Chapter 20
Ethan
The boards of the dock creaked under our weight as I carried the tackle box out and set it down with a thud. I could feel Lily hovering behind me, her presence electric, arms crossed tight like she half-expected something to leap out of the water and grab her.
“Alright,” I said, pulling a small tub from the box. “First step is bait.”
She leaned forward, saw the squirming worms inside, and let out the most dramatic squeal I’d ever heard. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”
I bit back a smile. “Relax. I’ll take care of it.” I threaded one onto her hook quickly, careful not to make a show of it. “There. Now all you have to do is hold the pole.”
She wrinkled her nose, clutching the handle between two fingers like it might bite her. “This is already disgusting.”
I moved closer, watching her fumble with the pole like it was an alien artifact. “Here—let me show you.”
She huffed, adjusting her grip again, but her hands were all wrong. Too tight, angled awkwardly. I stepped in behind her before she could argue, sliding my arms around hers.
“Like this,” I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper close to her ear.
She went still—not stiff exactly, but acutely aware, as if the world around us had faded. I felt it in the way her shoulders lifted, in the sharp little breath she took.
As I wrapped my hand over hers, steadying her grip on the reel, my other hand guiding her elbow, I couldn’t help but notice the way she leaned into me, the citrusy scent of her shampoo mingling with the fresh pond air. It was intoxicating, and I struggled to focus.
“Loosen up a little. When you’re ready, flick your wrist forward—smooth, not forceful. Let the line do the work,” I murmured, adjusting her fingers, letting my thumb brush against her knuckles. “If you choke the pole, it won’t cast right.”
Her laugh came out nervous and breathy, sending a thrill down my spine. “You make it sound so dirty.”
I swallowed a smile, my pulse quickening, and shook my head, but I didn’t let go. Not right away. “Just relax. Trust me.”
For a second too long, we stayed like that—close, the warm curve of her back brushing my chest, her hair drifting against my jaw as the breeze caught it.
I could feel the heat radiating between us, and damn if I didn’t want to pull her closer, to close that last bit of space.
But I forced myself to step back, clearing my throat, trying to push down the urge to move closer. “Now. Try it.”
She cast, clumsy but better, the line plopping into the water with a satisfying splash. She turned her head just enough to grin at me, smug and triumphant.
I stepped back, reached for my own pole, and dug into the tackle box. A worm squirmed between my fingers as I threaded it onto the hook, giving me something else to focus on besides the fact that I could still feel the warmth of her back against my chest.
“Thing is,” I said, keeping my tone even, “fishing takes patience. You can’t expect to catch anything right away. Half the point’s just being quiet. Peaceful. Sitting here and waiting—”
Before I even finished the sentence, Lily squealed. Her pole jerked downward, line tugging hard.
“Oh my God! It’s pulling! Ethan, it’s pulling!” She half-shoved the pole at me, then clung to it again, wide-eyed.
I reached behind her and steadied her hands. “Easy. Reel it in slow. You’ve got it.”
She squeaked the whole time, knees bent, eyes squeezed half-shut like the fish might leap out at her. And then, sure enough, a little bluegill broke the surface, flopping wildly.
“Get it away from me!” she yelped, stumbling back.
I chuckled, cradling the fish carefully before slipping it free and dropping it back into the pond. “Not bad, Harper. Beginner’s luck.”
“Beginner’s trauma,” she muttered, still clutching the pole like a weapon.
I shook my head, baited her hook again, and handed it back. “Try again.”
She gave me a look that said I’d lost my mind, then cast anyway. And not five minutes later, the pole dipped again.
Another fish. Then another.
Every time, she squealed like it was the first one, refusing to touch it, backing up with her hands in the air while I took care of the messy part. And every time, I found myself grinning bigger than before.
After a while, I gave up pretending to fish. My own line sat slack in the water while I leaned on my rod, just watching her.
Her hair caught the sunlight, her laughter carried across the pond, her whole face lighting up in delight every time the line twitched. She was completely unguarded out here.
And for the first time since she’d blown into Willowbrook, I caught myself wondering if this—the joy, the spark, the mess—was who she really was.
A voice carried from the bank. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Ray ambled down toward the dock, hands braced on his hips, grinning. “I thought I heard hollerin’. Ethan, you’re supposed to be teaching her, not letting her out-fish you.”
Lily froze mid-laugh, cheeks pink as she tried to wave him off. “I’m not good at this, I swear—”
“Not good?” Ray chuckled, shaking his head. “Girl, you might’ve broken the Mitchell Pond record. I’m gonna have to tell everyone in town you put Ethan Calloway to shame.”
Her smile faltered for just a beat, not out of discomfort, but more like she didn’t know what to do with the words. Then her eyes lit up, softer, brighter, as though the idea of someone bragging on her behalf was entirely new… and secretly wonderful.
Ray tipped his cap and wandered back toward the house, still chuckling, but Lily stayed by the water’s edge, cheeks pink, gaze trailing after him like she wanted to hold onto the moment a little longer.
“You really are good at this,” I told her, setting my own pole aside. “Dad would’ve gotten the biggest kick out of watching you catch half the pond in one morning.”
Her brows lifted. “You think so?”
“I know so.” My throat tightened, but I kept going. “He loved it out here. Loved seeing people enjoy it, too. He was the kind of guy who’d brag about anybody’s catch—neighbor kid, stranger, didn’t matter. If you caught a fish, he celebrated.”
Lily smiled at that, her voice gentler. “Sounds like a great guy. I’m sure he was proud of you.”
I watched the ripples widen. “Maybe. I just… didn’t give him much to brag about while he was here." I cleared my throat. “Feels like everything that counts came after.”
“From where I’m standing,” she said, steady and warm, “you’ve given him plenty. You take care of people. That matters.”
I looked at her then, sunlight flashing off the water behind her, and for a second, it was hard to breathe. “Well, Harper, I think you’ve officially caught every fish in this pond. We’d better quit before the rest of ’em pack up and leave town.”
She laughed, relief sparking in her eyes, and handed the pole back like it was a loaded weapon. “Probably for the best. I don’t want to see another sad fish face ever again.”
We gathered up the poles and tackle box, and by the time we trudged back toward the house, Ray was waiting on the porch with his arms crossed, grinning.
“You sure she’s a beginner?” he asked me, shaking his head.
“Pure luck,” I said, but Lily darted forward before I could add more. She wrapped him in a quick hug that seemed to catch him off guard, though he chuckled and patted her back all the same.
“Thanks for letting me invade your pond,” she said, still beaming.
“Anytime,” Ray replied. “You come back, and I’ll have your name on the record board.”
Her smile remained even as we headed for the truck. She slid into the passenger seat, still humming with leftover excitement, and I loaded the gear into the bed.
As I climbed behind the wheel, I glanced over at her. She’d twisted in her seat to look back at the pond through the passenger-side window, like she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to it.
“Ready for your next crash-course lesson?” I asked, turning the key.
She shot me a grin. “Depends. Please tell me it doesn’t involve more slimy things.”
I smirked, shifting the truck into gear. “No worms. Promise.”
Her shoulders eased, and she leaned back in the seat with an exaggerated sigh of relief. She smiled, and for a second, I forgot to check the mirror, too caught up watching her.
“Good,” she said, crossing her arms with mock sternness. “Because I’ve officially retired from fishing. Effective immediately.”
I let out a low chuckle and shifted gears, the truck humming beneath us. “Probably for the best. Those shoes of yours weren’t exactly standard fishing gear.”
She gasped, swatting my arm, but I kept my eyes on the road, letting her laughter fill the cab.
Safer that way. Easier than admitting what was really pressing at the edges of my thoughts—that maybe I wasn’t the best tour guide for her crash course, because half the time, I still wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing here myself.
And yet, the way she lit up the car with her joy made me question everything. Maybe I didn’t need all the answers; maybe just being close to her was enough.