Page 57 of Big Stick Energy
“Reel it in and find out.” I suppress a laugh as she furiously turns the handle, her whole body tense with concentration.
With a sudden splash, her catch breaks the surface—a small, silvery-blue fish thrashing wildly in protest.
Darcy lets out a delighted shriek. “Omigod! A baby.”
“Hey, it’s not bad for a first catch.” I grab the line and lift the fish up, inspecting it. “Snapper blue. Baby version of a bluefish.”
“Aw!” She beams. “It’s kind of cute.”
“Don’t let it fool you,” I warn. “They’ve got teeth.”
As if on cue, the fish twists in my grip, its tiny, sharp jaws snapping the air.
Darcy yelps and jerks back. “Holy crap. I caught ademon.”
I snort, carefully unhooking the fish. “Bluefish are all bite, even the little guys. This one’s too small to keep, though.”
“Wait! Selfie!” She whips her phone out of her pocket and leans into me. I get a whiff of her perfume as she snaps a shot.
Darcy watches as I lower the fish back into the water. “Bye cutie!” It gives a quick flick of its tail and disappears beneath the surface.
Then she shows me her phone. “Look at us and my prize-winning fish.”
The photo frames us perfectly. We’re both smiling, and the sky is turning pink behind us. I look as happy as I’ve looked in years, outside of a hockey rink.
I hardly recognize myself.
Chapter 19
Like Summer Camp with Côtes du Rhône
Darcy
Eric probably finds me ridiculous, but fishing isexhilarating. We don’t catch anything large enough to keep, though, and now it’s getting dark.
“Come on,” he says finally, removing the hook from my pole. “I can barely see the shoreline anymore.”
“Fine,” I concede. “But this was amazing. Thank you.”
He steers the boat back to the dock and hops out. Then he does something impressive with a rope to secure it. When I try to step onto the dock, though, the boat rocks. I stumble forward, and suddenly I’m pressed against his chest, his hands instinctively catching my waist to steady me.
We both go still.
In the dim light, his face is only inches from mine, close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in his eyes. Close enoughto feel the warmth of his breath. His gaze drops to my lips for just a heartbeat, and my pulse stutters.
Do it, I think. His hands are still on my waist, and I can feel the slight pressure of his thumbs against my ribs.
Then Eric clears his throat, his hands dropping away as he takes a step back.
“Careful there,” he says, his voice slightly rougher than usual.
“Yeah,” I manage, my cheeks burning. “Thanks.”
I’m full of disappointment as we go back inside.
His father pours us another glass of wine, and we do a jigsaw puzzle at the kitchen table until Eric starts yawning. That’s when we head upstairs.
I expect it to get awkward, but it doesn’t. Ten minutes later, I’m lying in the top bunk of his childhood bedroom, feeling content. The window is open to the nighttime breeze, and if I listen carefully, I can hear the gentle sound of the water lapping against the seawall.
