The Fisherman Series : Special Edition

by Jewel E. Ann

  As she smiled, a tear trailed down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “Sorry.” She sniffled. “I just always imagined my mom being here to see me in my wedding dress.” Another sniffle. “And I imagined my dad walking me down the aisle.”

  Well fuck … (necessary use of the F-word)

  She made my eyes burn with emotion, along with everyone else in the room. I wasn’t a total monster. She fell in love with Fisher when they were six. Six!

  Rose shot me a tight grin. A “are you really going to try to take Fisher away from her too” look. I wasn’t trying to take Fisher away from her.

  I. Really. Wasn’t.

  Sure, I kissed him, but it was a complete lapse in all coherent thought. I would have kissed anyone standing in front of me when I got the text. Had Angie been there, I would have kissed her.

  Really.

  As for the kisses that followed that first kiss, they were mutual. Some might have even said they were Fisher’s idea.

  “My girl.” Laurie hugged Angie. “We are your family. Always. You’ve felt like one of my own girls since as long as I can remember. And Fisher has loved you since his stubborn little heart knew what it meant to fall in love. And he’s going to remember you. And he’s going to feel like a fool for hesitating for one single second.”

  Oh boy …

  By that point, I had to wear a fake smile, not blink, and definitely not look at Rose. I had to lock up my most irrational feelings. The ones where my heart felt heavy because Laurie wasn’t hugging me. Laurie wasn’t saying how I was family. Laurie wasn’t reminding me that I owned Fisher’s heart.

  To be fair, she had no idea that I was the one who Fisher invited to dinner. I was the one who took Fisher to Target. And I was the one (not that I was proud of it) who very inadvertently encouraged him to have sex with Angie. Basically, I was a superhero, and like all superheroes, nobody knew my true identity. I remained in the shadows being a do-gooder without an ounce of recognition.

  So selfless.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Where are you headed?” Rory stopped me as I failed in my attempt to sneak out of the house.

  “I’m uh … going to Fisher’s to help him finish his shelving unit. Then I suppose we might order pizza or something. Just depends on how long it takes us to finish it.”

  “Sounds fun. I need to finish a couple loads of laundry. Then Rose and I will order pizza, our treat, and head over. I found a new beer I think Fisher should try. Will Angie be there too? She prefers something a little sweeter like a Riesling or a Moscato. I can pick up a bottle for her too.”

  There went our night, and there was nothing I could do about it. The smirk on Rose’s face confirmed it as she thumbed through a pile of papers from school.

  “Sounds great. Give us a couple hours.”

  “If we get there early, we’re good with waiting for you two to finish,” Rose said.

  “Absolutely.” Rory nodded. “Tell Fisher there’s no rush.”

  “Mkay.” I nodded, sulking out the door to my car. I would have walked, but the duo of Terrible Ideas and her sidekick Even Worse Ideas butted in on our night. I wasn’t putting it past them to call Angie just to make sure she’d be there too.

  “Hey. Good timing.” Fisher opened the front door and grinned.

  “No. Nothing about us is good timing.” Too bad he didn’t know just how much truth I packed into that statement.

  “Uh oh … what happened?” He stepped aside.

  “Rory saw me leaving and asked what I was doing. And the next thing I knew, she was inviting herself and Rose over for pizza and beer. Maybe Angie too. I’m not sure.” I frowned.

  “And you’re upset why?” He shut the door and leaned against it, his good hand in his front pocket.

  With a long gaze, I remained silent. Was he really going to make me say it?

  “I mean, for me it sucks,” he started. “I’ve been thinking about second base all afternoon. But for you wanting to learn how to use the shelf pin jig, I don’t know how additional company will affect that. Are you worried that everyone else will want to learn how to use it as well, and you don’t want to share the experience with them?”

  I’m afraid that Angie is the love of your life and you’re just too confused to see it. I’m afraid our time is limited and I’m only postponing the inevitable heartbreak.

  “I’m reneging. If I die, you will not get ten seconds to fondle me.”

  “That’s a little harsh. You’re acting like it’s my fault you did such a terrible job of sneaking out of the house. So now we’re down to only two options.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What two options?”

  “Either you don’t die, or I fondle you now.”

  Stupid Fisher. There he went again, making me laugh. Indulging me in ridiculous behavior and even more ridiculous conversation. Did he talk about fondling dead bodies with Angie? I couldn’t see that. She seemed a little too sophisticated for that. I thought ninety-nine percent of the world’s adult population was likely too sophisticated to talk about fondling dead bodies. And the other one percent was probably in prison or on a Most Wanted list.

  “What if I don’t die and you fondle me now? Why does it have to be a choice?”

  Fisher grinned. “See, that’s why we work. Two great minds.” Pushing off the door, he took three steps, slid his good hand behind my neck, and kissed me.

  I giggled into his kiss. The kiss lasted longer than I expected, his casted hand idle at his side and his good hand on my neck. Fisher was killing it at first base. It was everything, but not nearly enough. Not when I knew what it felt like to have Fisher sliding into home plate but falling a few inches short.

  My hands rested on his T-shirt clad chest for several seconds before heading south.

  “Oh …” He pulled back, a single brow lifted as he glanced down at my fingers making a move on the button to his jeans. “Second base is everything above the waist.”

  Above the waist. Was he kidding? That left chest and abs for me. Not that Fisher didn’t have a great chest and abs, but men had nothing forbidden above their waist. Second base was clearly defined by a man.

  Or … and this thought was the most disturbing … Fisher Mann was never going to have sex with me.

  Not. Ever.

  We were destined to be professional flirters who dabbled in foreplay, an occasional dry hump. The players who never reached home plate.

  “I don’t trust Rory and Rose. They could show up any minute. Let’s get to work on that shelving unit and showing me how to use that jiggy thing.” I brushed past him and around the corner to the garage door.

  “Whoa … whoa … whoa …” He followed me. “Are you mad? Did you think that back there was me rejecting you?”

  My feet made fast work taking me down the stairs. I so badly wanted to turn around, ball my hands, and tell him how I’d secretly felt rejected by him for more than five years! But that day, I saw Angie in a wedding gown that she picked out to marry the boy she fell in love with before she could ever imagine her life as a biologist, her life as a woman, her life as an orphan. My problems seemed petty at best. I needed to settle into the fact that Fisher would not be all mine for a while, maybe ever. That meant I had to decide what my heart could handle. Did it have the strength and patience to go the distance for the slim chance that it would be me? That I would be the person he loved with or without the memories of us or of Angie.

  “I’m only going to feel rejected if you don’t show me jiggy action.”

  “I’m not buying it. Here. I was stupid. I wanted to wait until my cast came off before I suggested more, but I’m clearly the world’s biggest idiot.”

  When I turned to assure him he wasn’t the world’s biggest idiot because I had already taken that title years earlier, I stumbled on my words and nothing came out.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs with his shirt off and his jeans pushed down to his ankles over his work boots. Just black briefs and a ki
ller grin. “Forgive me?”

  After my eyes got their fill, after my tongue made a half dozen swipes along my lower lip, I nodded. “Put your clothes on.”

  “Are you sure?” He waddled toward me, taking tiny steps restricted by his jeans at his ankles. Fisher was the sexiest duck I had ever seen.

  “Stop.” I giggled. “Just … put your clothes on.”

  “Now I feel rejected.”

  “Then we’re even.” I laughed.

  “I knew it!” He pointed a finger at my face. “So you did feel rejected.”

  My smile faded and I curled my hair behind my ears. “No.” I shook my head slowly before hunching in front of him and pulling his jeans up his legs.

  Fisher’s breaths kicked up a notch, maybe in anticipation of what I was doing, maybe from my proximity to his erection pressed against the black cotton.

  I watched my hands, as did he, while I buttoned and zipped his jeans. “Today I saw Angie in her wedding gown. Spoiler alert: she looked stunning. And emotional. She looked like the girl who had dreamed of one boy and only one boy her whole life.” My fingers traced the scars along his abs and chest; they tightened even more under my touch.

  “I’m not saying that you should marry her. And anything short of wearing that dress for you will cut her deeply. So I’m also not saying that I think my walking away will change how you feel about her or how she will feel if you don’t marry her. But I need perspective, Fisher.” I lifted my gaze to his.

  Concern lined his beautiful face.

  “I’m not in this to destroy a woman’s dreams,” I said. “I’m not in this for a quick lay. It’s not a game, even if every moment with you feels exciting and filled with so much life. So thank you.” I found a small and easy smile for him.

  “For what?”

  “For stopping me. For rejecting me. It’s easy to lose perspective when I’m with you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Again, I didn’t reject you. And you are never allowed to thank me for stopping us from getting naked. Just … no. I won’t allow it.”

  “Put your shirt on. We have work to do.” I took a step backward.

  He snagged his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head, threading his arms through it slowly. I turned and ran my hand over the wood pieces we glued two nights earlier.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his chest to my back and kissing the top of my head. “I’m sure seeing Angie in her wedding gown was not easy for you. I wish I knew with certainty how this story will end.” He bent lower and kissed my neck as his good hand slid around my waist. “I know how I want it to end right now. But I’m so fucking scared of the plot twist because there are just too many chapters left. And I no longer trust life and its plot twists.”

  If only we could’ve just packed a couple of bags and left with one-way tickets to someplace far away and never returned. But we weren’t running from Rory and Rose or even Angie and his family. We were running away from his lost memories.

  I turned in his arms and snaked mine around his neck. “Let’s not read any further.” I grinned. “Let’s go back to the beginning and reread—relive—our favorite chapters, like this one.”

  “This one?” He narrowed his eyes a fraction.

  I pulled him to me, lifting onto my toes as my lips brushed back and forth over his. “Yeah,” I whispered before giving his mouth a slow kiss. My right hand reached for his left hand, and I guided it under the hem of my shirt.

  Up.

  Up.

  Up.

  “This is the chapter where the lost fisherman makes it to second base.”

  Fisher grinned before I kissed him again. His hand cupped my breast, and his thumb slid under the fabric and grazed my nipple.

  We knew it wouldn’t go past that. So we took our time kissing, like sipping coffee on a lazy Sunday morning.

  The naked fisherman wouldn’t have had that much self-control, neither would have that scatterbrained, hormonal eighteen-year-old girl. We knew time and patience were our only options, our only hope.

  I didn’t know how long it would last, how long we would last, but I loved the new version of us. Fisher didn’t take my virginity because he wasn’t sure he deserved it, and he wasn’t sure I was truly ready to give it to him.

  Five years later, we were in the same situation, but this time it wasn’t my virginity. It was my heart. And like five years earlier, I trusted Fisher explicitly to take what he felt he deserved and leave anything he might hurt.

  “Fisher …” I whispered in his ear as he kissed along my cheek.

  “Hmm?”

  “Teach me.”

  “Teach you what?” His knuckles ghosted along my other cheek.

  “Everything.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fisher showed me how to use the jiggy thing. He showed me how to get things prepped to stain the pieces which we would do at a later time. He even took me through all his tools, giving me a brief explanation of what they did and examples of when he used them. He did have patience, maybe only with me, but that was all that mattered.

  Fisher wanted to be with me.

  “Hello?” Rory called down the stairs just as we were sweeping the floor.

  Fisher squatted to hold the dustpan as I swept the small pile into it. “Down here.”

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Rory made her way down the stairs. “Pizza’s here.”

  “Okay. We’re done.” Fisher stood and dumped the sawdust into the trash.

  “Maybe you should have been a trim carpenter instead of a midwife.” Rory eyed me as I dusted off my jeans.

  “Fisher’s pretty amazing at what he does, but he hasn’t pushed an entire human being out of his vagina. So I’ll stick to my new job.”

  “Aaannnd … we’re done down here.” Fisher flipped off the lights, leaving only the light on above the stairway.

  Rory laughed and headed back up the stairs with Fisher and me right behind her.

  “Hey, babe.” To no one’s surprise, Angie was in the kitchen, setting out plates and napkins.

  I really needed a game plan. One that involved telling my mother that she was ruining my life. It was a speech I didn’t get the chance to give her before she went to prison. Rory had no idea, so was it fair to blame her? I wondered if she’d have felt bad had I told her. Or would she have been way too upset with Fisher and me to care about her role in keeping Angie’s hopes and dreams alive?

  “Hey.” Fisher had no problem switching roles, maybe because Rose reserved her distrusting scowls for me.

  I pulled his pants up, Rose. I pulled them up! Zipped. Buttoned. That was all me.

  Angie hugged Fisher and gave him a quick peck on the lips. I’d signed up for The Bachelor. Oh the joys of sharing one guy.

  “Reese, you’re setting the bar pretty high for our future kids.” Angie poured herself a glass of wine while Fisher opened a bottle of beer and took a long swig.

  “Oh?” I said with caution as I poured a glass of red wine for myself. Just what I wanted to do, talk about their future kids.

  “Your mom said you love working in Fisher’s shop downstairs. I don’t go down there. It’s too dusty. But I’m sure he dreams of teaching our kids his skills someday. If they show no interest, he’ll wonder why he didn't get a child like you.”

  I choked on my wine, and Rose came to the rescue, slapping my back a little too hard while Rory jumped into the conversation. “Reese has always been curious and hands-on with things. Even as a little girl, she wanted to do everything she saw her dad and me doing.”

  “Oh …” Angie’s nose wrinkled. “That sounded weird. I’m sorry.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. “I wasn’t implying you’re a child. That … just …” She set her wine down and buried her face in Fisher’s chest.

  He held his good arm, the one holding the beer, out to the side so as not to spill it on impact.

  “It’s been a long day.” She chuckled, rolling
her forehead against his chest as his casted arm rested gently on her back.

  Every thirty seconds I had to remind myself that Angie’s mind remembered everything about Fisher Mann since he was six years old. She felt comfortable in his presence and in his embrace. Not just as a lover, but as a friend of nearly thirty years.

  “It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”

  Nope. I had no idea what she meant. It was the craziest comparison. But I wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad or uncomfortable. If Angie and I wouldn’t have been competing for the same bachelor, we might have been better friends. I related to her being an only child and losing a parent. For the three years between my dad dying and Rory getting out of prison, I felt like an orphan. Angie loved a good glass of wine and pretty dresses. So did I. And she loved Fisher Mann … and so did I.

  I didn’t hate her.

  In many ways, I was her.

  “I turned on the porch heater. Let’s go out there.” Rory handed Rose her beer and grabbed the two pizza boxes.

  Fisher and Angie snagged the plates and napkins while I carried my wine out with two hands like a good little girl.

  Fisher’s main level porch was a three-season porch with nice furniture and lots of plants. Rory deposited the pizzas on the irregular shaped wood coffee table before taking a seat next to Rose on a love seat while Fisher sat on the opposing love seat with Angie right next to him, her back partially molded to his chest like she was his stuffed animal to cuddle.

  That left the light gray bean-bag-like chair for me. Its back and arms were more structured than a bean bag, which made it the most comfortable chair in the house. That seemed fair since I drew the fifth-wheel spot for the night.

  “Well, someone has a birthday in two weeks.” Rory sipped her beer and eyed me.

  I returned a tight-lipped grin and focused on not spilling my red wine on Fisher’s light gray chair.

  “If you’re not on call, we should go camping.”

  “Sounds cold.” After taking a slow sip of my wine, I shot her a toothy grin.