Catch and Release

by Laura Drewry

  One thing he was glad for was the fact that Luka had at least shown the foresight to lock in special guests for each episode, because Ronan couldn’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to sit in front of the television every week and watch him sear halibut, braise ribs, or, as in this particular moment, bake pies. Maybe they wouldn’t; for all Ro knew, by the time the first episode made it to TV, Luka and her editors might well decide to cut everything except the parts with the special guests out on the boats—and if Ro had it his way, that was exactly what would happen.

  After all, that was how the show had run for its first five years, before coming to the Buoys, and he was a big believer in the adage “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” In the meantime, he’d have to deal with the cameras and with having Hope right there, but he wouldn’t be able to answer the question of when.

  Luckily—or not—she and Chuck didn’t spend too much time in the kitchen with him, because the guest they’d been waiting for, who was a hell of a lot more interesting than Ro, was now eating lunch in the next room. So as Ro slid the pies into the oven, Hope and Chuck took their cameras into the pub to talk to Owen.

  Ronan had met Owen Wulff and his dad last night, when they’d waited in the pub to compliment him on their meal. Not many guests did that, so Ro hung around and talked with them for a while.

  Avid lake fishermen from northern Alberta, they’d been saving for a trip to the coast so they could fish out on the ocean, but then Owen lost both his legs in a combine accident almost two years back. Everything they had went into his treatments, his therapy, and keeping their farm running.

  Then their tiny community came together, pooled its money, and not only sent Owen and his dad to the Buoys for a few days but also took over running the farm while they were away. Before Ro could get into it any more with them, one of the other guests had come in looking for a cinnamon latte, and by the time Ronan got back, Owen and his dad had already gone down to their cabin.

  If anyone had asked Ronan, he would have said the entire Hooked episode should be focused on Owen, but as Ro stood in the doorway to the pub and watched Hope work, he realized something she seemed to already instinctively know.

  Owen didn’t want to be the center of attention. So he had two prosthetic legs, big deal. It didn’t make him any more special than his friend who had braces on his teeth or another who wore Coke bottle–thick glasses. And even though Hope asked Owen about his prosthetics, she mainly focused on him being a sixteen-year-old kid who liked fast cars, Xbox, and extra jalapeños on his pizza, who was dating a girl named Trish, and who had no idea what he wanted to do after high school.

  “Thank you for talking to us,” Hope said as she reached out to shake both Owen’s and his dad’s hands. “You’ve got an amazing attitude, so I’m sure you’ll succeed at whatever you decide to do. Last question: If you could offer one piece of advice to anyone who’s maybe going through something tough, whether big or small, what would you say?”

  As Ronan watched, Owen laughed and pointed toward his dad. “I’d say what my old man always says. Life might have handed you a shitty deal, but that doesn’t mean your life is shitty.”

  “Owen!” The kid’s dad shot him a sharp look, then turned to Hope. “You’ll have to excuse his language; he forgets we’re not out on the back forty.”

  He could have saved himself the apology, because Hope was already laughing, a soft, smooth sound that made Owen blush as he fumbled for his glass of iced tea. Having been a sixteen-year-old boy himself once, Ro knew exactly what Owen was feeling just then. A beautiful woman thought he was funny—there wasn’t anything better than that. Unfortunately, that feeling lent itself to clumsiness, something Ro also remembered all too well: Owen’s glass slipped out of his hand, dropped onto the bar, and dumped straight onto Hope’s lap.

  Yup, been there, done that.

  Owen and his dad both grabbed for as many napkins as they could reach, and Ronan handed her the dish towel from his shoulder. All the while, Hope just kept laughing.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Ro pulled another towel off the stack near the sink and began wiping up the bar as Hope excused herself to get changed.

  “Thanks,” Owen said, reaching for Ro’s towel. “It’s my mess. I got it.”

  So while the kid wiped up the rest of the bar and the floor, Ro refilled his glass, then waited what he hoped was long enough to not be noticeable before hustling off downstairs. He only had a couple of minutes before the pies would have to come out of the oven, so he needed to make good use of his time. And he planned on making damn good use of it.

  As Ronan hit the bottom of the stairs, Hope came out of her room in fresh clothes, with that bloody bag hanging off her arm, and pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened, her pupils huge. “Hi.”

  In three quick strides, Ro closed the distance between them and muttered one word. “Now.”

  It wasn’t until he slid his hand along the side of her face, with his thumb caressing her unbelievably soft cheek and his fingers stroking the side of her neck, that he hesitated. Should he wait? Maybe she’d changed her mind since last night. She was a woman, after all, and it was his experience that they could change their minds at the drop of a hat.

  “Now.” It was Hope’s voice this time, not his. Smooth, sweet, and too damn tempting for Ro to resist, especially when her fingers bunched around the sides of his stupid apron. Too late to ditch it now.

  With his eyes locked on hers, he lowered his head until there was barely a breath between them, and then finally, slowly, he brushed his mouth against hers, not sure if it was her lips trembling or his own. Did it matter?

  Hell no. All that mattered was kissing Hope, soft and gentle at first, getting to know the contours of her lips, and then skimming his tongue along the edges until she pushed up on her toes and kissed him back, hard and hungry.

  He slid his fingers up through her hair, letting the silky strands tickle his hands as she leaned into his touch, her mouth never leaving his, even as that sexy little moan vibrated out of her.

  Another sound, high-pitched and annoying, buzzed in his ears, but he tried to ignore it because, hello, Hope, but it was getting louder now, like a whining or a—wham!

  Something slammed into the back of Ro’s knees, throwing him forward and off-balance and forcing him to let Hope go to keep from squashing her against the wall.

  “What the—” He didn’t even have to finish, because the projectile that just ended the best kiss of Ronan’s entire fuckin’ life was now wiggling its ass and panting up at him with…yup, that damn dog was smiling at him again.

  God help that freakin’ thing—if Ronan had to boat it over to Port Hardy himself, that’s what he’d do, and soon, too, because now it really wasn’t staying.

  Looking a little dazed, Hope pressed one hand on the wall, then curled the other one around Ro’s elbow until she found her balance.

  “Aw, look at him,” she said, laughing quietly as she crouched down next to the dog. “He’s so happy.”

  “Yeah,” Ro grunted, scowling down at it. “So was I a second ago.”

  He hadn’t said it to be funny, but that didn’t stop Hope from laughing. She pushed herself upright again, slipped both hands around his neck, and kissed him long and deep. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close, melding her soft curves against him, until the vibrating moans were all his this time.

  Apparently the damn dog must have thought Hope was trying to kill him or something, because it kept jumping at them, trying to wedge itself between them, and every time Ro managed to push it away, it came back at a different angle.

  “Ronan,” Hope whispered, her voice weak and trembling. “I…we need to get upstairs before the switchover.”

  Shit. She was right. If Finn and Liam weren’t already back with the first groups, they would be shortly, which meant Ronan was going to have a pub full of people looki
ng for lunch and Hope would need to catch up with who caught what out on the water.

  One more kiss, then he forced his hands to let her go and stepped back. Thank God he had that apron on, because it shielded how tight and uncomfortable his jeans had become in the last couple of minutes.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, trying—and failing—to steady himself as he grinned over at her. “You might want to…”

  He didn’t finish, just waved his fingers around the side of his head until she reached up and finger-combed her hair into place.

  “And you thought this was a bad idea,” she said, her cheeks pink, her lips looking as if they’d been kissed hard—and well.

  “No, I didn’t,” Ro answered. “I think I’m a bad idea; not this.”

  “I guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

  “Yeah,” he said, slumping against the wall with a quiet grunt. “I guess we will.”

  Hope took hold of the railing but waited before starting up the stairs.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Bending at the waist, he pressed his hands against his knees and exhaled slowly. “Just gonna need a second or two here.”

  She wasn’t helping any by standing there grinning at him like that, so why was he laughing?

  “Is there something I can do to help?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he choked. “Just…go!”

  She reached her hand out as though she was about to touch his shoulder, but he pulled back.

  “Not kidding,” he said, grunting through a dry laugh. “Go.”

  “Okay, but if you need—”

  “Hope.”

  Her quiet laugh faded as she made her way up the stairs, leaving Ro bent over, staring down at the dog, who continued to smile up at him as if to say, “Isn’t this great?”

  Yeah. Great.

  After a few long, steadying breaths, Ro stumbled up the stairs with his four-legged shadow and reset the makeshift gate the dog had knocked over to get to Ro. And the whole time, Ronan kept replaying every second of Hope’s kisses over and over in his mind. He’d expected the kiss to be good, great even, but did he expect it to be so fuckin’ amazing that it left him slumped against the wall? Yeah, no. That he hadn’t expected.

  So now, as he locked the dog behind the plywood, then stood staring at the burned crust on the pies, he was right back to wondering the same thing he’d wondered the first day she arrived.

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  —

  Holy flying crapballs, Batman.

  For the rest of the day, every time Hope thought about Ronan’s kiss, she had to stop whatever she was doing and try to blink the memory away, but all she ever managed to do was make the image sharper, more defined.

  It didn’t make sense that those big rough hands could cup her face with such tenderness or that the faint hint of cinnamon combined with his clean male scent could be so intoxicating. And heaven help her, that mouth of his—ay yai yai. He didn’t just kiss her; it was more than that. His lips caressed hers, gently, but with a sureness and a confidence that left her trembling.

  And when she kissed him the second time and he pulled her in so tight…wow. The building could have collapsed around them and she wouldn’t have cared. The only thing that mattered in that moment was him: the taste of his lips, the strength of his arms, and the sound of her name vibrating off his tongue.

  It made it damn hard to focus on work, especially with him so close, and from the looks of the charred apple pies sitting on the kitchen table, it wasn’t any easier for him. She’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her feel a little better.

  Ronan hadn’t said as much, but Hope got the distinct impression that this—whatever this was—was something he’d rather not broadcast, not on the show and not to his family, and she was fine with that. She didn’t think it was the best idea for the show, either, and she didn’t know his family well enough to decide either way, so she was happy to follow his lead where they were concerned.

  For the rest of that day and the following days, right up until she buckled into the Cessna to go home again, she did her very best to not stare at him every time they were in the same room. She tried not to smile every time she thought about him—which was only every other second—and she tried really hard not to touch him whenever he was within arm’s reach.

  It made for a few very long days, but once everyone else had tucked in at night, Hope crept back up to the kitchen, where she could stare at him all she liked, she didn’t have to fight her smiles, and she could touch him as much as she wanted. Well, almost. He still had work to do, after all.

  Those few hours with him every night, talking and helping him work, made the long days oh so worth it, especially when he kissed her. Sometimes they were nothing but quick pecks, and sometimes they were long hot kisses pressed up against the pantry door. But the night before she left…whew.

  Ronan had given her the task of kneading the bread dough, something she’d never done before, and with tomorrow’s lunches depending on what came out of the oven tonight, she needed to get this done properly. She’d just pressed the heels of her hands deep into the dough when Ronan slid his arms around her waist and brushed a feather-soft kiss below her ear.

  That barely there touch shot through her system like wildfire, melting every muscle in its path and forcing her to lean back on him for support. He never said a word, just kissed her a second time, equally soft, then held her until she was finally able to stand on her own again.

  It was the most intimate thing Hope had ever experienced, and as much as she wanted to tell him that, she knew words would only ruin it. Besides, how could she possibly tell him that contrary to what he seemed to think, he was very very good at this shit?

  She left for the mainland the next morning, taking the memories of every kiss with her, but that one, that one stayed right in the forefront of her mind, making her count the hours—almost fifty-five of them—until she could get on the Cessna again.

  Fifty-five hours without so much as a whisper between them. He’d sold almost everything he owned before moving back to the Buoys, including his computer and his cellphone, which meant if he wanted to check emails, he had to do it on the computer in Jessie’s office, and if he wanted to talk on the phone, he had to do it on the lodge phone.

  Hope didn’t have his email address, and while she could have called the lodge at night, she had to wonder if that was something he’d want. They hadn’t talked about it—in fact, she hadn’t even thought about it until she was in the cab heading to her apartment.

  It was only two days, right? Normally it would have been three, but Hope had asked Jessie if it was okay to come back a day early instead of returning with Kevin and Chuck on Sunday. The pilot episode of Hooked was scheduled to air on Saturday night, and Hope wanted to be there to see for herself what they thought of it, uncensored and unfiltered.

  Jessie didn’t have any problem with Hope coming in early, so long as she brought pizza with extra olives with her. Hope lost count of how many times Jessie repeated that: Extra olives. Don’t forget the olives.

  And she hadn’t, but now came the tricky part because Hope was going back to the Buoys on the same Cessna that would take the last of the guests out. The pizza place had agreed to loan her a couple of their delivery bags to keep the pizzas warm, but only if she promised to send the bags back right away, so somehow she had to get those four large pizza boxes from the plane to the fish shack before the guests caught sight of them and forced her to share.

  The guests were already milling around on the dock when they pulled up, so while Finn and Liam helped secure the plane, Hope rummaged around inside her bag until she found the Mylar emergency blanket she always carried. It was the perfect way to hide the boxes.

  The second Finn opened the door, Hope grabbed her bags and the boxes and hopped out.

  “Did you remember the extra olives?” he whispered, eyeing the foil-wrapped package in her arms.

&nbs
p; Laughing, Hope nodded and hightailed it inside the shack before any of the guests could clue in to where that faint aroma was coming from.

  Chapter 11

  “You are who you are—not your parents.”

  Leslie Burke, Bridge to Terabithia

  Ronan was still putting together take-out snack boxes for the departing guests when he heard the Cessna flying in, so by the time he got down to the dock, the rest of them had pretty much done everything. Coolers, now packed tight with everyone’s cleaned and flash-frozen fish, were secured in the hold with all the bags, and then it was a final goodbye as the last guest climbed inside the plane.

  A minute later, it was just the five of them again and, as one, they exhaled a sigh of relief. It had been a good week, and as much as they loved having the place overflowing with guests, they were equally happy to have the place to themselves every Saturday night. It wasn’t as if they had the night off, though, because they had to strip all the rooms and cabins and prep them for the next round of guests, who would arrive tomorrow afternoon.

  As they walked up the dock, with Ro pulling up the rear, Finn grabbed the doorknob on the fish shack, pulled the door open, then slung his arm around Jessie’s shoulders.

  “Give her a hand there, will you, Ro?”

  “Give who a—”

  If he’d been prone to flowery words, Ronan would have said that that moment, right there, was when the clouds inside him finally parted, blown apart by the blinding ray of sunshine that was Hope Seaver. Instead, he blinked a couple of times and forced that stupid shit as far back in his brain as he possibly could.

  “What are you doing here?” He turned his body so that if any of the rest of them looked back, they wouldn’t be able to see him smiling like that. Like an idiot.

  God, she looked good. It was the second week of June, and while the rest of them were in shorts and T-shirts, she was still in long pants, a hoodie, and an old faded jean jacket. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, her lips—so freakin’ soft—tipped up in a small smile, and those eyes, so blue…well, shit. It was all Ro could do not to jump inside the shack with her and slam the door behind them.