Page 11 of Brodie

“I don’t watch hockey,” I say.

“So, you never read the article about me that came out twomonths ago in LifeNStylez, where I said that my threefavorite things are fishing, scary movies, and baking?”

“I’ve never even heard of that magazine.” I shake my head,trying to wrap my mind around the last thing he said. “You like baking?”

“I’m being serious right now, Reese. I’m trying to figureout if this is all just some strange coincidence or if...”

It clicks. Right then, in that moment, it clicks. The weirdlook on his face, the way he seems freaked, maybe even a little mad.

“Oh, my God. You think I’m some weird stalker fan,” Ibreathe in disbelief.

“I didn’—”

“How would I even go about that?” I ask with zero humor,placing my sandwich on the plate and dusting off my hands.

“I don’t know.” He scrubs his fingers through his hair.

“Right.” I pick up my bag from beside me, ready to bolt.“Before I leave, I would just like to point out that I didn’t sit by you at thepool. You sat by me. I didn’t try to talk to you; you talked to me. And Ididn’t ask you to dinner; you asked me. So, unless I enthralled you with mybeauty and wit and have some kind of magical power that manipulated you intodoing all those things, I don’t see how you’d think that I set this wholesituation up.” I start to stand but stop when he gets there before me and blocksmy path.

“You’re right,” he says quietly, looking down at me. “I’msorry, it’s just…”

“Let me guess, women are constantly throwing themselves inyour path or trying to find ways to get your attention.”

“Something like that,” he mutters, looking uncomfortable. Ihave to admit, I feel a little bad for him if his first assumption about havinga few things in common with someone is that they dug up that information fromsomewhere and are trying to play him.

“Don’t go, okay? I shouldn’t have assumed you’d do somethinglike that,” he pleads. “It was wrong of me to think that.”

“Very wrong.”

“Very wrong,” he agrees. Then asks quietly, “Are youstaying?”

I nod and then wait for him to retake his seat across fromme.

“Do you really like baking, or is that something you made upso women would find you endearing?”

“No, I enjoy it. It’s relaxing.” He picks up his burger andmeets my gaze. “You really like fishing?”

“I love it, or rather, I love ice fishing. My—” I cut myselfoff.

“Your?”

“When I was growing up, I would go with my best friend’s dadand him almost every weekend in the winter. There is something magical aboutbeing in that little hut, waiting for a fish we would cook right there afterpulling it out of the water.” I shrug. “I haven’t gone in a long time, but thatis one of my favorite memories from when I was a kid.”

“Have you ever gone deep-sea fishing?”

“No, have you?”

“I go whenever I get the chance.” His gaze wanders over myface. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing. I have the day off.”

“Do you want to go out fishing with me?”

“Are you serious?”

“I never joke about fishing.”

“Then, yeah. That sounds like fun.”

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