He observes the fish for a few seconds before nodding.
“You have to do it like this,” I show him, “or the fins might poke you.” I take his little hands and replace mine with his.
He instantly starts to giggle. “It’s slippery!”
“It is,” I agree, grabbing my phone once more and taking a picture of him checking out his fish and not even caring that I’m getting the device dirty.
I explain where the catfish can get you, the fins puncturing your skin and causing discomfort and pain. Trace listens intently, soaking up everything I say like a little sponge. I place the fish on a stringer line and slowly lower it back into the water, securing the lock on the post of the dock. Then, I grab the pliers and make sure the hook is ready to go.
“Are we done now?” he asks, dis
appointment evident in his question.
I smile and squeeze his shoulder. “No, Champ. We’re just getting started.”
Chapter 12
Leni
“Call me if you have any problems,” I tell my mom but don’t meet her gaze. I already know she’s shaking her head at my statement.
“We’ll be fine, Leni. He’s been talking about this sleepover with Harlow and Hayden for days. He can’t wait to tell them all about the fish he caught Thursday evening,” she says, not even bothering to hide her grin.
I glance into the living room, where my son is playing with his future twin cousins. They already have tons of toys out, but my parents don’t seem to mind. In fact, they usually stand by, watching fondly, while the kids practically tear up the house. They’re definitely a lot more relaxed when it comes to grandkids than they were with their own children.
“So what are the plans tonight?” she asks, leading me into the kitchen for a few minutes.
“I’m going to meet Grayson and Laken at Pony Up. They offered to pick me up, but it’s such a gorgeous night, I don’t mind walking. It’s only two blocks.”
“Probably a smart move, and I’m sure Gray will drop you off at your place when you leave,” she says, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge and sliding one across the counter. “Or…you could get a ride from someone else.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, causing a bubble of laughter to spill from my lips.
“Subtle,” I mumble, shaking my head.
“So? What’s going on with you and Malcolm Wright?” she asks, leaning against the counter.
I sigh, not really sure how to answer this. After that big, long text thread a week ago, we’ve only seen each other Thursday night at his place. We’ve texted a few times, but they were casual and friendly. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I guess I consider him a friend. He’s been great with Trace and took him fishing while I was cleaning his house, which you know. And besides, I’m not really sure I’m looking for a relationship right now. I need to focus on Trace.”
“There’s nothing wrong with focusing on your son and on yourself, Leni.”
I nod, not really sure what more to say. I guess I’ll cross that bridge if anything more were to transpire between us, but I’m not really sure anything will. Malcolm has been polite, friendly, and maybe even a little flirty at times—but that’s who he is. He’s never taken it any further than that.
“Have you heard from Greg lately?”
She hit another sore spot right on the head. “No.”
Mom shakes her head and tsks. “Such a shame he turned out to be a complete turd.”
Her comment catches me by surprise, and I can’t stop from laughing. “You’re correct. He’s a complete turd.”
She grins and reaches for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re doing a wonderful job raising him, honey. Don’t ever doubt that.”
I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks. How’s Dad getting around?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He stopped using that crutch a few days ago, which was probably for the better. He was going to kill himself sooner or later,” she says with a laugh. “It still gets just a little sore on him, but as long as he takes it easy and rests, he’s fine.”
I’m just glad it wasn’t any worse than a bad sprain.
“Now, go get ready to meet your sister. They should be about finished with dinner by now and headed up to the bar. I’ve heard that Tucker guy play, and he puts on a great show,” my mom says, referring to Tucker Simms, a Mason Creek transplant who moved here from Billings. He plays at all the town festivals and events, with his mix of classic country and 90’s hits.
“Night, Mom. Call me if you need me,” I reiterate, even though I don’t need to. I know they’ll be fine.
“Go. You kids have fun,” she demands, practically pushing me out the door.
I say goodbye to Trace and the girls and head out the door. I’ve never been one to go out a lot, especially when I was back in Washington, but now that I’m home, I admit I’m enjoying getting to see friends every now and again.
And I know Trace is in good hands.
Let the night begin.
Pony Up is packed, but that’s to be expected with Tucker playing. He knows how to draw an audience. Even in the crowded bar, it’s easy to spot my sister’s vibrant red hair. I was always jealous of her hair color growing up, having to settle of the dull brown I was born with.
“You’re here,” Laken bellows, the slight flush to her cheeks telling me she’s already had a drink or two.
I hug my sister and am greeted by everyone already there. Justine is here, who’s with Tucker, Grady, and Charlee, as well as a few others I’ve come to be reacquainted with since my return. “Where’s Grayson?” I ask, glancing around for my sister’s other half.
“He’s grabbing a few drinks at the bar,” she says, and something about the Cheshire cat grin sets me on high alert.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my skeptical hazel eyes at her.
“Oh, nothing!” she sings, smiling over her straw as she sucks up the last of whatever was in her glass. “You look ah-may-zing,” she adds, giving me a look from head to toe.
I didn’t exactly put a lot of effort into tonight’s appearance, but I didn’t just pull my hair up and throw on a T-shirt either. My hair is down, straightened with the flat iron I rarely use, and I decided to wear some of the clothes in the back of my closet I only pull out on the rarest occasions. I’m wearing a pair of cutoff shorts, and while I don’t usually don things that might accentuate my ass, these shorts are stretchier than normal denim and do well at concealing my rolls. The top I chose is a deep blue halter top with little white flowers all over it. Plus, it’s super breezy and flowy and doesn’t make me feel like I’m on display. I learned a long time ago, with boobs as ginormous as mine, V-necks are not my friend. Unless you want every guy within a two-mile radius ogling your girls.
“Hey, Leni.” I turn and offer Grayson a smile as he hands my sister another drink.
That’s when I spot the man standing beside him, holding a beer bottle in each hand. “Hi,” Malcolm says, handing me a drink.
“Hi,” I reply, the word coming out a nervous squeak.
Malcolm lifts his beer to his lips and winks, sending my heart beating into a level that would certainly concern most physicians.
Fortunately for me, my sister pulls me into a conversation with Justine, and soon The Tucker Simms Band is starting to play. The girls instantly pull me into the middle of the dance floor, where I try to hide closer to the band so I’m not directly in anyone’s line of sight. Their popular rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama” kicks things off and flows directly into some John Michael Montgomery.
After the third song ends, I wave my hand over my face, desperately needing a drink to cool down. As I approach the table, pulling money from my wristlet, I’m surprised to see Malcolm there, holding out another beer.
I take the bottle and give him a suspicious glance. “You didn’t roofie this, did you?” I tease.
He snorts out a quick laugh. “I don’t need to drug you to get in your pants, Lenora.” He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “All I’d have to do is turn on my charms.”
I dramatically roll my eyes. “Your charms? Is that some cheesy pickup line?” I ask, taking a drink of the cold brew.
“Cheesy?” He gasps, feigning shock. “I’ll have you know my pickup lines are the best.” He turns serious and leans in. “Are you a parking ticket, because you have fine written all over you.”
I burst out laughing, catching the attention of everyone around me.
“Not that one? How about? Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you I smile.”
I try to cover my giggles with my hand, which only makes him grin more.
“What about this one? If your phone number was a dollar amount, what would it be?”
I groan and shake my head. “Those are horrible!”
He ts
ks. “Ladies these days don’t know good lines,” he declares to Grayson, who’s now standing beside him.
Grayson gives me a shocked look. “You mean you don’t like, there’s something wrong with my cell phone. It doesn’t have your number in it.”
I giggle and shake my head. “You’re lucky my sister already loves you.”
He seems to sober a bit, his eyes seeking her out. “Yes, I am.”
“Come on, you’ve had enough of a break,” Justine says, pulling on my arm.
I go to set my bottle down, but Malcolm snatches it up. “I’ll hold it for you.”
With a quick flash of a smile, I’m pulled back out into the thick of the dance floor for a few more songs.
The night progresses in a fit of laughter, drinks, and more fun than I anticipated. And to my surprise, a lot of flirting. Malcolm’s a natural flirt, but I’ve found I enjoy the banter with him. I’ve even shocked myself with some of the things I’ve said to him over the course of the evening.
Since I walked here, I decide to have one more drink. It’s getting late, though Tucker still has another hour to play, and even though the streets of Mason Creek are safe, I prefer to have a clearer mind when making my way home.
I head for the bar, having finished my previous drink before hitting the dance floor and chatting with my friends. I’m able to slip between a few patrons and catch the bartender’s attention. Just as he steps up, I feel a presence behind me. I already know who it is without turning around. It’s as if I can feel him, as if my body is hyperaware of his.
One half recognizing the other.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol flowing through my veins or the flirtatious banter, but I sway my hips and rock back on my heels, my ass coming in contact with the man standing behind me. Malcolm leans forward, pressing his front to my back, as he rests his palm on the counter beside me.
To those around me, it looks like a man leaning forward to order a drink.
To me, it’s a man making it known how badly he desires a woman.