seventeen | emberly
SEVENTEENEmberly
Declan Murphy is singing in my ear.
I love the guy’s voice, but I yank the pillow over my head and roll over to drown him out.
It was real, not a dream.
Can’t forget you. Never will.
Will.
My eyes pop open and I realize my alarm is going off.
I reach for my cell. Now I know why Iris was laughing when she took my phone at the campfire. She’d changed the ringtone.
I close my eyes and groan.
Do fish really bite at five o’clock in the morning?
But I promised Iris, so I roll off the couch and shuffle over to the coffee pot. Look through my wardrobe for “fishing” clothes, but the only thing I find are leggings and a cotton sleepshirt that hangs down to my knees. I tie a knot in the hem, step into my sparkly flipflops, and call it good.
No one is stirring as I walk between the cabins. The rising sun knits the lake and sky together with a delicate golden seam.
It really is beautiful here.
Iris is waiting by the dock. She’s alone and I feel a pinch of disappointment. Because I was hoping Will would come along?
I must be a glutton for punishment.
He couldn’t leave fast enough the night before. Again.
“You’re here!” Iris grins at me.
“Was there any doubt?”
Iris bites her lower lip. “Will thought you’d change your mind.”
“Not a chance.” Especially now that I know Will doesn’t think I’m a fisherman. Person. Girl. Whatever.
I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the lake. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it after that, but it will prove I’m not the fragile hothouse flower Will Hartley obviously thinks I am.
Two hours later, all I’ve caught are several lily pads and the back of the boat.
Iris is a great teacher, though. Patient and encouraging. When my bobber finally goes down, I’m so excited I almost drop the pole in the lake.
“Set the hook and reel it in,” she instructs.
I have no idea what “set the hook” means, but I give the pole a jerk. Whatever is on the other end of the pole jerks back. I start reeling faster.
“You’ve got this, Em!”
It turns out she’s right.
“A perch.” Iris grabs the net as the fish thrashes next to the boat. “It’s a keeper, too.”
We add mine to the ones Iris has already caught and head back to shore.
“Want to see the fish house?”
Right now, I want to experience everything to do with fishing. I’m the queen of fishing.
Iris takes a picture of me holding the one I caught. I’ll send it to Nona. She has book club tomorrow but it’s more like an adult version of show and tell, so this will get the ladies talking.
The temperature drops a few degrees as I step into the fish house. A sign on the wall catches my eye.
Fishing Rules.
No one told me there were rules.
Bait your own hook.
I closed my eyes, but I did it. So, check.
You catch it, you clean it.
Iris opens a drawer and takes out a wicked looking knife. The fish in the bucket are all deceased, so this must be the “cleaning” part.
“If you’re grossed out by blood and guts, I can do it,” Iris offers.
She’s willing to let me break a rule. Will is nowhere around, but I’ve come this far. And I no longer want to show him. I want to show me. Besides, the chefs on the Food Network do this all the time. How hard can it be?
Iris walks me through the process. The filets look as thin as a piece of notebook paper and the edges just as tattered when I’m finished, so there’s the answer to the last question.
Still, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I caught it. I cleaned it. Take that, Will Hartley.
I wash up in the sink as Iris carefully wraps the filets in paper towel.
“Now comes the best part,” she says.
“What’s that?”
Iris laughs. “We get to eat them.”
I’ve never had fish for breakfast. I also want to see Will’s cabin. I’ve seen Manager Will in the office, but what secrets lurk beyond the door behind the registration desk? What am I going to learn about the man in his natural habitat?
Is he messy? Neat? Does he use antlers in all of his decorating, like Gaston in Beauty and the Beast?
Trepidation begins to overcome my curiosity.
Now I’m wondering how he’ll react when I enter his private domain.
“Are you sure this is all right?” I hang back. “It’s not even seven yet.”
“Will gets up early. He won’t care.”
Iris leads me past the registration desk and keeps going.
A door on the other side of the office opens into a living room.
The furnishings are a little dated, but the overall vibe is homey and comfortable.
A faded corduroy sofa and two mismatched chairs circle the coffee table.
A school of fish in various shapes and sizes form an arch across one paneled wall.
“Did you catch those?” I whisper to Iris.
She bobs her head. “Uh huh. Some of them are my dad’s, though.”
Juni is snoring away in front of the fireplace, paws and tail spilling over the sides of her dog bed. She doesn’t even twitch when we sneak past her. There’s no sign of Will anywhere, so I wonder if he’s still sleeping, too.
I want to pause and study a row of photographs on the bookcase, but Iris moves into the kitchen. It’s smaller than our walk-in pantry at home, with appliances that date back to the Shag Carpet Age. Iris grabs a cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall and sets it on top of the stove.
Thanks to Hazel, I know what to do in the kitchen. Observe. Or better yet, make myself scarce. But Iris points to the cupboard.
“Flour’s in there. Salt on the spice rack.”
First a fisherperson. Now a sous chef.
I sneak another selfie. Otherwise, the Sixteens, who won’t trust me with microwave popcorn, will never believe it.
Iris turns on the burner and dumps half a stick of butter in the pan.
While it melts into a golden puddle, I follow the fish I fileted through a quick assembly-line that includes a light batter made of egg and milk followed by a final dip into a bowl of flour.
“Back already? How did you do?”
I almost drop the fish when I hear Will’s voice behind me.
I turn around and it’s clear from the expression of shock on his face, he’s not expecting to see me here.
I wasn’t expecting to see him, either. At least, not this version of Will. Hair damp from a recent shower. Faded jeans. Black T-shirt draped around his neck.
Naked from the waist up.
I knew Will had broad shoulders, but like Clark Kent’s nerdy glasses, the T-shirt and flannel have been hiding sculpted biceps and a pretty impressive sixpack.
Some guys might strike a pose, take advantage of the chance to show off their shredded muscles. Not Will. He yanks the shirt over his head in one swift motion and I want to dial 911 to report a crime.
“We’re making breakfast,” Iris sings. “Em caught a huge perch.”
Don’t. Stare. At. His. Chest.
I’m staring at his chest.
I drag my gaze away and pick up the filet, holding it up like a trophy when what it really resembles is a piece of Swiss cheese coated in dryer lint.
“It looked bigger when it was alive.”
Will chuckles and the sound goes right through me. I want to bottle the sound and take it out on rainy days. Sunny days. Every day.
What is happening to me?
“She cleaned it, too,” Iris says proudly.
I expect Will to critique my attempt, or not say anything at all, so the warmth in his eyes catches me off guard.
“Looks good.”
“Wait until you taste it.”
The moment Will’s gaze drops to my lips, I realize how that sounded. And I’m pretty sure he’s not thinking about breakfast. And even though I wasn’t trying to flirt with him, I’m not thinking about it anymore, either.
Something flashes in his eyes. And just when I think we’re having another moment, he shakes his head.
“I … I have some things to do.”
And then he leaves again.