The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(24)

Holly and I had Thursday off to recoup from a long night of waiting for that sweet girl to make her way into the world. I was so tired and grateful for the time to get some sleep. After hours of not moving an inch in my bed, Rory woke me up.

“Are you having dinner with us?” She ran her hand through my hair.

I blinked my heavy eyelids open. “Um …” I rolled onto my back and stretched. “Yeah. I think so. What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Yeah, I’d better get up so I can sleep later.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

“No rush, sleepy head. Dinner won’t be ready for another thirty minutes if you need a shower or whatever.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I need a shower, at least to wake up.”

“Okay.” She kissed my head and left my room.

I padded to the bathroom and stripped into my bra and panties. There were no clean towels on the shelf, which meant Rory probably hadn’t taken them out of the dryer.

I opened the door and crossed the hallway to the laundry room. Sure enough, clean towels were in the dryer. As I crossed the hallway again, I made a casual glance to the side, seeing something move. Someone move …

Fisher stood maybe three feet from me.

Me in my bra and panties.

Me holding the bath towel in my hand instead of covering my body.

He didn’t hide his wandering gaze, not one bit. And I didn’t hide any part of my body. After a hard swallow, he met my gaze. “I’ll use Rory’s bathroom.”

“K,” I whispered, wanting some tiny part of his lost memory to return upon seeing so much of my bared flesh. With no rush, I moseyed into the bathroom and shut the door.

Then I showered and touched myself while replaying Fisher’s slow inspection of me. My hand pressed to the side of the shower, eyes pinched shut, jaw slack as I came, feeling weak in the knees.

Feeling empty.

Feeling impatient.

Feeling confused.

With wet hair, jeans, and a long-sleeved tee, I made my way to the kitchen. “Smells good.” I smiled at Rory while taking a seat next to Fisher, the only seat left to take.

Rose passed me the dish filled with chicken and roasted veggies. “New baby?” she asked.

“Yes.” I spooned food onto my plate. “A girl. Ivy Elizabeth. Tons of black hair. Ten fingers. Ten toes. And a strong, beautiful cry. When it was finally time, she pushed three times. It was a water birth. Fourth child.” I laughed. “I’m not sure why we were there. The mom did everything. She knew when to push. When to rest. How to breathe. She grabbed the baby all by herself. Ivy cried. The mom put her right to the breast. It was … beautiful.” I realized I had tears in my eyes, and I quickly blotted the corners.

“Oh … that sounds amazing, sweetie,” Rory said, clearly not missing my emotions.

I refused to look at Fisher. What did he think of my sappy side?

“So … how was everyone else’s day?” I asked.

“Crazy, as usual.” Rose laughed.

“How was your day, Fisher?” Rory asked him.

He wiped his mouth. “Fine. I’ve been playing catch-up this week, driving around to see where we stand on all the jobs. It’s weird. So hard to describe. I don’t remember the projects, but I know what to do. I have these skills that my brain does remember. And all I need are the plans and an update on where each project stands, and I magically know what to do. So then I met with new clients over lunch. And I spent a few hours this afternoon in my workshop. Who knew I had unfinished projects? I don’t remember starting them, but again … I know what needs to be done. When I get this fucking cast off, it will be easier to do things. I need to grow an extra hand to help hold things when I glue and clamp pieces together.”

“When are you seeing Angie again?” Rory asked.

“Saturday. It’s my dad’s birthday, so they’re having a get-together, and of course, she was invited.”

I couldn’t read him. Was he fine with that?

“Things going okay?” Rose asked while I kept my focus on my plate.

“I suppose. I’m trying, but sometimes I feel like she doesn’t think I’m trying hard enough. She texts or calls me every day. And I think on the days I don’t suggest we go somewhere or do something, that she’s disappointed. Sometimes I don’t answer her call because I don’t know what to say. So then she texts me. And since I don’t really know her yet, I can’t possibly read her.”

“Before Rose and I moved in together, we called or texted each other every day. I think it’s normal for two people who are in love to talk every day. So you can’t blame her for that.” Rory did the best job of playing the middle ground. Trying to be the facilitator, the peacemaker.

Fisher nodded slowly. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Unless you don’t love her. Do you love her?

“What do you need help with? In your shop? Because I’m up now. I won’t be sleeping anytime soon. After dinner, I could help hold stuff for you.”

“Just a corner shelving unit. And that would be great.” He gave me a sideways glance.

I eased my head to the right just enough to give him a tiny smile, still unable to hold his gaze for more than two seconds. “No problem,” I mumbled.

And just like that, we ended the Angie subject, and the mood lightened.