The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(25)

After dinner, I walked with Fisher to his house.

“Thanks for saving me,” he said, playfully nudging my arm with his like I had done to him in Target.

Everything between us felt effortless and natural.

“Saving you?” I looked both ways before we crossed the street.

“All Rory talks about is Angie. I miss my beer drinking friend who used to tell me stories about her time in prison or her dreams of owning her own salon again.”

“Rory has told you stories from prison? She hasn’t told me any.”

“I’m sure they’re not stories she cares to share with her daughter.”

I frowned.

“Speaking of stories, I love watching you come to life talking about your job.”

My face filled with heat. “You mean when I lose my mind and kiss my mom’s friend.”

“You know…” he bumped the side of his body against mine again “…I don’t have to just be Rory’s friend. I can be your friend. The friend you kissed because you were so excited. I thought you might wet your pants.” He opened his garage door.

“I wasn’t going to wet my pants.” I scoffed, following him down the stairs to his workshop. “But I did lose my mind. I was just so excited. So I don’t want you to think I kissed you for any other reason than you just happened to be the only one in the room when I got drunk on an adrenaline and dopamine cocktail. I literally would have kissed anyone in that moment.”

He eyed me over his shoulder, squinting as he flipped on the rest of the shop lights. “I’m not feeling quite as special at the moment. Why did you have to take that away from me?”

I laughed because it was funny, right? He wasn’t serious. I didn’t know how to handle him being serious about kissing me. Not yet.

As much as I wanted to steal back the naked fisherman, I didn’t want to hurt Angie. But what if he didn’t love her? If you loved someone, you wanted to hear their voice. Every text felt like a digital kiss. A wink of acknowledgment. That “hey, it’s just me letting you know I think the world of you.”

“Sorry,” I said jokingly. “I’m sure you’re really disappointed I didn’t set out to intentionally kiss my engaged friend.” And I added my signature eye roll to fully sell my innocent intentions.

Fisher seemed to let it all slide with nothing more than a grin. “I’m going to glue these two pieces, then you’re going to hold them together while I clamp them. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He glued. I held. He clamped.

We did this with a half dozen parts to the shelf.

“Perfect.” He finished propping up the last two clamped pieces.

I ate up that look on his face, that look of satisfaction. I’d forgotten how much I missed watching Fisher do what he did best. Well, one of the things he did best.

“I am,” he said, running his hand over the smooth board, his back to me.

“You are what?”

“I’m … disappointed that you didn’t intentionally set out to kiss your friend when you were overcome with excitement. And …” He slowly shook his head. “I’m not proud of my feelings. Still, they’re unintentional which makes them feel so very real. So here I am … waiting for my memory to return so I can not only remember Angie but remember why I agreed to marry her. And maybe that’s tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I get my memory back, and it will make the feelings I’m having right this minute seem inconsequential. Nothing but the wandering mind of a crazy man.” He turned, wearing a sad face.

“But what if my memory never returns? What if I spend months going on dates with Angie, dates where I’m not really thinking about her because I’m really wondering what Nurse Capshaw is doing. Is she working on crossword puzzles for me? Is she shopping at Target without me? Is she running in her sexy running shorts? Or is she delivering someone’s baby and grinning from ear to ear? Is she so excited that she needs someone to kiss? And if I’m on a date with Angie, how can I be the one Nurse Capshaw kisses? And why is my thirty-three-year-old brain thinking about a woman ten years younger than me? Is it the accident? Did I permanently damage something? And after all these thoughts, my brain circles back around to the possibility that I might remember everything tomorrow. It’s quite the quandary.”

Yes. So many quandaries. I was in quite the quandary myself.

“Well …” I inhaled and released it slowly. “I don’t know how to respond other than to say that this Nurse Capshaw is a very lucky nurse. If she knew your feelings, I’m certain she would be flattered. And maybe a little sad too. Sad that you’re feeling so tortured by your thoughts and the uncertainty of what tomorrow or a thousand tomorrows after that will bring. And I wish I had the answer for you. But I don’t.”

With several easy nods, he seemed to process my words. I was so ready to go knock on his door and say, “Hey, remember me?” But I knew he didn’t.

“I finished your crossword puzzles. Do you want to see them?”

“You mean, do I want to check your work?”

“No. My work is correct. I mean, do you want to see them. I’m bragging, not looking for confirmation that I did them correctly.”

I giggled. “So much confidence for someone who wasn’t even sure he liked crossword puzzles.”