Page 3

Ellie

I showed up to the river the next morning armed with sunscreen, a baseball cap, and what I was generously calling confidence.

Really, it was more like caffeinated determination mixed with the kind of stubborn streak that had gotten me through four years of college and six years of teaching five-year-olds. But confidence sounded better.

And today, confidence was required. Because if I wanted to be brave and bold, and possibly hook up with the grumpy fisherman, I had to stop waiting for a sign and start casting lines.

Flirty ones. Possibly even sexy ones if I didn’t trip over my own feet first. Not that I was deliberately setting out to seduce Nate—I honestly didn’t think I could be that brave and bold even with lessons—but I didn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore either.

If I’ll I got out of this vacation was a little light flirting…

Nate was already there, rigging up the rods with the kind of easy efficiency that made it look like an art form.

He glanced up when he heard my steps on the loose rock.

I caught something that might have been relief flicker across his face.

Had he been afraid I wouldn’t show? And was he glad that I had?

He looked like he belonged out here, all capable hands and mountain-man shoulders. I didn’t stand a chance. But dammit, I’d brought my best bra and my bravest attitude. Time to use both.

“You came back,” he said.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He shrugged, but there was something softer in his expression today. “Lot of people would’ve called it quits after yesterday.”

“I’m not a lot of people.” I adjusted my hat and grinned at him. “Plus, I promised my grandfather I’d learn to fish, and the women in my family don’t break promises to dead relatives. It’s like, rule number one.”

“Rule number one, huh?”

“Well, technically rule number one is don’t let anyone see you cry over romantic comedies, but the dead relative thing is definitely in the top five.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “Ready to try again?”

“Ready to not stab anyone today.” I took the rod he offered me, noting how our fingers brushed in the exchange. Little fireworks shot straight up my arm. Apparently, sexual tension was waterproof. “That’s my only goal. Set the bar low, exceed expectations.”

This time, I didn’t immediately tangle the line or trip over my own feet.

Progress. We spent the first hour working on my casting form, and I had to admit, having Nate’s hands guiding mine was becoming my favorite part of fishing.

He stood behind me, his chest warm against my back, his voice low and patient in my ear.

“Better,” he said as my line landed in something approaching the right direction. “You’re getting the feel for it.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re stubborn enough to figure it out eventually.”

I twisted around to look at him. “Was that almost a compliment? Should I start a tally?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, city girl.”

Too late. My inner city girl was already cartwheeling.

But he was definitely almost smiling now, and something warm uncurled in my chest. This version of Nate—the one who teased instead of glowered—was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with fishing and everything to do with the way my pulse kicked up whenever he was close.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back. “Let’s see you try reading the water.”

“Reading the water?”

“Looking for signs of where fish might be hiding.” He pointed to a spot where the current created a small eddy behind a boulder. “See how the water moves differently there? That’s where a trout would sit and wait for food to come to them.”

I squinted at the water, trying to see what he saw. “It just looks like... water to me.”

“It takes practice. Try casting toward that spot.”

I took a breath, focused on everything he’d taught me, and cast. The line arced out in a decent approximation of what it was supposed to do, the fly landing with a soft plop near the boulder.

And then something hit it.

Hard.

“Oh my God!” I shrieked as the rod bent nearly in half. “There’s something on there! There’s actually something on there!”

The line started peeling off the reel with a high-pitched whine, and I had absolutely no idea what to do. Panic set in immediately.

“Nate! Help! It’s going to break the rod! Or escape! Or drag me into the river!”

He was behind me in an instant, his arms coming around mine, his hands covering mine on the rod and slowly stopping the reel from spinning. “Easy,” he said, his voice calm and steady in my ear. “You’ve got this. Just let him run for a second.”

“Let him run? But he’s getting away!”

“He’ll tire himself out. Feel that?” His hands guided mine, teaching me to feel the fish’s movements through the line. “He’s fighting, but he’s not going anywhere.”

I could feel it—the pull and surge of something alive on the other end of the line. It was terrifying and exhilarating and completely unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

“Now bring him in,” Nate said. “Slow and steady.”

I was supposed to be concentrating on the fish, but my attention veered off the moment at hand every time he moved or spoke or breathed.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Keep the pressure on. Don’t let him slack.”

The fish fought for what felt like forever but was probably only a few minutes. And then, suddenly, I could see it—a flash of silver just under the surface, maybe ten feet away.

“There!” I pointed with my chin, not daring to let go of the rod. “I can see it!”

“Beautiful rainbow trout,” Nate said, and there was something like pride in his voice. “About fourteen inches. Good size for your first fish.”

My first fish. I was actually going to catch my first fish.

And then the line went slack.

“No!” I wailed as the fish disappeared back into the depths. “He got away!”

“It happens,” Nate said, but he didn’t step away. His arms were still around me, and I could feel his breath against my hair. “You did everything right. Sometimes they just get lucky.”

I sagged back against him, disappointed but still buzzing with adrenaline. “I can’t believe I almost caught a fish.”

“You did catch a fish. You just didn’t land him.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Big difference.” His voice was quieter now, and when I tilted my head back to look at him, his face was closer than I’d expected.

Much closer.

And wow, that man had a jawline that could cut rope.

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it for more than just the fishing lesson. For being patient. For not making me feel stupid. For making me feel capable of things I’d never thought I could do. For making me feel like maybe this whole wild plan wasn’t a joke.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, and something shifted in the air between us. The adrenaline from the fish mixed with something else entirely, something that made my skin feel too tight and my heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with almost landing a trout.

I wanted him to kiss me. Right here, right now, with the river roaring and my pulse racing.

Maybe I’d pull him in, say something brazen, drag him under with me like one of those fish that didn’t let go. I’d never been the seductress before—but damn if I didn’t want to try.

“Ellie,” he said, and my name sounded different in his voice. Rougher. More careful.

I turned in his arms, which brought us even closer together. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Close enough to count the faint lines at the corners of those eyes. Close enough to wonder what it would feel like if he kissed me.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said, but his hands were still on my waist, and he wasn’t stepping away.

“Probably not,” I agreed. “I’m not really known for my good ideas.”

“Ellie...”

It was supposed to be a warning, but it sounded more like a plea. And before I could second-guess myself or think about all the reasons this was complicated, I rose up on my toes and kissed him.

For about half a second, he went rigid with surprise. Then his hands tightened on my waist, and he kissed me back like he’d been thinking about it for longer than the day and a half we’d known each other.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate and hungry and everything I’d been secretly hoping for since the moment I’d turned around and seen him with my bright pink lure sticking out of his shoulder.

His mouth was warm and demanding, and when his tongue touched mine, I made a sound that would have embarrassed me if I’d had any brain cells left to feel embarrassed.

But thinking seemed to be completely beyond me.

All I could do was feel—his hands on my waist, his mouth on mine, the way my entire body seemed to come alive under his touch.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his jaw tight with what looked like internal struggle.

“This complicates things,” he said finally.

“Good,” I said, surprising myself with how certain I sounded. “I like complicated.”

He opened his eyes and his face took on the dark broody look I’d come to associate with him even when he was attempting to smile. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” I reached up and touched his face, running my thumb along his jawline. “I know you think I’m some naive city girl who doesn’t know what she wants. But I’m thirty years old, Nate. I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“You,” I said simply. “I want you.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Like he might list all the reasons why this was a bad idea. But then his thumb traced along my lower lip, and his expression went dark and hungry.

“You don’t make anything easy, do you?” he muttered.

“Spoiler alert,” I said, leaning just a little closer, “I’m not easy either. But I’m worth it.”

This time, when he kissed me, I was ready for it.

Ready for the way he pulled me to him, letting me feel how his body was reacting to mine , ready for the way his hands tangled in my hair, ready for the way my entire world narrowed down to the feeling of his mouth on mine and the knowledge that I was finally, finally doing something bold.

Something that would definitely be worth blushing over.