Page 7 of Beauty and the Beard

“Thank you. You probably think I’m a loser. Not knowing how to work a stove.”

Pulling out a chair at the table, I seat myself, and he joins me. The embarrassed flush to his cheeks only makes him more attractive. Bedhead and all.

“Well, we all need to learn sometime. Maybe you’ve only used a microwave or cooked over fires. I don’t know.”

He says nothing, but I’m happy he’s eating the food. Millie’s fish is simple, but so damn good. It’d be a shame if he couldn’t experience it.

“Would you teach me how to fish?”

Startled by the question, I cock my head.

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Maybe?”

We both laugh as he cleans his plate and once again I’m drawn to his eyes. There’s a lot of emotions swimming there. Things I can’t quite pull out, but I wonder why such a city guy felt like he needed to flee to the middle of nowhere in Québec to cope with it.

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this whole thing and he really is just a guy looking to broaden his horizons.

“If you want to learn how to fish, now is the perfect time. There’s a spot across the lake where the bass are biting. They’re a lot of fun to catch and I guarantee you’ll catch something.”

He smiles so sweetly I want to lie down and let him do whatever he wants with my body. And this is very new for me. My heart pounds with a forgotten rhythm that both excites and frightens me.

“Yeah? So I could actually catch a real, honest-to-god fish? By myself?”

Sasha’s eyes shine. His excitement at such a foreign possibility zings in the air and I can’t help but share the feeling with him.

“Well, first you need to define what you mean by ‘yourself’. Are you only reeling it in, or will you bait the hook, too?”

I thought he’d balk at the bait question, but he considers it as he fidgets with his fork.

“All of it. I want to bait the hook, reel it in… but, and I’m sorry if this is silly…” he chews his lip. “Can we let it go?”

“Of course we can. Lots of people like to fish for fun, Sasha. They catch a fish, take a picture, and throw it back.”

I jolt when he hoots a laugh and pushes his chair back.

“Can we go tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to check what’s on my schedule first. I might make it happen.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. You run this place and here I am asking you to be my personal tour guide. You probably have a lot of better things to do than cater to a spoiled city guy who doesn’t even know how to use a stove.”

“Actually, it would be my pleasure and while I do run the place, I have people I trust to fill in. I don’t get to fish as much as I’d like, and taking you out would be wonderful.” His eyes widen and it’s my turn to feel the heat on my neck. “Taking you to fish, I mean. Not on a date.”

Nodding, he takes his plate over to the sink and another foreign feeling creeps in. The need to stay and talk for hours. To find out everything about him, from his toothpaste brand to if he likes to eat popcorn at a movie. The need to have a companion again—inallthe ways I can.

Overwhelmed, I push my chair back and head to the door.

“Have a good night, Sasha. Breakfast is at 7 A.M.. I’ll speak to you then about fishing.”

Without another word, I hotfoot it back to the lodge and up to my suite. My private apartment is away from the guest rooms and sits at the back of the lodge overlooking the lake. Once inside, I slump against the door with a sob.

“How can I let someone else in after you, Connor? I don’t know how to let you go.”

The silence in the room allows my words to hang in the air like the morning mist on the lake. Again, there’s no answer to the question I’ve been asking myself for seven years.

Alone, I slide into bed and stare at the ceiling until my eyes finally grow heavy with sleep, yet my heart beats with the hope that I might have an answer to my question soon.

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