The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(23)

“Did he love you back?” Fisher wasn’t the same man. The old Fisher wouldn’t have asked me those questions.

“I think so.” I couldn’t look at him, so I fiddled with the hem to my shirt and kept my gaze on my lap.

“Do you know where he is now? Have you thought about finding him?”

More pain escaped my chest, disguised as laughter while I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes, I’ve thought about finding him.”

“And?”

My head inched side to side as I continued to pinch the bridge of my nose. “And I’m not sure he’s ready to be found by me.”

“Why would you say that?”

My gaze lifted slowly to his. “Because he’s found someone else.” My lips fell into a frown as I lifted one shoulder like it was no big deal.

“Married?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then he’s fair game.”

Barking a laugh, I glanced up at the ceiling again, gathering my hair in one hand and slowly releasing it as I made eye contact with him. “Fisher, you certainly have a liberal view of dating. You’re not married to Angie, but you’re dating her. So would you be okay with another guy making moves on her?”

Fisher shrugged, lips twisted. “If another guy made moves on her and she responded to his moves, then I think I’d have my answer about us.”

“What happened to fighting for what you want?”

“I think fighting for something when you have an actual chance is different than fighting for second place.”

“Stick to building houses, Fisher. I don’t think you have a future in couples counseling.”

“No?” He grinned. “I’m just saying, if you’re still interested in the guy, knock on his door and say, ‘Remember me?’ Then at least you’ll know.”

“And what if he doesn’t remember me?”

“Then he never loved you.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Well …” I scratched my chin. “That’s harsh and a little heartbreaking.”

“Life is harsh and heartbreaking.”

I giggled. “Who are you? Because this is not the Fisher Mann I knew. Did your head injury awaken some deep philosophical part of your brain?”

“No.” He stood and stretched his good arm above his head and his casted arm about half the way. His shirt lifted a few inches, revealing his abs.

My gaze stuck like sticky spider fingers, and when I tore it away, after he dropped his arms back to his side, Fisher was looking at me. I felt the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face. His expression was more unexpected. Not the cocky one I remembered. It was more of a curious expression like he was in disbelief that I had been staring at his exposed skin.

That familiar blush crawled up my neck.

“I should go,” I whispered, scrambling to my feet and brushing my hair away from my face.

“Thanks for the puzzles.” His grin held so much satisfaction, his eyes filled with that familiar look he’d given me so many times before.

“You’re welcome.”

My phone vibrated and I pulled it from the pocket of my hoodie. “Oh my gosh … oh my gosh! It’s time.”

“Time for what exactly?”

I glanced up from the screen, eyes wide, smile even wider. “Holly’s client is in labor! I have to go. I’m … I’m going to help deliver a baby. Eek!” I jumped up and down hysterically, and before I realized what was happening, I had my arms thrown around Fisher’s neck, my body still doing its spastic jumping motion.

He rested his good hand on my back and chuckled.

“This is happening!” My hands went from his neck to his face, framing it, and I kissed him. It was quick, but … ugh! It was on. The. Mouth. My excitement completely erased reality just long enough for my brain to fart.

Jumping away from him, my eyes widened even more as I covered my mouth with my hand. “I … oh … shit … I’m so sorry. I … oh … shit. Fisher, I’m …” I shook my head repeatedly.

When the shock dissipated from his face, he grinned. “It’s fine.”

I tucked my phone back into my pocket and turned toward the door. “I have to go. I’m so embarrassed. It was nice knowing ya.” Flying out the door, I hopped into my car and bolted. I couldn’t get miles between us fast enough.





Chapter Twelve





I helped deliver a seven-pound twelve-ounce baby boy after twelve hours of labor. A water birth.

Then two days later, I did the follow up visit with the family to check on the baby and mom. She was glowing.

I focused on work and reading through the books Holly gave me, basically anything to keep from thinking about kissing Fisher. The weekend came and went. Rory and Rose hung out with Fisher on Saturday night, probably to get the scoop on his Friday night date with Angie. They invited me, but I declined, opting to just keep reading, just keep avoiding Fisher for approximately forever.

On Wednesday of the following week, I helped deliver a baby girl. Six pounds, eleven ounces. And perfect.

I loved every aspect of Holly’s job. Wellness visits. Prenatal visits. Postnatal visits. Happy families. Tiny babies. Women feeling alive again after working with Holly to get their hormones balanced—to get their lives balanced again. Very rewarding work.