The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(18)

We grabbed my deodorant and his mouthwash, making our final stop in the condom aisle.

“I’m a little surprised Angie isn’t on the pill.” I fidgeted with the hem of my T-shirt. Old habits never died.

“Apparently, she went off the pill in preparation for getting pregnant.”

I nodded. “So you’re going to have kids right away. That’s exciting.”

He tossed a box of condoms in the cart. “I’m not sure if it’s exciting, hence the condoms. I’m a little hesitant to make a child with someone if I’m not sold on the idea of marrying them yet.”

I followed a few steps behind him.

“So you’re just going to hump her and dump her.”

He stopped so quickly I ran into his back.

“Oof … why’d you stop?”

Facing me, he squinted and twisted his lips. “You don’t think I should have sex with her if I’m not certain I want to marry her?”

With a tight smile, I lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have a strong opinion on it. But I imagine she does. Maybe you should make sure you’re on the same page. The intimacy might lead her to believe all is good between the two of you. That’s all. It’s the male brain versus the female brain.”

Fisher waited until I felt a little squirmy before he responded with a sharp nod. “Good tip.” Turning, he headed toward the checkout lane.





Chapter Nine





“It’s like getting to wear pajamas to work,” Fisher said, checking out the racks of scrubs.

“It sure is. And I can wear comfy shoes instead of work boots.”

He glanced up at me, his hand resting on a pile of scrub tops. “Are you making a jab at me? Did I tell you to wear work boots? I should have. It’s a safety issue.”

“Yes.” I picked out a top. “You took me to buy boots and a hard hat, but I wasn’t wearing socks and that chapped you.”

“Well, who doesn’t wear socks to work?”

“Lifeguards,” I said casually, moving a few steps to a different round rack. “I bet strippers don’t wear socks either.”

He tipped his head, pretending to be really interested in a pair of smiley faced scrubs. Then he chuckled. “They might wear fishnet stockings.”

“Do you think you would have been okay with me wearing fishnet stockings with my work boots?”

Clearing his throat, he glanced around the store. “I’m dealing with some memory loss, so I can’t say for sure where my head might have been in that moment.” His lips twisted as his gaze landed on me. A tiny grin teased his lips. “I might have been okay with it.”

“Well, that’s shocking.” I took my scrubs to the checkout counter and paid for them while Fisher waited by the door.

“Time to return you before your curfew.”

“Curfew. Pfft.” He rolled his eyes. “I was thinking lunch.”

“You’re milking this outing.”

“I’m in a cast. Going crazy. Help a guy out.”

“Help a guy out …” I mumbled as we headed to the car.

I helped the guy out, as if my eternally foolish heart had a choice. We found a soup and sandwich cafe with whimsical decor and a quaint little booth in the back surrounded by snake ferns and hanging Pothos.

“Tell me all about Thailand,” Fisher said after we ordered our food and drinks.

“How much time do you have?” I chuckled.

Leaning back, he stretched his good arm along the back of the booth. “I’m yours for the rest of the day.”

Oh, Fisher … you’re no longer mine.

We spent the next hour and a half eating and talking all things Thailand. While it was my story to tell, Fisher asked lots of questions and seemed genuinely engaged and curious.

We laughed.

I got a little teary eyed telling him about a still birth that tore out my heart.

But for the most part, I shared my stories with enthusiasm, using my hands and making crazy expressions. He seemed to eat it up. Every word.

We ordered a slice of chocolate pie to share. Sharing our germs. Saliva swapping.

I didn’t go into much detail about Brendon. Not our romance. Not our engagement. I never even said his name. Fisher was none the wiser. And not once did I think about the eighteen-year-old girl he didn’t remember. I was too busy enjoying the moment—the moment he got to know the woman I’d become.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” Fisher said when I dropped him off at his house a little before three in the afternoon.

“Thanks for lunch. You didn’t have to pay.”

He ducked his head back into my car and grinned. “I invited myself. It was the least I could do.” He winked.

THAT. That was almost too much. Tears came out of nowhere, sending me fumbling for my sunglasses.

“Well …” I fumbled my words like my fingers fumbled my glasses. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“I’ll have a good enough day.” He shut the door.

I made it out of his driveway and about ten feet down the street before my tears escaped on a heavy blink. Why did he have to wink at me?

Why did he have to be so fun and goofy in Target?

Why did he have to be so interested in my trip to Thailand, so interested in me?