Chapter 19 – Catalina
“This is…”
Jensen turns toward me with that wide, goofy grin he hasn’t managed to wipe off since we landed in the state he calls home. He waits for me to finish.
“Yes?” he drawls, stretching the word out like he’s tasting it.
Since getting to Tennessee, his southern accent has gotten even thicker. Apparently, this is his usual voice; he just cuts out the accent when he rides, does interviews, and talks on the circuit with his friends. And shockingly… I love it.
It reminds me of the southern romance movies I watched on repeat as a little girl trying to learn English, clinging to subtitles and sweet-talking cowboys like they were the gospel and missing the plot. I really had no idea I'd like it this much.
“… Oddly relaxing." I finish, feeling the lightest I have in years. "I feel like I'm lying on a waterbed.”
His smile softens, and he nods without teasing. “I know. That’s why I come out here as much as I can. You can shut off your brain on the water. Just cast a line, wait, and listen to nature do its thing. Sometimes the insects get louder than the birds and it all sounds like white noise to me.”
I glance across the lake, the water rippling like brushed silk across the surface, the quiet so warm it almost feels like a blanket hugging my shoulders.
“Ever tempted to check your phone?” I ask.
He shrugs and shakes his head as he checks one of the lines draped over the edge of the boat. “Told you—I don’t really use my phone much. Even if I did, why would I look down when I can look up?”
Suddenly the thing I thought would be a red flag—a man who would never reply right away if I texted, the guy who'd never post a photo of me on social media as if he was too embarrassed to claim me unless I was winning an award, who doesn't concern himself with what's happening in the world around him, doesn’t live on his phone—feels like an asset.
Because a man who's technologically offline can't be tempted by all the temptation and trouble that an online presence usually offers. Which is exactly how my ex met his now girlfriend.
But Jensen doesn’t scroll through life. He lives it.
Whoever he’s with, whatever he’s doing, that’s where his attention goes.
Maybe that’s why he’s got half the state of Tennessee ready to ride or die for him.
Maybe that's why in each new city we enter, he finds a way to make new friends that'll last for life.
“So, when do we put them back?” I ask, nodding toward the cooler at my feet.
He raises a brow, eyes flicking to the water-filled box where the fish that we've caught today are still flipping, swimming in circles.
Well, the fish that Jensen's caught. Three have bit my line.
I finally got the hang of reeling one in, but I haven't been able to stomach unhooking them myself yet.
“We don’t.”
My brows knit together, and then it hits me. We’re not putting the fish back.
“No,” I whisper.
He chuckles. “They’re our dinner, Kitty.”
And I don’t know why, but tears form instantly. I’m having some strange, instinctive reaction I didn’t even know lived inside me. My throat tightens and I feel the warmth of salt and water at my lash line from tears. This day has felt so peaceful and gentle. It’d be a crime to end it with death.
Before I can stop myself, I'm saying “Jensen, we have to put them back.”
I've never cared that much about the circle of life before. I'm a doctor. I know death is inevitable for all of us. But if this perfect, unplanned day ends with the slaughter of a handful of fish, I might just never be able to come back to Tennessee again.
“Hey.” He crosses the small space between us until his hand is resting warm and steady on my hip and he's kneeling in front of me between my legs. His soft, hazel eyes scan my face full of concern. “Why are you upset?”
I swipe at my eyes quickly, trying to hide any trace of the tears.
I'm not a crier. My ex never cared when I cried. Most people didn’t.
Especially not my parents. Maybe it's because my youngest sister Isla was always crying and wore them out with her emotions.
Somewhere along the way, hiding became easier than hoping someone would notice my pain.
“I-I don’t like eating fish. It’s gross.”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “So, that’s what this is all about?”
I nod, feeling embarrassed. He doesn’t go straight to making fun of me. Doesn’t tell me I’m being dramatic. Doesn’t sigh or roll his eyes or say, ‘Come on. It's food. You're not really upset about us killing a few fish, are you?’
He just nods slowly. “Alright, Kitty.” And then he crouches by the cooler, lifting each fish we spent all day catching—must be fourteen of them—one by one, and releasing them gently back into the lake so that they can live their little fishy lives out in peace.
My breathing stills as I watch him. The strong muscles in his biceps flexing with each toss. He doesn't look upset that he's putting all his hard work back in the lake. He's smiling.
“Just like that?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder at me with a smile. “Yeah, Kitty. Just like that.”
His traps stretch the thin cotton material of that single white shirt he seemed to pack for our trip as he moves.
It still has the grease stains on it from where he wiped his fingers on the plane.
He adjusts his sling. I can tell his shoulder’s been bothering him more than usual today, and I instantly feel guilty making him throw all the fish back in.
I watch him finish and something in my chest loosens. Maybe things don’t have to be complicated all the time between two people. Maybe disagreement doesn’t have to mean war and leaving. Maybe someone bending for you isn’t a threat or a loss. It's what a healthy relationship looks like.
My ex and I barely argued, but only because we barely talked, too.
And when we did? It was stone walls meeting sharper stone walls.
No give. No softness. No one willing to try or bend to the other's perspective.
We'd just double down and then go to bed angry, pretending it never happened in the morning.
I wonder what it would be like to disagree with Jensen and him push back. He seems like a man who has morals and convictions but bends when it matters most and will never break. Would I bend too if he disagreed with me? Do I even know how to give up my own wants for the good of a relationship?
Not that we're in a relationship or anything.
He tosses the last fish into the lake and wipes his hands on his jeans. I think I'm finally starting to get used to his general lack of hygiene. A week ago, that would have caused me to run for the hand sanitizer. Now I know he'll probably wash his hands in the lake and call it a day.
“You excited to see your parents in San Jose next week?” he asks, like he’s been listening to my thoughts unravel this whole time.
I sit beside him on the boat's bench as he adjusts his sling again. “Yeah. I miss them.”
He smiles. “They gonna come watch me ride?”
My brows lift. “Would you like that?”
He thinks for a moment—eyes narrowing, lips twitching. “Yeah. I like it when people show up for me. I haven't had anyone in the crowd for me in a long time."
"No women?"
He smirks. "That doesn't count. They're not really there for me. They are there for the cowboy."
I clear my throat. "I see."
He doesn’t miss a beat. "Though I guess if your parents come, they’ll really be there for you and not me.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “Excited for them to get to see you be a rodeo doctor?”
“We went to a few rodeos when we were kids. Honestly, I barely remember them. Seeing them up close and personal as the Series doctor is very different. I can't relax and enjoy it.”
“That’s ‘cause none of those bull riders were as memorable as me.”
I snort. “Maybe.”
The truth is that I can't relax or enjoy the Iron Horn Series because I'm worried about him the whole time.
The sun’s dipping lower on the horizon now, gold spilling across the water.
Our lines are still in, though neither of us seem to care about catching anything now that dinner's off the table. I’m not sure I’m ready for this day to end or for the whole time off to be finished.
For the west coast to swallow me back into its noise and general busyness.
Two days in Tennessee. That’s all that we've had together and yet, it's been one of the easiest spent weekends of my life.
Tennessee is beautiful. A lot like North Carolina, and I think I have better perspective now on why people choose to make their homes in places like this. Why Jensen likes it so much, too.
“We should probably head back now,” he says, glancing toward the sinking sun. “I gotta prepare my grandma for us going into town for dinner, since we, uh…” He lifts a brow. “Discarded our meal.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
He gives me this look—baffled, almost offended on my behalf. “You don’t have to apologize, Kitty. I'm not upset about it."
"Will your grandma think I have something against hunting and fishing?"
He throws his head back and laughs. "Nah. Grandma won't be upset either. She's been asking me to take her to this new Italian place anyway.”
“I ruined your dinner plans.”
He chuckles. “I don’t think you could ruin anything even if you tried.”
I swallow the knot that’s forming in my throat. “I don’t think that’s true.”
He stands, nudging my bag accidentally with his knee as he moves, and something rattles out—clinking across the floor of the boat. His brows rise when he sees what it is.
“Red?”
I scoop up the tube of nail polish, dusting off lake debris that's fallen in the center of the boat.
“I never got to paint my nails when I was in surgeries every day,” I tell him, twisting the cap open. The shade is a bold one. The color is aptly named Blood of My Enemies, which I found funny when I bought it, but now seems a little weird.
“Figured I’d paint them before San Jose. Give my parents a real shock when they see me with makeup and nail polish on.”
He looks from the bottle to my face. “I like you in red. I think it's your color." He pauses. "Will you paint mine with that?”
I stare up at him. “You want me to paint your nails?”
He drops to one knee between my legs, shrugs off the sling that's wrapped around his shoulder, then extends his right hand out to me. His voice gentles.
“Yeah. Will ya, Kitty? I want to match you.”