The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(26)

“I still didn’t say I liked them.” He passed me and headed up the stairs. “I was just painfully bored.”

Sure, Fisher …

I followed him into the house.

“Beer? Wine? Water?”

“Wine would be great. I’m not on call for the next seventy-two hours.”

“Wine it is.” He pulled a bottle of wine from his wine rack, a corkscrew, and two glasses. “Let’s go downstairs.”

“Is that where your crossword puzzles are at?”

“Yes. I’ve framed them and hung them on the walls.”

I laughed. “Sounds about right.”

The puzzles weren’t on the wall, but he flipped on my favorite globe lights and led me to the screened-in porch. So many memories.

The folders of puzzles were on the table along with several pens.

“Have a seat.” He nodded to the chair where Rory used to sit.

I took a seat on the sectional, instead, in the exact spot we slept that night over five years earlier.

“You took my spot.” He frowned, handing me my glass before trying to uncork the wine.

“Fucking cast,” he grumbled, fumbling with the corkscrew in his left hand.

“Let me.” I took the bottle from him.

He kept his frown pinned to his face; it only made me grin bigger as I easily uncorked it.

“And this isn’t your seat.” I poured myself a generous glass before handing him the bottle. “It’s where I used to sit. And I know you don’t remember that, but I do. So sit somewhere else.”

He turned and started to sit on my lap.

“Fisher!” I held up my glass so it didn’t spill.

On a hearty laugh, he adjusted his aim and sat right next to me. It was a little weird since it was a big sectional and there were two chairs as well.

“There they are. Read ’em and weep.” He nodded to the puzzles.

“I don’t need to read them. I have no doubt that you finished them. And I’m not a weeper.” I sipped my wine.

“My cast comes off Monday.”

“That’s exciting. And nobody signed it. Not even Rory. Fisher, you need better friends.”

“I’ll second that. Here…” he leaned over me, putting way too much of his body heat and woodsy scent right under my nose “…you sign it.” He handed me an extra fine-tipped Sharpie. That’s how confident he was in solving the puzzles I gave him.

“You’re getting it off Monday.”

“So.”

I shook my head, set my wine glass aside, and removed the cap to the Sharpie. Then I pulled his casted arm into my lap, bringing him close to me again. So close his breath brushed my forehead.

My heart screamed for me to do something more, but my brain unsheathed its own sword of common sense.

He was still engaged. I thought. Actually, I didn’t know.

I lifted my head just enough that our mouths were sharing the same oxygen. Fisher’s gaze fell to my lips for a breath, my lips that parted slightly. Then he met my gaze again.

“Are you going to kiss me?” he said.

He. Said. It!

It flipped my world on its head. Opposite world. A new kind of déjà vu.

I dipped my chin and pressed the tip of the Sharpie to his cast, making slow strokes, thinking extra hard to make each letter because I was writing it upside down so that he could easily read it when I was finished.

I’m thinking about it.

Keeping my chin tipped to my chest, I capped the Sharpie as he read his cast.

“And what exactly are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about Angie. And I’m thinking about tomorrow,” I whispered, tracing my finger along the letters on his cast. “If neither existed, I’d kiss you. Because …” I released a long breath. “I really want to kiss you. Which means I should go home.” On a nervous laugh, I stood and set the Sharpie back onto the table.

Fisher’s good hand encircled my wrist. “Don’t go. We still have wine to drink. And you haven’t given stars or smiley faces to my completed crossword puzzles. And there’s pool. Do you like to play pool? Or we could—”

In the middle of his desperate ramblings, his valiant effort to keep me from leaving, it hit me. No one had ever tried so hard to just … be with me. And it felt amazing.

Pulling my arm from his grip, I turned and pressed my hands to his face, kissing him slowly while crawling on the sofa and straddling his lap, standing on my knees so it put me a little higher than him, so I felt in control.

Control of the kiss.

Control of the moment.

Maybe even the crazy illusion that I had control over what he did to my heart.

If he remembered Angie, that meant he’d remember me. He’d remember us. And I wanted that to be enough, but I didn’t know what made him say yes when Angie proposed to him. If it was love, then I needed to keep my heart on a tight leash while we did … whatever we were about to do.

When I ended our kiss, I smiled over his lips and he smiled back. “You can have all the stars, Fisher. And the smiley faces too. But I’m going to kick your ass at pool, and I won’t feel sorry for you when you weep like a baby.”

“We'll see.”

We’ll see …