Page 43 of No One Wants That (Blitzen Bay)

“Not really.”

“I thought you liked talking about yourself,” he says, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth again. “I bet this has something to do with why you’re moving back to the U.S. You clammed up on the trail this afternoon when I asked you about it.”

“Maybe,” I say, taking a long drink. “Ask me something else.”

“Okay,” he says, squinting his eyes to try to analyze me. “Uh, what do you do for a living?”

“I teach ESL in Spain, but I have a degree in elementary education. I’ll probably try to get a job teaching first or second graders when I move back here.”

“That’s cool. So you like kids? Do you have any of your own?”

“Do you?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“I don’t have any kids,” he says, laughing. “But I want some. Do you?”

My head starts spinning again as visions of little Butch babies start dancing through my head. I drain my glass as I start to stand up. “I need more wine.”

He stands up and grabs my empties. “I’ll get it for you. Do you want the same no-hangover type?”

“Yes, please,” I say as I sink slowly back into my chair.

I take a deep, shaky breath as I watch him head toward the bar. Just the way he walks makes me want to jump on top of him. He’s got a slow swagger—like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But at the same time, his arms and shoulders are tense like he’s ready to react to something—anything—that needs his attention.

“Hey Kit.”

I jump when I hear a voice behind me. I turn around to see the owners of Holly House, Hank and Claire, walking up to my table.

“Oh, hey guys. I didn’t see you.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Claire says. “You seemed to have your eyes fixed elsewhere.”

“Stop stirring the pot, honey,” Hank says as he nods at something behind me. “Hey, Butch.”

“What’s up, Hank? Hey, Claire,” Butch says as he hands the fresh glass of wine to me. “You want to join us?”

“Oh, no. We wouldn’t want to interrupt anything,” Claire says, squeezing my shoulder.

“Thanks, but we were just leaving.” Hank body bumps Claire past our table. “Butch, do you still want to take out my pontoon tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. Nash said he’d meet us out on the lake. I think we’re going to tie up our boats and fish for a while. Do you mind if I keep your boat out for a few hours?”

“Keep it out as long as you want,” Hanks says. “I definitely trust you. I’ll leave the keys at the check-in counter. The boat’s all gassed up. Should be good to go.”

“Appreciate it,” Butch says, shaking Hank’s hand. “If we get any fish, do you mind if we grill them up tomorrow night?”

“Not at all. We might join you for that, especially if you get any catfish. I haven’t had any in a while.”

“Deal,” Butch says as they walk away. He turns back to me. “Do you want to come out on the boat with us tomorrow? I think the entire crew’s going including the ladies.”

“Maybe. Will there be more going on than fishing? I’m not really a fan.”

He throws his hand to his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “That might be the worst thing you’ve said to me yet. I didn’t know there were people who didn’t like to fish.”

“I like eating fish,” I say, scrunching up my face, “but I don’t want to catch them and stuff.”

“How about I catch them—and stuff? Then you can soak up the sun or swim or whatever.”

He rests back in his chair again and spreads his legs wide. My eyes fix on his lap. It’s positively begging me to straddle it.

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