5. Colt #2
Ethan laughs as he presses the button, and when he lowers his arm, our photo is there. Me, with my ridiculous smile because I actually said cheese, and him with his easy confidence and messy hair from the wind. His…more than cuteness.
“If you just press the side button, you can do that. A selfie. Maybe take some when you’re on the horse. I’d like that.”
My mouth is dry, and the familiar constriction around my chest grows tighter.
“We should get back. Thank you. I’ll try to remember next time to check the charge before I ask you to help me.”
Ethan’s eyes soften, and for a moment, I feel like the world is fine and I could just ask him if he wanted to hang out. Maybe take him to the bar for a burger or whatever. Things that I’m sure friends do. Drink beer, that’s what the guys at the ranch do a lot. I should ask him.
My lips even part to form the words, but I press them together quickly. After a moment, I clear my throat and nod toward the horses.
“We should head back.”
Ethan nods, and I watch him to make sure he mounts his horse okay before leading us back to the ranch.
And wondering the entire way back if I just lost my shot at asking Ethan out.
“How often do the trail rides occur? How many different rides do you offer?”
Ethan peppers me with questions after we’ve returned from the ride. He taps away on his phone, taking notes as I answer while I return the tack to the proper place.
“Mostly, it depends on interest and how many ranch hands are available. I keep my fly-fishing rides on the smaller side to provide hands-on fishing tips if needed. For those, I do half-day and two-hour rides. If it’s a half-day trip, we have a shore lunch.
A two-hour trip, we don’t ride up as far on the creek and fish closer. ”
“What’s a shore lunch?”
“We clean the fish we catch and eat them at the river. I bring gear to pan fry the fish and sometimes extras. In case it’s all catch and release, I bring bag lunches.”
Ethan stops typing and looks at me. His brow furrows, and I’m not sure why.
“What?”
“You actually eat the fish? Like…it doesn’t need to be…cleaned?”
“We clean them at the river.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. “How?”
“I bring fillet knives, and we gut them, then fry them.”
His face pales. “With your bare hands?”
“I use a knife. Is there another way without using hands?”
He drops his head. “I’m so dumb. I’ve never seen a fish that wasn’t packaged in the grocery store or served to me in a restaurant. I guess I just never thought about it.”
“You’re not dumb. Lots of people don’t know what happens outside of a supermarket. I can teach you if you want.”
He shakes his head quickly. “No thanks. I’ll just stick to catching them if that’s okay. What about just trail rides? How often do you do those?”
Pausing my work, I lift my shirt to wipe my face before continuing.
It’s warm in the barn this evening. “If you want to go by the book, we schedule morning, afternoon, and twilight. Of course, it’s always flexible, and so are the distances.
An hour, a few hours, and sometimes we do overnight camps. ”
When I turn back to Ethan after stowing the last saddle, his arms hang limp at his sides, and his gaze seems to be stuck on me like I’m a stranger.
“Is something wrong?” I ask as I wipe at my face. Maybe I have a hunk of mud there. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Uh, no. I’m fine.” He swallows and motions to me. “You, ah…you’re hiding a lot under that shirt, Colt. Kind of took me by surprise. Maybe I should put you in all the marketing shirtless. To heck with the mountain scenery.”
My hand absently runs over my stomach as he speaks. I’m fit for my age, I know that. I have to be because it’s physically demanding. I’ve never flaunted it, though.
“Please don’t ask to take photos with me half naked.” I love my job, but I could never do that.
Ethan shakes his head, his normal demeanor returning. “No, I’d never do that. Just was surprised.” He pockets his phone and tilts his head toward the door. “I’m going to get some work done. Thanks for the ride today. Maybe you can take me fishing next?”
“I’m at your disposal, Ethan. I'm available whenever you need something. Just say the word.”
He bites his lip and turns toward the door. “Good to know. I’ll come and find you. Thanks, Colt. Have a nice night.”
I watch Ethan’s back as he leaves, my hand still on my stomach and my mind racing. I should have asked him out.
Springtime brings a lot of things, but one of my favorites is the reopening of Your Fly is Down, the fly-fishing and tackle shop in town. Not only do I get to wander among all the colorful feathers and furs, but I get to talk with Chris again.
The door of Your Fly is Down closes behind me, and a familiar head lifts from behind the fly-tying bench at the front of the store.
“Colt Beckworth, this is a record of how fast you came here after opening day.” The large man, Chris Egans, lowers the magnifying loops from his face and pushes away from the fly-tying bench. “How the hell are you?”
He meets me in the middle of his shop, arms open for a friendly hug, and I step into them.
“Doing pretty good. You look great. Winter in the south agrees with you.” Chris and his wife close the fly shop every November and spend four months in the Florida sunshine.
Stepping out of the hug, Chris grins and pats his small belly. “It does. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s nice to be close to so many great restaurants on the beaches. I miss my little place here, but it’s nice to get away.”
Several boxes of unpacked stock sit against the wall, but Chris ignores them and returns to his bench, where he’s tying flies. He’s brilliant with his designs and creations, and they often sell out to the tourists here. Especially when I use them on guided tours and catch huge fish with them.
Chris can barely keep up with the demand when that happens.
“Are you working on a fly for me to test? I’m due to start a fishing guide in two weeks when the rainbow should be finished spawning.”
Chris laughs as he leans over the vise clamped on the desk, and I watch for a moment as he deftly ties a pair of sheer wings to the small body he already made on the hook. It always amazes me how a few fibers on a hook can mimic a real insect. Chris is a master at it, too.
“I’ve been thinking about it. This one might be a contender. How’s the ranch shaping up for the season with bookings?”
With a huff, I wander through the store and admire the peacock feathers standing in a jar while I find the words to answer his question.
“It’s picking up. They hired a…marketing expert. An influencer, I think he called himself.”
Chris leans back and abandons his loops completely, slipping his glasses back on.
“You don’t like him?”
“No…I like him just fine.” My chest swells as I inhale a breath and pet the piece of fox pelt next to me. “He’s, um, nice to look at.”
Chris hums. He’s known me since my Uncle Albert first brought me here as a fresh-faced twenty-year-old obsessed with fishing. He knows me as well as anyone can. “Are you coping okay?”
“Mostly,” I sigh as I turn toward the display with the metallic threads. “I thought about asking him to hang out tonight, but he’s…he’s from the city, and he moves around a lot.”
“I can see why that would make you nervous. Are you still painting?”
“Yeah! I tried a new shimmery paint the other day. I’ll have to show you.”
“I hope you do. You should try painting a fish someday.”
I laugh with a shake of my head. “I’m strictly a mountains, trees, and sunrise guy. My skill stops with landscape.”
Chris smiles warmly. “I bet there’s still a lot you can do if you try, Colt.” His kind eyes stay on me, and I jerk my head in a quick nod.
“Thanks.” He’s probably right.
My gaze lands on the fishing vests hanging on a rack, and maybe it’s time to try a little harder. I quickly scan through the choices and hold one up. “Can I exchange this one if it doesn’t fit?”
Chris only motions for me to come to the counter, and I place the vest in front of him. He removes the tags and bags it before holding it out to me.
“I’m proud of you. This one is on me.” The bag crinkles in my hand, but I like how it feels. “You can just be friends, remember? It doesn’t need to be more than that.”
“Right. I know.” Glancing at his unfinished fly, I add, “I’ll be back about the flies for the guides. I need to keep sending you all the big spenders.”
He laughs as I turn toward the door.
“I know, Colt. I have faith in you.”
As I walk toward my truck before heading home, I think it’s time I have faith in myself, too.