Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
D eb carried the dishes into the kitchen, her smile lingering long after the playful banter on the porch faded behind her. But the moment her back was turned, it slipped—replaced by a nervous flutter in her chest that she couldn’t quite ignore.
What the hell just happened?
She set the plates in the sink, gripping the edge for a second longer than necessary. Deb had no clue what had gotten into her. One minute, she was teasing Brock about fishing; the next, she was agreeing to a dinner that felt more like a date than a friendly meal. Her heart was still tapping out an uneven rhythm, like it hadn’t caught up with her brain yet.
She’d been flirting with him. Openly. Boldly. That wasn’t like her—not lately, not since… well, not since things had gone so wrong the last time she let her guard down. But there was something about Brock that made it feel safe to be a little reckless. Something steady in his eyes. Something grounding in his smile.
Still, she wasn’t used to this kind of attention anymore—she wasn’t used to letting herself want it.
She’d acted in the moment, but deep down? The truth was simple: she did want to have dinner with him. She wanted to sit across from him and hear him talk about himself...about anything. She wanted to feel the heat in his gaze without needing to look away, without fear creeping in.
What could it hurt? she told herself again, but the nerves in her stomach didn’t quite believe it. It wasn’t just dinner—it meant something. Maybe not to him, maybe it was casual for Brock, but to her… it was the first time in a long time that she felt like taking a step forward instead of always looking back.
And that was both terrifying and thrilling.
“Everything okay?” Tammy asked gently, coming in behind her with a stack of cups.
Deb blinked and gave a soft laugh. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
Tammy raised an eyebrow. “About dinner with my brother?”
“He hasn’t won yet,” Deb shot back, then flushed, the heat crawling up her neck. “Is it that obvious?”
Tammy smirked, but there was kindness behind it. “Only to someone who knows that look. Nervous-excited, right?”
Deb exhaled a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”
“I can tell when someone has been hurt in the past, Deb.” Tammy gave her a warm smile. “He’s a good one, Deb. If you’re going to let someone in… Brock’s worth it. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother. I would never do that after what I’ve been through.”
“He is a good man,” Deb agreed softly, her gaze drifting to the window where she could see Ben darting around the yard with excitement, Brock trailing behind him with fishing rods slung over one shoulder.
She kept her tone light, but there was a weight behind her words—something old and worn, something she didn’t quite feel ready to unpack.
Tammy didn’t press. Deb was grateful for that. She knew Tammy wasn’t asking for details, wasn’t prying into wounds that weren’t hers to touch. It wasn’t curiosity in Tammy’s voice—it was compassion. A quiet offering of support without expectations.
Deb picked up a towel and began drying the dishes slowly, her hands moving on autopilot. Her thoughts, though, spun like leaves caught in the wind.
She’d had good once—or thought she did. And it had turned into something sharp, something that left scars in places no one could see. Since then, she’d learned to keep her walls high and her heart guarded. Smiles were safe, flirting was fine, but real feelings? Real hope? That was dangerous territory.
But Brock… Brock didn’t feel dangerous.
He felt solid. Steady. Like a man who meant what he said and didn’t play games. And that scared her in a whole new way—because for the first time in what felt like forever, she actually wanted to trust someone again.
She glanced at Tammy, who was quietly wiping down the counter, humming softly to herself. There was no judgment in her eyes, just a knowing kind of calm.
“I’m not looking for anything serious,” Deb said after a long pause, unsure if she was saying it for Tammy’s benefit or her own. “But… dinner sounds nice. And he makes it hard to remember all the reasons I built the walls in the first place.”
Tammy smiled, warm and understanding. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t need to tear your walls down. They just wait patiently on the other side until you’re ready.”
Deb swallowed hard, her throat tightening. She hadn’t expected this kind of tenderness today—hadn’t expected to feel anything, really, except maybe a little sunshine and some good food.
But here she was, heart skipping in a way she’d almost forgotten it could. Nervous. Excited. A little scared. But open—just enough to see what might come next.
She set down the towel and exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat and forcing a smile back into place, “I still plan on kicking his butt at fishing.”
Tammy laughed, bumping her shoulder gently. “Good. Keep him humble.”
And with that, the moment passed. But something had shifted in Deb—something small, but real.
By the time Deb and Tammy made it down the gently sloping trail to the pond, the sounds of arguing and splashing greeted them like an odd little symphony of chaos.
“Okay, but why can’t I just throw it real hard?” Ben shouted from the bank.
“Because we’re fishing , not trying to knock the fish unconscious,” Brock replied, exasperated but clearly trying to keep it together. “And you’ll throw your worm off the hook.”
Deb stepped through the trees and smiled at the sight before her.
Brock stood behind Ben, holding the boy’s small hands in his larger ones, guiding the fishing rod slowly and deliberately like they were defusing a bomb. The end of the line, however, was stuck in the bush behind them, and a worm had somehow found its way onto Ben’s shirt.
“Oh my God,” Tammy muttered beside her, hands on her hips. “He’s going to need a bath in bleach.”
Ben spotted them and lit up. “Mom! I’m fishing!”
“Is that what you call it?” Tammy smirked, walking over, she looked at what was left of the worm on his shirt. “Gonna throw that shirt away.”
“It’s just worm guts, sis.” Brock chuckled when Tammy gagged.
“That’s disgusting.” Tammy wrinkled her nose.
“Uncle Brock says I gotta be patient.” Ben rolled his eyes dramatically. “But I’ve been patient for, like, ten whole minutes and there’s still no fish.”
“Ten minutes?” Brock laughed. “Kid, you haven’t even managed one full cast yet.”
Ben turned to Deb, dead serious. “This is harder than Fortnite.”
“Not if you have someone who knows what they’re doing showing you how.” Deb threw that barb out, then snickered when Brock gave her a narrowed stare.
Tammy cracked up as she settled on a rock nearby. “I’m just here for the entertainment.”
Brock straightened and handed the rod back to Ben. “Okay, buddy, let’s try again. Feet shoulder-width apart, hold it like I showed you. Nice and easy this time.”
Ben took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes in intense focus. “I got this.”
He pulled back, swung forward, and somehow managed to hook his own sleeve.
Deb snorted so hard she had to turn away. “Okay, I’m sorry, but that was impressive.”
“I think I caught something!” Ben yelled, trying to reel in… himself.
Brock carefully disentangled the hook with a patience that would make saints jealous. “You caught your jacket. Congratulations. We’ll fry it up later.”
Deb sat on the edge of the small dock and dipped her toes into the cool water, grinning. “This is the best fishing trip I’ve ever been on, and we haven’t even seen a fish.”
“Fishing sucks,” Ben muttered, frowning down at his tangled line.
“Ben!” Tammy scolded, but both Deb and Brock grinned at each other. “Watch that mouth of yours.”
“Uncle Brock says worse.” Ben threw Brock under the bus.
“Yeah, well, he needs to watch his mouth also.” Tammy glared at Brock, who ignored her.
Brock knelt next to him, his voice softening. “You’re doing great. Every good fisherman starts by hooking something they’re not supposed to. It’s tradition.”
“Really?” Ben asked, hope lighting in his eyes.
“Absolutely,” Brock said with a completely straight face. “First time I went fishing, I hooked your grandpa’s hat right off his head. Flew into the lake like a frisbee.”
Tammy laughed. “I remember that. I also remember I caught more fish than you did that day.”
Brock snorted, glancing at his sister. “No, you definitely didn’t.”
Deb remained silent, just watching everything. Brock and Ben were still wrestling with the rod. There was something achingly sweet about the way Brock guided Ben, firm but gentle, never frustrated. Even when Ben got the line stuck in the tree for the third time.
Deb felt her chest tighten—not in a bad way, but in that soft, unexpected way that made her realize just how rare moments like this were.
“You know,” she said aloud, casting a teasing glance toward Brock, “if you keep hooking bushes and trees, we’re gonna have to rename this leafing instead of fishing.”
Brock grinned over his shoulder. “Keep talking smack, and you’re getting the jankiest rod I can find.”
“Joke’s on you,” Deb said, rising to her feet with dramatic flair. “I could outfish you with a stick and some string.”
Ben gasped. “Uncle Brock, she’s trash-talking you!”
Brock gave her a long, amused look. “Yeah, I know, but that’s all she’s got. All talk and no game.”
Deb’s heart gave a tiny, traitorous flutter. “You sure you’re ready to lose to a girl?”
Brock stepped away from Ben, his eyes roamed over her with a quick glance. “I’ve lost to worse, but today isn’t going to be that day since all you seem to be doing is running your mouth and not tossing out a line.”
As the day went on Ben had long since lost interest in actually catching a fish. Tammy had tapped out after declaring her sandal had been “viciously attacked” by a suspicious-looking twig in the water. It was only her and Brock.
Deb exhaled slowly, casting her line with a little flick of her wrist. “It’s peaceful here.”
“It is,” Brock said beside her, sitting with his legs stretched out, one hand loosely holding his rod, the other propped behind him.
For a moment, they just sat like that. The sun had begun to dip, casting the water in a golden haze. They were tied four bluegills a piece.
“I think they stopped biting,” Deb said with a lazy sigh. She loved this time of day. The sounds of tree frogs and crickets filled the air. Spring was here, and soon, Summer would be upon them, and she was so glad. She hated the cold. “What happens if we tie?”
“Not going to happen,” Brock said sounding as lazy as she did.
Grinning, she leaned her head back and looked at him. “What makes you so sure O’Mighty Fishman?”
A slow smile curved Brock’s full lips as he glanced her way, and something in Deb’s chest gave the faintest flutter. The last rays of sunlight caught his eyes, turning them a molten gold that seemed to glow just for her. His dark hair was long and unruly, falling across his forehead in wild waves the breeze couldn’t quite tame. He looked like he belonged in the woods—raw, strong, untamed—and he was, hands down, the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on.
But it wasn’t just the way he looked that made her breath catch.
It was the way he was .
There was a quiet steadiness in him, the kind of calm you didn’t realize you were starving for until you felt it. When Brock spoke, he didn’t just say words—he meant them. Every single one. There were no hidden motives behind his smile, no veiled intentions in his gaze. After so many years of guarded conversations and second-guessing everyone’s meaning, being near him felt like exhaling after holding her breath for too long.
She found herself watching him when he wasn’t looking, drawn to that quiet strength, to the kindness in his hands and the way he spoke to Ben like the boy’s thoughts mattered. That was what made him dangerous. Not his smile. Not those rugged, unfairly attractive features.
No, it was how safe she felt with him. And how badly she wanted to believe in that safety, but was it too soon?
Before Brock could answer, his line jerked. He sat forward, reeling fast, his grin wide as he pulled in a fat, wiggling bluegill. “Guess we’ll never know since I just won our bet and dinner.” Brock looked far too pleased with himself. “Told you I was good at this.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. You win.”
“Say it again,” he teased, holding the fish up triumphantly.
“You. Win,” she said, drawing out every syllable like it pained her. As she glanced at the man who carefully placed his prize-winning fish back into the water, she felt as if she was the real winner in this game.