Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I pulled up outside the Wood Rose Salon to find Tammy waiting for me. Lindsey waved at us from inside the storefront, and I leaned forward to wave back at her.
“How was work?” I asked.
Tammy settled herself in the seat, drawing her seat belt across her lap. “Fine. How was yours?”
“Fine,” I said. “Are you getting to know the regulars?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “Ms. Mary—she insists on being called ‘Ms. Mary’—has to have her hair curled every Saturday, and Patrick Something is a lawyer. He comes in for a trim every Friday night.”
“We’ve got regulars at the lumberyard too,” I said, pulling out onto Main Street. We drove the entire length of town before turning left toward the lake. “Mr. Bucks from the hardware store always has some project going. Mr. and Mrs. Lemon are both retired, and they’re always building a new shed or redoing their front porch steps or something.”
“So how often do you go fishing?” She changed the subject.
“Once a week during the summer.” I drove down past the usual fishing spots to another more hidden one.
“Did you always know how to fish?”
“My dad taught me,” I said, swinging the wheel to guide the truck off road. “My mom will come sometimes, but it’s not her favorite thing.”
“Why not?” Tammy asked.
“You have to be patient,” I said, parking.
I leaned forward as if I would kiss her, inhaling the scents of the hair salon: shampoo and hairspray. She watched me with interest, her eyes settling on my lips. Then I pulled away, teasing her.
“Patience,” she laughed. “I see.” She swatted me on the arm.
I chuckled and went in for a real kiss. Her lips were warm and playful. I stopped before I lost myself. I hadn’t asked her here to make out in the car but to teach her fishing. We had to go before we lost the daylight. I hopped out of the cab and went around to the back. Grabbing the tackle box and a blanket, I walked toward the lake.
“Is there anything I can bring?” she asked.
“There’s a bag of takeout you could grab,” I said.
“What about the fishing rods?”
“I’ll get them in a sec.” I spread the blanket down at the edge of the water, depositing the tackle box at one end. Tammy slid in behind me, the white paper bag in her hands. “Just put it down,” I said. She dropped it obediently, and we both went back to fetch the fishing poles. “This one is my mom’s.” I handed the smaller one to Tammy.
She examined it, rotating her wrist like someone who had seen fishing on television. I put my hand on the rod, stabilizing it. I smiled when she pouted. I grabbed my own rod and led the way back to our blanket.
“Let’s switch.” I offered her my pole.
She handed hers over, gravitating toward the lake with my rod in hand. I watched as she waved the pole toward the water, practicing without knowing how. Smiling, I checked her line, winding it out until it looked right. I opened the tackle box and found the bait.
“Don’t look,” I admonished.
“Why?” She turned back.
“I’m going to thread the worm,” I said.
“Shouldn’t you teach me how to do that?” She argued.
I paused in wonder. No girl I had ever taken fishing had been the slightest bit interested in live bait. They had been grossed out, and some had given up on the sport altogether. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Teach a man to fish and all that,” she said, drifting closer.
“I would hope you’re not a man,” I replied.
She pinched my arm lightly. “You know I’m not.”
I laughed. “I do indeed.” I selected a worm and reached for the hook. Demonstrating, I looped the creature over the barb and secured it quickly. She flinched, and I could tell she was trying to be tough. “You don’t have to be into this part of it,” I said gently.
“I’m not,” she answered.
“I’m perfectly happy to bait the hook.”
“Good.” She flashed a relieved smile.
I handed the pole back to her. “Trade,” I said again.
She handed me my own rod, and I checked the line, made sure the hook was attached, and slipped another worm on. When I was done, I sealed up the can of worms and put it back in the tackle box. I led her gently to the water’s edge and demonstrated how to cast the line. It took her a couple of tries, and each time she laughed at her own misfortune.
“It’s just like you on the dance floor,” she said, winding up again.
“Yeah, but luckily I didn’t have a pointy thing on a stick when I was trying to dance,” I responded.
She cast out again, and this time, she got it. The bait settled far enough from the shore that she had a good chance of success. I set my rod down in the dirt, in a hole that someone else had left, and came around behind her to check the ground for a second hole. I found one not too far away, and together, we pulled up on the rod to make it fit. Once that was done, both of our poles stood on their own, lines lazily drifting in the current.