Page 11 of Catch and Release Groom

Perhaps eventually, he’d even earn enough by freelancing to secure a storefront near the lake, where he could sell equipment. There’d be shelves of flies he’d tied himself, along with a wide selection of lures. Guys would come in to shoot the shit, and there’d be a whole heap of cheesy signs with every variation of the phrase “I’d rather be fishin’.”

Gator would greet guests and nap between fishing expeditions, and every single day would be a new adventure. Talk about the good life.

So, after thanking Birdie for setting up the meeting, Easton made his way to the hostess stand. Dirty from a long day of fishing instruction and acting as tour guide for a lengthy hike, he felt wildly underdressed. Not to mention the flecks of dried blood smattering the shoulder of his shirt, courtesy of his first client of the day.

His favorite, too, though he planned on taking that to the grave. Save Gator—naturally, they’d discussed the woman after returning her to Chateau de Paramour. Especially since Imogen had hesitated on her way out of the cab of the truck, fingers curled around the interior door handle. Almost as if she were waiting for something.

It sure as hell wasn’t the farewell kiss his imagination conjured up, and he’d gripped the knob of the shifter that much firmer.

“Well, this certainly was an adventure. I’m not sure whether to say thank you, I’m sorry, or you’re welcome…” She’d cast the tiniest glance over her shoulder, and his pulse sped up. “I’m guessing I’ll see you around?”

The idea of spending time with her intrigued him more than he cared to examine, and that in and of itself had him itching to bolt. “Very likely, as the entirety of this week’s client roster is staying at the Cove. But I’ll be running in the other direction if you go anywhere near another fishin’ pole.”

She’d laughed, despite it not being a joke. One last scratch on Gator’s head and Imogen had leaped out of the truck, closed the door, and rushed up the steps to her cabin.

“Right this way,” the hostess said to Easton, returning him and his rumbling stomach to the present. She then made a beeline to a table in the corner, where the owners of the Driftwood Marina, the Country Inn and Campground, and Rocky’s Vacation Properties had assembled, and he picked up his pace so he wouldn’t get left behind.

Only to stumble over his own feet.

Speak of the devil, the woman who’d occupied far too many of his thoughts was seated at a high-top table. Her loose curls were twisted into a low, perfectly disheveled bun, and her fancy red dress suggested she might be on a date.

But he didn’t see anyone, and the stool opposite her was tucked tightly in place, no jacket draped over the back. Nothing that suggested she was here with anybody.

Not that it mattered, so why was that the question he couldn’t put to bed?

Probably because he was thinking of other things to do to Imogen in bed and, since she was likely another person’s wife, he was going to stop.

Easton thanked the hostess and then introduced himselfsettled in place at the table and the chit-chat died down, he lifted the menu so he wouldn’t be tempted to study something—namely, someone—else.

Unfortunately, nothing could be done about his ears.

“…both tenderloin steaks medium?” the waiter asked Imogen.

“No, that’s not what I mean. See how it’s only me at this table?” She gestured to the empty chair across from her.

“I thought you said your significant other wasn’t coming.”

A hint of desperation crept into Imogen’s voice, amplifying the high pitch of it. “Right. Which is why I only needonesteak dinner.”

The waiter’s early-twenties brow barely crinkled, his bafflement on display. “But you already paid for the honeymoon package, which includes the Thyme, Love, and Tenderloin dinner for two.”

Freshly reddened lips expelled a sigh. “You know what? That’s fine. Go ahead and bring both entrees, and yes to cooking them the exact same way.”

Dude jotted it down on his notepad, his relief palpable, while Easton was still confused about her relationship status. The honeymoon package implied a marriage had taken place, so why was she alone?

“A bottle of our Love Potion Pinot Noir is also included.” The waiter flourished a bottle. “Would you like me to fill your wine glasses before I put in your order?”

Imogen’s plastered-on smile threatened to crack. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”

A waitress arrived to take his and his dining companions’ orders, impeding the eavesdropping he wasn’t supposed to be indulging in anyway. Easton rattled off his request, refusing to call the entree by its cheesy name and not getting any flack about ordering only one. Same went for the rest of the party, who were obviously well-acquainted with the staff and the menu.

From there, they discussed the recent growth in the area, agreeing on the economic benefits while also lamenting some of the downsides, like the tourists who left behind messy campsites or tromped over the countryside, using it as their dumpster as they went.

The only problem was that if he didn’t glare a hole in the center of the table, his eyes would stray toward…

“Cheers, myself.” Imogen lifted both wine glasses, clinking them together in front of her before taking a generous swig. She raised the crystalware in her opposite hand higher, pitching her voice along with it. “To a long, happy future with me, myself, and I.” Red liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim as she pressed it to her matching lips. “I’ll drink to that.”

Easton hid a smile behind his hand, grateful for the perfect corner to enjoy both dinneranda show. Hope flooded in, causing the beats of his heart to stutter and skid, and he almost missed Rocky’s question.

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