Page 74 of Catch and Release Groom

“This one’s a good one, trust me,” Imogen said to a man with a white curly beard that gave off Santa vibes, plunking a fuzzy pink fly encased in plastic in his open palm. “I used a similar lure to hook my biggest catch. In fact, he was so impressive, I couldn’t bring myself to release him.”

“Ah, did you mount him?”

She covered her snort of laughter with a fake cough, turning toward Easton as he approached. “I sure did. I mounted him good, just as soon as I brought him home.”

Easton arched an eyebrow, warning her she’d pay for that later, and she batted her eyelashes, daring him to go ahead and try. For some reason, he’d been unprepared to spend so much time inside his own bait and tackle shop fighting an erection.

Evidently, Santa and the woman were together, as she stepped up to show him her teapot. Then she hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow and beamed at Easton and Imogen. “Aww, young love. As Chuck and I’ve grown older, we find our bodies slow down and break a bit easier, but our love has never been stronger. We’ll celebrate sixty years of marriage in December.”

“It doesn’t feel like it can be a year over fifty-eight, if you ask me,” the husband teased, and they shared a laugh that spoke of decades of inside jokes.

Before, Easton might’ve thought they were the exception. Now that he was with Imogen, he understood the wonders it could do, having that person by your side who soothed and energized, who listened and honored your secrets, and saw your scars and loved you and stayed. Because she knew him in a way no one else previously had, she had this knack for offering the exact advice he needed to hear.

As soon as they’d scanned and bagged the items and wished the senior couple farewell, the chime rang again, and in poured the entire gang.

Gator’s head popped up, and she scrabbled to her feet and darted to Ford, already in search of Pyro. But when she didn’t find the black German shepherd by the firefighter’s side, she hung her head and whimpered.

“Sorry, girl,” Ford said. “He stayed at home to tend to the young’uns. I have a treat, though. You want a treat?” He withdrew a doggy biscuit from his pocket, instructed Gator to sit, then he and Violet showered his puppy with affection that she acted like she didn’t reap from customers all day long.

Shep turned to Lexi, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he used to before their football games. “Can I tell them? I don’t think I can wait until we get out on the lake.”

Crawford refurbished boats on the side of his legal practice, and they were taking one he’d recently finished out for its maiden voyage.

“Tell us what?” Easton asked, shifting Imogen from his left to his right and entwining their fingers. “Now you’re obligated.”

Shep looked to his wife again, and when she nodded, he grinned like a pig who’d found the perfect puddle of mud. “Lexi’s pregnant—the fertility treatments worked. We’re having a baby.”

Cheers and congratulatory shouts filled the shop to the brim, along with hugs and maybe even a few tears. After a long stretch of time where they’d both worried it’d never happen, they were having a baby.

Which, in many ways, meant the entire group was having one, although he’d let Shep handle diaper duty himself.

Easton aimed a smile at Imogen and canted his head toward the expectant parents. “Maybe someday?” he whispered, and she beamed at him and snuggled closer.

Once they’d wrapped up their first round of celebrations, he ushered everyone outside so he and Imogen could lock up and meet them on the dock.

With his knuckle, Easton lightly tapped the glass over the photo hung next to the light switch. “There are two pictures that convinced me you were right about occasionally stopping to capture a moment on camera. The picture I took of you in my bed, the first night I brought you home…”

She ducked under his arm and encircled his waist in a side hug, and he tucked his chin atop her head and inhaled her scent as they studied the picture of them kissing in front of the Fontana di Trevi.

Easton had gone all-in on the romantic recreation Imogen had described on the flight to Rome, going so far as to dip her mid-kiss.

In his favorite shot, her leg was popped, and the red corners of her lips were lifted in a smile that exuded happiness. Anytime it caught his eye, he felt the residual effects of that moment and all the ones that’d come after.

Which was why he’d printed it and hung it near the door. If it also let lonely fisherman who came into the shop know she was taken, good.

After flipping off the lights, Easton guided Imogen out the back, his ring of keys jingling as he locked up. Then they strode down to the dock, where the gang had already unloaded the boat and placed it in the water.

“What do you say, angel cake?” he asked, flashing her a grin and extending his hand. “Ready for another adventure?”

She didn’t hesitate, lacing her fingers through his and picking up the pace. “With you, stud muffin? Always and forever.”

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