The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(34)

“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”

Nope. I had no idea what she meant. It was the craziest comparison. But I wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad or uncomfortable. If Angie and I wouldn’t have been competing for the same bachelor, we might have been better friends. I related to her being an only child and losing a parent. For the three years between my dad dying and Rory getting out of prison, I felt like an orphan. Angie loved a good glass of wine and pretty dresses. So did I. And she loved Fisher Mann … and so did I.

I didn’t hate her.

In many ways, I was her.

“I turned on the porch heater. Let’s go out there.” Rory handed Rose her beer and grabbed the two pizza boxes.

Fisher and Angie snagged the plates and napkins while I carried my wine out with two hands like a good little girl.

Fisher’s main level porch was a three-season porch with nice furniture and lots of plants. Rory deposited the pizzas on the irregular shaped wood coffee table before taking a seat next to Rose on a love seat while Fisher sat on the opposing love seat with Angie right next to him, her back partially molded to his chest like she was his stuffed animal to cuddle.

That left the light gray bean-bag-like chair for me. Its back and arms were more structured than a bean bag, which made it the most comfortable chair in the house. That seemed fair since I drew the fifth-wheel spot for the night.

“Well, someone has a birthday in two weeks.” Rory sipped her beer and eyed me.

I returned a tight-lipped grin and focused on not spilling my red wine on Fisher’s light gray chair.

“If you’re not on call, we should go camping.”

“Sounds cold.” After taking a slow sip of my wine, I shot her a toothy grin.

“Campfire. Warm sleeping bags. Wool mittens. We’ll be fine. We never went camping when you were younger. Your dad wasn’t a camper. But Rose and I bought camping gear several years ago. And we think it would be fun to go as a group.”

“A group?” I discouraged my curious mind from steering my gaze toward Fisher as I hoped her group reference was to a group of people from her work or some camping group they joined. If that was even a thing.

“Us. Your village.” Rory circled her head, signaling to the room. “What do you two say? Are you in for camping on Reese’s birthday?” she asked Fisher and Angie.

“Sounds fun. I haven’t been camping in years. I think Fish has plenty of gear from all the camping he’s done with his family. Right, babe?”

Fish. Babe.

I had no nicknames for Fisher. At least none that I could use in front of anyone else. Just like I couldn’t kiss him or hold his hand in front of anyone else. Five years changed everything … and nothing. We were both in a better place, but the timing was still wrong. I wanted to close my eyes and nod my head like a genie and skip ahead a year so I would know.

I would know if he fell in love and married Angie. If his memory returned. If my heart survived all the ifs.

Fisher nodded. “I have a lot of camping gear between the basement and what’s at my parents’ house.”

Happy birthday to me, I thought, while putting on a brave face. For my special day, I would get to freeze my butt off in a tent, probably by myself, while the lovers snuggled in for the night in their tents after a romantic evening by the campfire.

“Say yes, sweetie. Take a chance. I think you’ll love camping. You said you love the mountains. What could be better than spending the weekend there with good friends and family?”

Jabbing my eyeballs out with an ice pick. Removing my fingernails with pliers. Eating cockroaches. Wiping my butt with sandpaper. So many things would be better than Rory’s group camping idea.

I wasn’t on call that weekend, but I considered lying. With my luck, Rory would have seen Holly at the salon. Poof! Outed!

“Sounds amazing.” I shoved nearly half a piece of pizza into my mouth. It was time to eat my frustrations. “Oh!”

It happened. Of course it happened.

I spilled my wine all over me and his amazing chair.

“Shit. Er … shoot. I’m … I’m so very sorry.”

And embarrassed. I couldn’t look at anyone, least of all Fisher, as I scrambled to get out of the chair and blot the red wine with a wad of napkins.

“It was an accident. No worries, Reese. We’ll take care of it if you want to go get yourself cleaned up.” Angie jumped to the rescue as everyone else tossed their napkins onto the pile to save the chair from as much wine soaking through to the filling as possible.

I pulled the wet fabric of my T-shirt away from my skin as I ducked my head and sped my way to the guest bathroom, shutting the door behind me before staring at myself in the mirror. After a good two minutes of internally scolding myself for being so clumsy in my flustered state following the camping topic, I took off my shirt and ran the stained part under water.

Two soft knocks tapped the door.

“I’m good. Just give me a minute.”

The door opened because I hadn’t lock it—because who opens a closed bathroom door uninvited?

Snatching the hand towel from the counter, I held it to my chest as Fisher peered through the crack he made with the door.

“What?” I tipped up my chin, fighting the urge to have a mini-emotional breakdown.

If he looked too long into my eyes, he would have seen me teetering on the edge of losing it.