Page 36 of Forbidden Love

“Okay, but why can’t I just throw itrealhard?” Ben shouted from the bank.

“Because we’refishing, not trying to knock the fish unconscious,” Brock replied, exasperated but clearly trying to keep it together. “And you’ll throw your worm off the hook.”

Deb stepped through the trees and smiled at the sight before her.

Brock stood behind Ben, holding the boy’s small hands in his larger ones, guiding the fishing rod slowly and deliberately like they were defusing a bomb. The end of the line, however, was stuck in the bush behind them, and a worm had somehow found its way onto Ben’s shirt.

“Oh my God,” Tammy muttered beside her, hands on her hips. “He’s going to need a bath in bleach.”

Ben spotted them and lit up. “Mom! I’m fishing!”

“Is that what you call it?” Tammy smirked, walking over, she looked at what was left of the worm on his shirt. “Gonna throw that shirt away.”

“It’s just worm guts, sis.” Brock chuckled when Tammy gagged.

“That’s disgusting.” Tammy wrinkled her nose.

“Uncle Brock says I gotta be patient.” Ben rolled his eyes dramatically. “But I’ve been patient for, like,ten whole minutesand there’s still no fish.”

“Ten minutes?” Brock laughed. “Kid, you haven’t even managed one full cast yet.”

Ben turned to Deb, dead serious. “This is harder than Fortnite.”

“Not if you have someone who knows what they’re doing showing you how.” Deb threw that barb out, then snickered when Brock gave her a narrowed stare.

Tammy cracked up as she settled on a rock nearby. “I’m just here for the entertainment.”

Brock straightened and handed the rod back to Ben. “Okay, buddy, let’s try again. Feet shoulder-width apart, hold it like I showed you. Nice and easy this time.”

Ben took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes in intense focus. “I got this.”

He pulled back, swung forward, and somehow managed to hook his own sleeve.

Deb snorted so hard she had to turn away. “Okay, I’m sorry, but that was impressive.”

“I think I caught something!” Ben yelled, trying to reel in… himself.

Brock carefully disentangled the hook with a patience that would make saints jealous. “You caught your jacket. Congratulations. We’ll fry it up later.”

Deb sat on the edge of the small dock and dipped her toes into the cool water, grinning. “This is the best fishing trip I’ve ever been on, and we haven’t even seen a fish.”

“Fishing sucks,” Ben muttered, frowning down at his tangled line.

“Ben!” Tammy scolded, but both Deb and Brock grinned at each other. “Watch that mouth of yours.”

“Uncle Brock says worse.” Ben threw Brock under the bus.

“Yeah, well, he needs to watch his mouth also.” Tammy glared at Brock, who ignored her.

Brock knelt next to him, his voice softening. “You’re doing great. Every good fisherman starts by hooking something they’re not supposed to. It’s tradition.”

“Really?” Ben asked, hope lighting in his eyes.

“Absolutely,” Brock said with a completely straight face. “First time I went fishing, I hooked your grandpa’s hat right off his head. Flew into the lake like a frisbee.”

Tammy laughed. “I remember that. I also remember I caught more fish than you did that day.”

Brock snorted, glancing at his sister. “No, you definitely didn’t.”

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