The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(9)

Fisher visibly stiffened, and when Angie glanced up at him, he forced a smile. The smile one would have given to a stranger.

She had no choice but to put her heart out in the open on a platter for him to cut into tiny pieces with his unintentionally insensitive comments. However, I kept my heart a little more guarded.

We ended.

I moved on.

He moved on.

End of story.

That was my brain’s version of the story. Another reason I kept my heart guarded was to keep it from fighting with my brain. It didn’t feel like I had moved on. It didn’t like to think of Fisher moving on. And it definitely didn’t like to think our story had ended.

“We’ll give you two some privacy. I’m so glad you’re home,” Rory said.

Before she could take a single step toward the door, Fisher spoke up. “You should stay for dinner. I know you sent way too much food for two people.”

“Oh …” Rory shook her head, giving Angie a questioning expression on a quick glance. “No. Rose is home. And I made the food for you two. You don’t have to eat it all in one night. We’ll drop by another night. Maybe we’ll bring pizza and beer.”

“Yeah, babe. You need to rest anyway.” Angie continued to pet his hand and arm. He didn’t want to be alone with her.

“What’s so funny?” Rory asked.

“What?” I narrowed my eyes.

“You’re smiling. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to smile. I’ll rein that in.”

Fisher snorted a laugh. “Yep. She’s your daughter, Rory.”

With no success, Rory attempted to hide her grin from me. “Let’s go, Daughter. Don’t you have a job to find or crosswords to construct?”

“Crossword puzzles?” Fisher did that head tilt that I’d always adored. My little puppy dog. More like a wolf back then.

“Yes.” I smiled, wondering if that would jog his memory. “A cruciverbalist. Ever heard of that?”

I knew Rory missed it, and Angie did too, but I didn’t. I saw that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth just before he shook his head once. “I … I’m not sure.”

“Fisher’s not a crossword puzzle guy. But he did win a spelling bee. Right, babe? I think your mom told me that once.” Angie tried to demonstrate her expertise.

It thrilled me to know that he shared that secret with me and not her. And his memory might have cherry-picked things from his brain, but not the crossword puzzles because I saw it, the twitch, even his eyes changed a tiny bit into something along the lines of curiosity or satisfaction.

“A cruciverbalist is a person who enjoys crossword puzzles or constructs them,” I said.

Fisher …

That look. Was it the look he gave me the very first time I told him about my pastime? Was that the look I missed? Was that the moment he knew I was more than just an eighteen-year-old girl with freakishly long arms and unlikely to wear socks with my tennis shoes?

I wasn’t trying to take him away from Angie. I was only trying to find my naked fisherman.

My naked fisherman did enjoy crossword puzzles.

My naked fisherman wouldn’t marry someone just because his family thought it was the right thing to do.

My naked fisherman … well, I didn’t know if he still existed.

But I sure wanted to find out.

“No offense, but it sounds like a nerdy hobby.”

“Fisher, that’s not nice.” Angie, bless her ignorant heart, came to my rescue.

“Reese’s dad used to construct puzzles.” Rory played the middle ground. Very matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to make anyone feel bad.

Fisher nodded several times. “Your ex-husband died. Right?”

Wow.

Fisher remembered that, but not me.

“Yes. Shortly before Reese turned fifteen.”

“Well, I’m on a roll today. Another asshole remark from me. Maybe I should just take my meds and go to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m sure someday I’ll find my nerdy, cruciverbalist soul mate. And he will find my affinity for clues and words to be endearing. Maybe even sexy.” I winked.

A wink.

For my naked fisherman.

Then it happened again. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Yes, Fisher. You’re my cruciverbalist soul mate, you stubborn ass with a broken brain.

“I’m sure he’s out there. Good luck.” Fisher kept his gaze on me.

“He’s probably in hiding. Not all cruciverbalists are brave enough to admit their passion to the world.”

“Mmm …” he hummed while giving me an easy nod.

I had his attention.

Not his memory.

Not his engagement ring.

Not his bed.

Shaky ground at best, but I took it.

“Well, goodnight, you two,” Rory said as I followed her to the door.

“Thanks again,” Angie replied.

“Yes. Thanks,” Fisher added.





Chapter Six





Dear Lost Fisherman,

I just got home after spending weeks in Denver making sure you’d be okay. You don’t remember me. That’s fine. Maybe it’s best if you don’t.