Page 21 of Catch and Release Groom

Until she’d gathered the courage to discuss it with Brett.

It’s a fun hobby. But you can’t seriously be pursuing art as a realistic stream of income. What aboutourplans?

Plans she’d eventually broken, and oh, the trouble she could’ve avoided if she’d been brave enough to stand up for herself then.

Like with those lumpy raw materials, it was time to toss her life on the center of that spinning wheel with the same force she would throw clay. Then she could mold and shape it into what she truly wanted it to be.

It took more effort than she’d expected, and her thighs complained the entire time, but she finally managed to point the nose of her feathered steed toward the opposite side of the lake. Dozens from her plastic flock glided through the waters ahead of her, and just like that duckling who turned out to be so much more, Imogen was ready to spread her wings and fly.

Except…

What became glaringly obvious after several strenuous minutes of pedaling and swearing and circling back to face the wrong shore was that while she had many talents, there was a very real possibility she wasn’t meant to captain any sort of ship. Relationalornautical.

While she assured herself there was no shame in doing what any stranded sailor in her situation would do, it’d be an extremely bitter pill. So much so, that her throat closed at the mere idea.

As a last resort only.

Then—and only then—would she swallow her pride, raise her voice, and sound the distress call.

Chapter Nine

From his perch on the tailgate of his truck, Easton sipped his to-go cup of coffee and watched the comedy of errors out on the lake unfold, savoring it as thoroughly as the hearty breakfast he’d eaten. After returning his first clients of the day to the resort, the early Birdie not only helped him store the worms needed for tomorrow’s fishing expedition, she also served up biscuits and gravy, bacon, and eggs scrambled in the grease.

He’d moseyed out of the restaurant and headed to his truck to clean and tune his gear—newbies were so rough on things. But a minute or so into sorting rods with the help of a dog that wasn’t much help, his attention was drawn to a commotion thirty yards down the grassy shoreline. More specifically, to the large plastic swan spinning in circles.

Every other pedal boat glided through the water in a brokenV, much like a flock of geese flying south for the winter. The fowl wreaked havoc on traffic, golf courses, and manicured lawns, leaving disease-laced droppings in their wake. Last season, there’d been so many issues that the Alabama Department of Conservation had called Ford and him to assist with removal. Which basically involved relocating the geese to less populated areas, where they could continue grazing and shitting before finally returning to where they originated.

Not unlike tourist snowbirds, actually.

One of whom was clambering from the starboard side of the pedal boat to the port side, where success continued to evade her. He’d give it to Imogen—she was determined enough to straddle the raised center between the two seats. Practically doing splits now, her short legs still didn’t allow her to reach either pedal.

His longer legs would get the job done, and the mere realization had the limbs twitching with the urge to go help. It didn’t hurt that Imogen was far sexier than most tourists or geese.

But you’ve decided not to go there, remember?

With her situation devolving from amusing to cringeworthy, Easton tugged the bill of his baseball cap lower and returned to the three tangled poles in his lap. Fishing line was extra fine and virtually clear for a reason, and while that prevented bass, stripers, and trout from seeing that the fly skimming the water’s surface came with literal strings, it made it difficult for him to sort one thread from another, especially in the glinting sun.

His callused fingertips didn’t help matters, either.

Gator whined and pawed at the leg of Easton’s jeans.

“We don’t need to go out on the water again today,” he said, knowing without looking what his dog was after. They’d already spent the wee hours of the morning upriver, and he’d spent most of that time formulating a plan of attack—contrary to its name,the method required him to retreat and ignore Imogen’s presence as fiercely as he was avoiding the inhabitants of Uncertainty. “There are dozens of other fishin’ holes without added complications.”

Easton paused his movements. “Not that I’m experiencing any complicated feelings over…”

Last night’s ride from matrimonial hell rushed up, along with the residual sensations from when Imogen nestled against him. He’d chalked it up to embarrassment, an emotion that’d echoed through him as well. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, couples had been out in full force, and they’d all stopped to cheer for their humiliation, the cherry on top of a crap sundae.

Huddled together like that, it felt like the makings of a story that two war buddies later retold over shared beers.Cupid’s arrows were flying at us from every side; they played the“Wedding March”on full blast every night to torture us.

Only then he might slip and add in details best forgotten, like how perfectly Imogen fit against his side. Or how he couldn’t stop staring at her lips or inhaling her vanilla perfume, sucking in breath after breath and forgetting how to exhale.

Not that it’d do any good to spend a lot of time worrying about it, as she’d return to her real life shortly. Then she’d be nothing more than a distant memory—just another woman who’d said yes to making a life-altering commitment, only to change her mind at the last second.

It hitwaytoo close to home.

“Hey.”

At first he thought he might’ve imagined it, so consumed with trying not to think about Imogen that he’d conjured her voice.

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