3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Forrest
Thursday pizza at Mercury Slice is a Mercury Ridge institution.
Not only is it the best pizza in North Carolina, but the lake location is the perfect gathering spot for locals and tourists alike.
It even has a dock that’s accessible by boat.
Perfect for my friends and me, who spend as much time on Lake Mercury in the summer as possible.
Tonight the whole crew's here. Ace and Chrissy, tangled up together on the same side of the bench like they're stitched at the hip.
Joel and Rayna, who keeps hopping up to help at the pickup window even though she's technically off shift.
Trent, working his way through a pepperoni slice and narrating everyone's business.
Liam, shoulder finally healed, arguing with Trent about the fishing tournament like they do every single year.
And Aileen.
She came. I didn't think she would.
She's sitting at the far end of the table with a slice she claims she doesn't have room for and keeps eating anyway, and she's got her guard up so high you could hang laundry on it, and every few minutes she looks at me like she can't figure out why she's here.
"So, Aileen," Trent says. "Forrest here says you've got a whole boat full of science equipment. You out there tagging our fish?"
"Some of them." Aileen sets down her slice.
When she talks about the work, something changes in her.
The guardedness burns off and she lights up, sharp and sure.
"I catch a sample, measure them, tag a percentage, and release everything.
Then I recapture on a second pass. The overlap between what I tag and what I catch again tells me the population size and how healthy the fishery is. "
"Catch and release," I say.
Her eyes flick to mine. "Catch and release," she agrees, and there's the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth, like we've got a private joke.
"That's Forrest's whole religion," Ace says around a mouthful of pizza. "Man's never kept a fish in his life. Or a woman, come to think of—"
Chrissy elbows him in the ribs hard enough to make him grunt.
"What?" Ace says, wounded. "I'm just saying he's picky."
"He's selective," Chrissy corrects, and gives Aileen a look so pointed it could core an apple.
I could kill all of them. I love them, but I could kill them.
Aileen's cheeks have gone pink, and she reaches for her drink to cover it, and I take pity on both of us and change the subject.
"That rental's costing you time," I say. "How many survey mornings has it eaten?"
"Two and a half. But I'm still on schedule."
"For now. But you’ll quickly fall behind in that old beater.
You need a reliable boat.” I lean back. "I don't book clients before eight.
Come with me from five-thirty to eight, four mornings a week.
I'll get you to every site on your list, and the state can stop paying for an outboard held together by rust and a prayer.”
The table has gone quiet. Even Trent has stopped chewing.
Aileen looks at me for a long moment. I can see her wanting to say no. What I can’t figure out is why.
"There's a line in my budget for a local operator," she admits slowly. "I'm not sure if they’ll approve your regular guide rate, though. I’ll have to check on that.”
I shrug. “That’s fine.”
"But why would you want to help me?”
And there it is. The whole table is waiting for my answer. Rayna with her hands pressed together like she's praying. Ace grinning like an idiot. Everyone else staring with wide eyes.
I could give her an easy answer. I could say I care about the lake, which is true, and leave it there.
Instead, I tell her the actual truth, because I've watched enough of my friends fall in love to know that there’s no reward without a little risk.
"Because I care about the health of this lake," I say. "And because I'd rather spend those mornings with you than without you."
Somebody—Trent, probably—makes a strangled sound.
Aileen stares at me. Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"That's—" She stops. Swallows. "You can't just say things like that."
"Just did." I pick up my slice. "You in or not, Doc?"
The pause stretches out so long that Ace actually holds his breath.
Then Aileen huffs out a laugh, shaking her head, and something in my chest unlocks.
"Fine," she says. "Five-thirty at the launch. Four mornings a week. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"We'll see."
The next morning, I'm at the launch at 5:10, coffee in hand, watching the mist rise off the water, and when her state truck pulls in, I’m positive this was the best idea I’ve ever had in my life.
Twenty years I've had this lake to myself at dawn. But maybe I was just saving a seat in my boat for her all along.