Page 69 of Our Long Days
Dex pauses what he’s doing. The fishing lure looks miniature in his hands. Pushing back his cap with his forearm, he deadpans, “Bright pink might scare the fish off, baby.”
Baby.
Hearing him use that word has my tummy swooping.
After our lazy morning, we cooked instant ramen, fooled around in the tent, then packed up and left the campsite at midday. Rosewick Waters is a short drive away—the perfect spot to check off item number four. During the winter, the lake is a frozen wonderland, great to try a fresh pair of ice skates. As I stare out at the crystal waters sparkling under the bright blue sky, I’m reminded why summer is my favorite season. A family of ducks weave their way through the tall reeds, completely unbothered by our arrival.
“Right,” Dex announces. “This rod is ready to use. Go ahead and cast it out.”
My camouflage waders squeak as I amble over to where he sits on a camping chair. While mine swallows my lanky frame, his sits snuggly against his thighs, and his broad shoulders tests the strength of the suspenders.
“Cast? That’s where you do this?” I make a zipping noise and mimic throwing the reel over my shoulder.
His eyes narrow. “You’ve fished before, right?”
“Define fishing…”
Deep laughter rolls off him, big body shaking.
“My dad took me and my brothers fishing plenty, but it never interested me. I preferred splashing around in the lake—which, apparently isn’t helpful.”
“Of course you did.” He pats his knee. “Come here.”
“I’ll watch you first.” I inch backward, suddenly embarrassed I’ve dragged this grown man out here to teach me how to fish.
“Trouble, it wasn’t an invitation.” He leans forward. “Get your ass in my lap now, or you’re going over it.”
I gawk at him. He takes advantage of my surprise, hooks an arm around my waist, and tugs me down to sit, my back to his front.
“You’re so bossy.” I wiggle in his hold, eliciting a resonant sound from deep in his chest.
“You’re a brat.”
“You love it,” I barb.
“Hmm. Occasionally.”
Liar.
Choosing to cooperate, I listen closely to Dex’s instructions. He passes me the rod, hands encompassing mine, showing me how to hold it correctly. It’s hard to concentrate with his chin resting on my shoulder and warm breath tickling my cheek.
“You want to keep tight hold of this part. That’s the pistol grip. Rest your thumb here, and when you’re facing your target, push down and hold it in.” He nudges me to stand and guides me to the water’s edge. Angling my hips, he points in front of us. “Aim there. Nice and smooth. Bend your arm at the elbow.”
He retreats to the side, watching on.
I fumble with the rod and lose my stance. Frustration trickles in; I try again, but something doesn’t feel right.
“Here, let’s do it together.”
When he steps up behind me again, my frustration wanes. Arms bracketing mine, he helps me draw the rod back, attempting a few practice runs.
“We’re going to release this button when the rod reaches eye level. No rush. Go at your own pace. Ready?”
Positioned comfortably and grip strong, Dex directs my arms to flick out at the right angle. A zipping noise whizzes through the air, and the lure plops into the mirrored waters.
Eyes wide with excitement, I twist my head, beaming up at him. His grin is already stretching across his face. “Now what?”
“Set your rod in the holder, and then we wait for something to take the bait.”
