by Daws, Amy
She rolls her eyes and tosses my hand away, causing the ice to fall out of the napkin in the process. Hitting me with a serious look, she says, “I hope you realize I’m not going to fall for a bearded ginger knight in shining armor type.”
I bark out a laugh at that description. “Oh, I know! If you don’t fall for Marv’s charm, then you certainly won’t fall for mine.” I reach up and stroke my chin. “And this is called ‘tangerine toughness’ by the way.”
When she giggles, it makes her look young, which she clearly is, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s at least twenty-one.
“I wouldn’t call your beard tangerine…more like a dark red kidney bean. But regardless, you gingers are lucky that Prince Harry brought you back in style,” she says with a smirk as she chews her lower lip in a way that makes me think she is flirting with me.
“Pffft,” I tut with a roll of my eyes while grabbing the menus from behind the napkin dispenser. “Gingers never went out of style. We’re like a fine wine that just needs to age a bit before you can fully appreciate us.”
I hand her a menu and prop mine in front of my face, peering over it at her as she looks down at hers. She definitely seems calmer than she did before, so that’s good. But she’s clearly not the outdoorsy type who hangs out in a bait shop. She looks more like a former cheerleader or a pageant girl. The kind who gets a manicure every other week, not the type who would dig her hand into a bucket of minnows.
So what the fuck is she doing here?
Barb, the elderly waitress who’s always working, interrupts my shameless ogling. “What can I get you two?” she asks as she clears the dishes, wipes the table, and gives us fresh glasses of water.
Once I’ve recovered from my creeper caught in action heart attack, I order a burger and fries. The girl nods and orders the same, once again surprising me when she doesn’t order a salad.
When Barb leaves, I decide to cut to the chase. “Look, what those assholes said back there was total bullshit. But I have to tell you, you really are a fish out of water around here,” I state, pun intended. “What are you doing here?”
She looks back at me with a frown. “Why am I a fish out of water? Because I’m a girl and I look a certain way?”
“Partly,” I reply with an unapologetic shrug. “Sorry if that’s sexist, but we don’t get many females who look like you at Marv’s Bait and Tackle. Barb is the only estrogen these guys around here get, and I’m pretty sure she’s gone through,” I pause to cup my hand to my mouth and whisper, “‘the change’ already.”
The girl bursts out laughing, covering her face as her cheeks flame red. “You did not just refer to menopause as ‘the change!’”
I duck my head and look around nervously, in case someone heard us. It may not be a normal thing for a guy to discuss, but I watched my mother go through it last summer, so I know how much it changes a woman. Mostly because she and my sisters talk about every-fucking-thing that happens to their bodies. Honestly, I’ve been subjected to some really uncomfortable conversations about pantyliners and night sweats. It was all very upsetting.
But the guys at Marv’s don’t see a hot-blooded girl like this…ever, so it’s no wonder she caused a ruckus. I lean across the table and speak in a low voice. “No need to shout about womanly issues. I’m just saying, these guys aren’t used to girls in here, and the fact that you marched in wearing those boots and threadbare leggings when it’s fifty fucking below outside means you’ll be the center of attention. Going ice fishing in that getup has the makings for some serious frostbite, sparky.”
She scoffs at me. “Well…that’s for me to worry about…not that Marv guy.”
“Marv is a protective old man who was only trying to look out for you because you seem like a nice girl when you’re not lunging at assholes.” My hands clench on the table, itching to touch hers again for some strange reason.
“Girl?” she scoffs again, her eyes rolling upward with a smile. “I’m a twenty-two-year-old college graduate, all right? I think it’s safe to call me a woman.”
“You got it,” I reply, holding my hands back. I know better than to argue with a female about her label. “So, woman, what are you trying to do here today? It’s clear you’ve never been fishing a day in your life.”
“I’ve fished!” she replies defiantly, her jaw setting into a scowl. “Just never been ice fishing.”
I shake my head knowingly. “Okay…well, I’ll be the second one to tell you that ice fishing is a serious sport. You can’t just go out and find a hole. You have to have a drill, a house, and a heat source. Proper clothing. Do you have any of those items?”
“No,” she murmurs, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.
“Then what on earth made you decide to go ice fishing today?”
She leans back in the booth and looks up at the ceiling. “You’re going to laugh.”
“I won’t laugh.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Try me.”
She sighs heavily and folds her hands on the table in front of her. “I’m on a road trip of self-discovery.”
“Not at all what I expected,” I stammer because hell, it’s the truth. I ruffle the strands of hair on my head, trying to hide my confused reaction. “And your self-discovery led you to Marv’s of all places?”
“Pretty much.” She shrugs and then leans forward on the table, with a tiny glimmer of a smile. “What happened was, I was driving down the highway, no music, no phone, no nothing. Just me and my thoughts. Did you know that we’re getting so reliant on technology and keeping our brain entertained that we never just sink into our own thoughts?”
“Oh yeah, I totally knew that actually.”
“You did?” she exclaims, her eyes bright and excited.
“No, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I deadpan. She rolls her eyes in annoyance, and that might turn me on a little bit.
“Well, it’s becoming a major issue because now our brains aren’t accessing the deep-thinking folds anymore. Just all this surface-level shit of social media and social, social, social bullshit,” she sputters and then shakes her head to refocus. “It’s more scientific than that, but you get the idea. So I’m trying to access this part of my brain that’s been lost to technology when I look over and see this tiny house on the ice. The inside glows from a light, and smoke drifts out of a little chimney. It looked so peaceful. Like something out of a magazine for deep thinking! And I thought to myself, I need something like that in my life.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I reply because honestly, I get it. There is a peacefulness when you’re sitting in a small ice shack with frigid temperatures all around you. It makes you feel really connected to yourself—which sounds super fucking lame, but damnit, it’s true.
“So yeah, I want to learn how to ice fish,” she says with a serious look. “Or try some outdoorsy nature adventures so that maybe, just maybe, I can find a better version of myself.”
My brow furrows at that last remark. “What makes you think this version isn’t good enough?”
She splays her hands out on the table and shakes her head slowly, her eyes downcast the entire time. “Lots of things. Too many to mention. But the place I’m staying at had a brochure for Marv’s Bait and Tackle, so here I am. I assumed Marv would be more helpful than he was. The pamphlet said Marv was some famous fish whisperer or something, I thought.”
I bite back a laugh. “I don’t think fish whisperer is a thing…but yes, Marv knows his shit. He’s a pro. But you came right at the start of ice fishing season, so everyone wants to talk to Marv this weekend. He’s like the Buddha whose belly everyone wants to rub so we can find the fishing sweet spots.”
“Is that why the bait area is full of waiting assholes?” she asks, glaring around the restaurant.
“They aren’t all assholes,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes. “Present company excluded…seemingly.”
“Seemingly?” I quirk a brow
at her.
“Well, I just met you and watched you knock a guy out, so I can’t fully determine if you’re one of them or not.” She eyes me with an amused expression on her face that makes me think she’s joking. Yet somehow, I can’t be fully sure.
I nod slowly and lick my lips. “How about we introduce ourselves before we judge. What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Maggie,” she replies with a shrug.
“Well, Maggie, I’m Sam…and I will prove to you that I’m not a brawling asshole by offering to be your ice fishing guide this afternoon.” I smile, offering my hand to her, and her answering expression lights up her entire face.
“Seriously?” she asks, her voice high and excited as she slides her long, slender fingers into mine.
I nod and swallow slowly. “Seriously. And before you worry about being alone out in the wilderness with me, I’m going to introduce you to Marv so he can vouch for me. He’s known me since I was a kid, and I’ve done some fishing guide work for him on occasion. You can trust his assessment of me.”
She looks at me with an adorable smile that I know I like a little too much. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Well, if you’re on a journey of self-discovery, you don’t need any roadblocks getting in your way.” I pause and flick my gaze down to her chest. “Oh, and you’d better have a credit card with you because you’ll need to buy some seriously expensive gear today.”
Squealing with excitement, she nods eagerly just as Barb arrives with our burgers. “And you’d better eat all that. You’re going to need sustenance to keep you warm out there.”
She licks her lips and pops a fry into her mouth. “I can’t wait.”
I give her a dubious sort of smile because I’m sure she has no clue what she’s in for…and maybe neither do I.
Ice Breaker
Sam is an interesting and unexpected twist to my day. Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing about this day has been expected. So really, Sam is just par for the course at this point. But if I had to pick a guy out of a lineup to swoop in and save me, I would have never picked this guy.
He’s not hard on the eyes by any means. In fact, he’s got something going for him that I can’t quite put my finger on. His hair isn’t fully red, more dirty blond with reddish streaks throughout. And it’s cut in that messy, “I just rolled out of bed and stuffed my head into a slouchy knit cap” sort of way. His beard is freshly trimmed but long enough to show off its dark auburn tint.
And if I’m looking at him objectively, he clearly has a decent body. When he grabbed me around the waist, I felt how firm he was under those winter layers. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and his chest and biceps fill out that white thermal shirt really nicely. Something tells me his workouts are more like chopping his own firewood and shoveling his own driveaway than working with a personal trainer and doing squats at a gym.
Yet still, I wouldn’t think he’d be the type to take charge in a crisis, so I’m pleasantly surprised. I wonder how old he is? Judging from those creases on the sides of his eyes and the crinkle between his brows, he’s got a good five years on me. He probably spends all his time outside in the sun. I could see him being a ranch hand for a farm maybe. Like a baseball cap-wearing cowboy.
But as I said, he’s not handsome in the traditional sense. Yet something interesting happens when he smiles. It’s like this shy grin that immediately embarrasses him when it spreads across his face. He even looks away when he does it. It’s kind of sexy.
But it doesn’t matter because he’s definitely not my type. He’s just someone proving to be very helpful at a time when I could use a friend. Because no one can know I’m here. No one can know what’s going on in my life right now. I want things to appear to be business as usual, and this guy could help me pass the time.
Marv gives me the seal of approval for Sam to be my fishing guide so now I’m making the most of this bait shop waiting room meet cute. Not that this is an actual “meet cute.” A meet cute between a couple involves feelings during the act of meeting. An attraction. An instant spark or even love at first sight—at least that’s how the romance novels I’ve read make it seem.
With Sam, it’s just a friendly exchange of services with no spark whatsoever. Of course, objectively when he marches me through the shopping area to look at snowsuits, I do have to appreciate the largeness of his frame and how it just seems sturdy and solid. When he walks across the room, you have the urge to either get the heck out of his way or cling to his arm for the ride. And his eyes have this warm, smiling affection to them as if he’s a man with very few worries. I like that. It feels safe. But thankfully, I just have a platonic appreciation for him being in the right place at the right time.
Let’s do some ice fishing!
I wrench open the ragged shower curtain that Marv calls a dressing room and do a spin for Sam, who I belatedly realize is literally asleep on the log bench that lines the nearby wall. His head is propped against a cork board and his mouth is hanging open as he breathes deeply in and out.
Talk about anticlimactic.
He sent me in here with a mound of clothes like I was Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman on a shopping spree, and I guess I just expected him to applaud or something when I came out. Maybe a little ogling. But no, Mr. Fisherman is out cold with his mouth hanging open so wide, I can see his molars!
I clomp over to him in my new snow boots and clap my silicone gloves together in front of his face. He jumps out of his chair and lets out a weird gurgle of a shout. “He said we could fish here!”
“What the heck?” I exclaim, covering my mouth as I giggle. “Were you dreaming?”
“Don’t wake me like that,” he growls, clearly agitated as he runs his hand through his beard to wipe away his drool.
“How am I supposed to know how to wake you? I just met you!”
“Wake me like a normal, functioning human, maybe.”
“Maybe you should stop falling asleep in public places, gramps.”
He frowns at that last word. “Well hell, you’ve been in there changing for over twenty minutes. I got bored.”
“You try getting this stuff on! It’s not easy, and I can barely move in it.” I put my hands on my waist and spread my legs, trying to test out my range of motion in this giant red and white snowsuit. It’s not much.
Sam finally takes me in and nods thoughtfully. “You look prepared, though. This is appropriate apparel for winter sports.” Standing to his full height, he’s a good five inches taller than me, which is saying a lot because I’m five foot nine. He reaches out and flicks the big red ball on top of my stocking cap.
“Do I look like a fisherwoman?” I ask, unable to hide my beaming smile.
“Definitely.” He nods, looking down my body with an interesting look I can’t quite place.
“Were you seriously dreaming about fishing there just a second ago?” I ask, my giggle bubbling up through my lips again.
“No,” he barks back with a frown. Turning on his heel, he calls over his shoulder, “Let’s go…we’re losing daylight.”
I move to follow him and then freeze. He turns when he doesn’t hear me behind him. “What is it?”
My face contorts in dread. “I have to pee.”
Twelve and a half minutes later, I’m redressed, have purchased my fishing license and gear, and am outside looking around for Sam’s truck. Bearded guys always drive trucks, right? He’s like the ginger-bearded Brawny man, for goodness’ sake. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he drove a tow truck.
“Where’s your truck?” I ask, my breath puffing out in front of my lips as I find Sam propped against the side of the bait shop.
“No truck,” he replies and points at the parking spot behind me.
I turn around. “Oh my gosh, a snowmobile? Bonus!” I crunch over the packed snow to awkwardly throw my foot over the seat and climb aboard. I grab the handlebars and smile at him. “Do you drive this out on the ice?”
; He nods and strides over to the back of the sled. “It’s a lot safer than a truck.” He double checks the items he has strapped down on the back of the bench and then straightens to eye me one more time. “This is your last chance to back out. You feel how cold it is, right?”
“I’m not backing out!” I exclaim and grip the handles even tighter as I picture us gliding across a frozen lake. What freedom, what a rush! Wide-open air and smooth, cold ice. I bite my lip and look over my shoulder at Sam. “Can I drive?”
“Hell no,” he replies and hands me a shiny black helmet that he just ripped the tag off of.
“Did you just buy this?” I ask, looking down at the clearly brand new helmet.
He nods. “While you were changing for nineteen hours.”
“Was this before or after your grandpa nap?” I mumble under my breath as I pull my stocking cap off and replace it with the helmet. My voice is muffled when I state proudly, “Now I really feel like a fisherwoman.”
“You don’t need a helmet to fish there, sparky,” he states, then hooks his thumb to silently command me to slide back on the bench as he folds himself in front of me.
I instantly wrap my arms around his waist. This bizarre sense of comfort with Sam is interesting and annoying because I can’t put my finger on it. I’m sure he just reminds me of someone I know, but I can’t figure out who. Hopefully, it’ll come to me while we’re ice fishing.
Sam fires up the engine, and a few seconds later, we take off on our adventure. He steers us down into ditches and cuts across various snow-covered roads until we reach a tranquil forest with several other snowmobile tracks. We even pass other sledders on the way, and I can’t help but marvel at this whole other culture of society out here. Outdoorsy types, carving their ways through forests in search of their next thrill. It’s exhilarating!
About fifteen minutes later, my cheeks are frozen inside my helmet as we drive past Boulder Junction Lake that’s full of fellow ice fishers. I thought we were going there at first, but Sam continued past it, clearly knowing something they don’t.