The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(33)

I turned in his arms and snaked mine around his neck. “Let’s not read any further.” I grinned. “Let’s go back to the beginning and reread—relive—our favorite chapters, like this one.”

“This one?” He narrowed his eyes a fraction.

I pulled him to me, lifting onto my toes as my lips brushed back and forth over his. “Yeah,” I whispered before giving his mouth a slow kiss. My right hand reached for his left hand, and I guided it under the hem of my shirt.

Up.

Up.

Up.

“This is the chapter where the lost fisherman makes it to second base.”

Fisher grinned before I kissed him again. His hand cupped my breast, and his thumb slid under the fabric and grazed my nipple.

We knew it wouldn’t go past that. So we took our time kissing, like sipping coffee on a lazy Sunday morning.

The naked fisherman wouldn’t have had that much self-control, neither would have that scatterbrained, hormonal eighteen-year-old girl. We knew time and patience were our only options, our only hope.

I didn’t know how long it would last, how long we would last, but I loved the new version of us. Fisher didn’t take my virginity because he wasn’t sure he deserved it, and he wasn’t sure I was truly ready to give it to him.

Five years later, we were in the same situation, but this time it wasn’t my virginity. It was my heart. And like five years earlier, I trusted Fisher explicitly to take what he felt he deserved and leave anything he might hurt.

“Fisher …” I whispered in his ear as he kissed along my cheek.

“Hmm?”

“Teach me.”

“Teach you what?” His knuckles ghosted along my other cheek.

“Everything.”





Chapter Fifteen





Fisher showed me how to use the jiggy thing. He showed me how to get things prepped to stain the pieces which we would do at a later time. He even took me through all his tools, giving me a brief explanation of what they did and examples of when he used them. He did have patience, maybe only with me, but that was all that mattered.

Fisher wanted to be with me.

“Hello?” Rory called down the stairs just as we were sweeping the floor.

Fisher squatted to hold the dustpan as I swept the small pile into it. “Down here.”

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Rory made her way down the stairs. “Pizza’s here.”

“Okay. We’re done.” Fisher stood and dumped the sawdust into the trash.

“Maybe you should have been a trim carpenter instead of a midwife.” Rory eyed me as I dusted off my jeans.

“Fisher’s pretty amazing at what he does, but he hasn’t pushed an entire human being out of his vagina. So I’ll stick to my new job.”

“Aaannnd … we’re done down here.” Fisher flipped off the lights, leaving only the light on above the stairway.

Rory laughed and headed back up the stairs with Fisher and me right behind her.

“Hey, babe.” To no one’s surprise, Angie was in the kitchen, setting out plates and napkins.

I really needed a game plan. One that involved telling my mother that she was ruining my life. It was a speech I didn’t get the chance to give her before she went to prison. Rory had no idea, so was it fair to blame her? I wondered if she’d have felt bad had I told her. Or would she have been way too upset with Fisher and me to care about her role in keeping Angie’s hopes and dreams alive?

“Hey.” Fisher had no problem switching roles, maybe because Rose reserved her distrusting scowls for me.

I pulled his pants up, Rose. I pulled them up! Zipped. Buttoned. That was all me.

Angie hugged Fisher and gave him a quick peck on the lips. I’d signed up for The Bachelor. Oh the joys of sharing one guy.

“Reese, you’re setting the bar pretty high for our future kids.” Angie poured herself a glass of wine while Fisher opened a bottle of beer and took a long swig.

“Oh?” I said with caution as I poured a glass of red wine for myself. Just what I wanted to do, talk about their future kids.

“Your mom said you love working in Fisher’s shop downstairs. I don’t go down there. It’s too dusty. But I’m sure he dreams of teaching our kids his skills someday. If they show no interest, he’ll wonder why he didn't get a child like you.”

I choked on my wine, and Rose came to the rescue, slapping my back a little too hard while Rory jumped into the conversation. “Reese has always been curious and hands-on with things. Even as a little girl, she wanted to do everything she saw her dad and me doing.”

“Oh …” Angie’s nose wrinkled. “That sounded weird. I’m sorry.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. “I wasn’t implying you’re a child. That … just …” She set her wine down and buried her face in Fisher’s chest.

He held his good arm, the one holding the beer, out to the side so as not to spill it on impact.

“It’s been a long day.” She chuckled, rolling her forehead against his chest as his casted arm rested gently on her back.

Every thirty seconds I had to remind myself that Angie’s mind remembered everything about Fisher Mann since he was six years old. She felt comfortable in his presence and in his embrace. Not just as a lover, but as a friend of nearly thirty years.