Page 7 of Catch and Release Groom

“Well, I’m severely undercaffeinated and some of the country folk aren’t as nice as people claim”—Imogen shot a pointed look at Easton—“but the scenery is breathtaking. I wish I could bottle the fresh air and ship it to you, because…” She inhaled, filling her lungs with enough oxygen to leave her lightheaded. “Not a hint of smog, garbage, or gasoline for miles.”

She drifted toward the middle of the river, to where the rush of water would make it harder for Easton to overhear. “Do you think everyone’s still upset that I didn’t go through with the wedding? Like, how long does it take to get over that kind of thing?”

“Again, Im, there’s not a set schedule. And we’re not caring about that, remember? It’s not about others and their disappointment; it’s about you not living with regrets. If anyone has a problem with that, they can eat a dick.”

Easier said than done—shrugging off other people’s opinions, not the dick eating. Especially for Mallory, who had the ability to shake off other’s judgments as easily as Gator was shaking droplets from her thick coat. Perched on a large boulder that kept her above the cool stream, the pup looked so comfy that Imogen was tempted to sunbathe alongside her.

“You still there?” Mallory asked, bustling traffic sounds filtering into the background of her morning trek to the office. They often met at Caffe Umbria for a cappuccino and pastry, an expense that drove Brett nuts. “You’re breaking up.”

She’d broken up already, with a guy the majority of her friends and family referred to as perfect. In general, and for her. A sentiment they’d reiterated while berating her for calling off the wedding.

The thing was, she understood why. A tiny, still-unsure part of her even agreed. She wasn’t the type to go on solo adventures or make choices she hadn’t analyzed half to death.

Imogen glanced around, as if that’d help gauge cell signal. “Hold on a sec. I have an idea.” With a grunt, she scaled the boulder and settled on a flattish spot next to Gator, hoping that higher equated to stronger and clearer. “How’s that? Any better?”

“A little,” Mallory said. “Now, stop second-guessing yourself.”

“But what if—?”

“A decade of working as a mortgage underwriter means you want to decrease every risk and force the margin of error to be as small as possible. And when it comes to home loans, that’s important. When it comes to love and people and your future, though, safe isn’t always best.”

Once Imogen confessed her doubts to her closest and bestest friend, Mallory had promised to support whatever decision she made. She’d also been there to assure Imogen it was the right call after she’d officially pulled the plug.

So why can’t I stop worrying I’ve done something I’ll eventually come to regret?

During those final few months, when her instincts were screaming at her to stop the runaway matrimonial train, Imogen applied the same tools to her relationship that she used to approve, suspend, or deny a loan.

On paper, Brett was solid.

Practically perfect. A damn safe bet.

Application approved and rushed right on through.

For so long, she’d tried her hardest to convince herself that Brett was right—that it was unrealistic to expect unbridled lust and fireworks in a relationship as lengthy as theirs.

“Trust me,” Mallory said, likely sensing Imogen’s need for reassurances. “It’ll be worth it when you find a person who shows you exactly what you were missing.”

Given that was pretty much her only option, she certainly hoped so. After too many years of neglect, her emotions were running amok, upset about being ignored and yet confused about what they wanted. Part of the reason she hadn’t called or texted Brett, despite wanting to check on him, was the fear of giving in if he asked for another chance.

Imogen wore her analytical hat so often she wasn’t sure she could remove it entirely. If her brain didn’t map out every possibility, how could she plan and prepare for each outcome?

Easton’s steady gaze stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks, the narrowing of his eyesstrongly suggestingthey return to their lesson.

“Hey, I’d better go. Talk later, okay?” Imogen disconnected the call, secured the phone in her pocket, and carefully began to climb down.

Gator dismounted with ease, soaring past her and landing on a nearby sandbar with a splash.

As Imogen stretched her leg, searching in vain with the toe of her flip-flops for better purchase, the dog stared up as if asking why she was taking so long. “You walk on all fours—it’s a big advantage.”

“One you could use if you’d like,” Easton retorted, even as he strode closer and extended a hand to help her off the boulder.

Imogen landed as gently as she could, but her foot slipped on moss, sending her sliding smack dab into Easton’s chest. Long fingers curled around her shoulders, and the metal loops from the fishing pole still clutched in his fist dug into her skin as she worked to regain her balance. “Sorry. And thanks.”

“Mmm,” he growled more than said, quickly releasing his grip and taking a large step away. “Let’s get going on teaching you how to cast. I’d hate to short you on the lesson you care so much about that you took a phone call during it.”

Offense pricked her skin. “Look, just because you hate your job or your life or whatever, doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk.”

“Me?I’m merely statin’ facts. I’ve got a schedule to maintain, whether or not you do.”

---