“Exactly!” Joy beamed. “You, my dear husband, are going to learn the noble art of fishing.”
“Am I now?” He raised an eyebrow but stepped forward. “And what will be my first lesson?”
“Patience.” She winked and moved past him. “But before that, we need bait.”
Thomas watched, bemused, as Joy walked outside with purpose, the hem of her old dress swishing determinedly. In the soft earth near the water’s edge, she began to dig for worms, her fingers deft and unbothered by the dirt clinging to her skin.
“Should I have brought a book, to study this ‘patience’ you speak of?” Thomas called out.
“Nope.” Joy glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll learn by doing. And speaking of doing—” she held up a wriggling worm triumphantly “—your first catch of the day!”
“Charming,” he said.
“You know, you could come and help me dig for worms. I’m just a woman after all, and I am expecting your spawn.”
“Spawn? You make me feel as if any child I have will be evil.”
Back inside, Joy frowned. Her skirts wouldn’t do for such an endeavor—a snagged hem or a dunk in the sea would ruin the dress.
“Thomas, where do you keep your oldest trousers?” she called out.
“Second drawer,” came the shouted reply.
She found an ancient pair of his pants, the fabric softened by countless washes. Holding them up, she marveled at how huge they would be on her. But she quickly changed out of her dress and into the oversized trousers, cinching them tight with a belt pulled to its last notch.
“Ready?” she asked, emerging from the room with a flourish.
Thomas choked back a laugh, covering it with a cough. “Are those mine? You look…adorable.”
“You think? I promise these are necessary for our activity and not a fashion statement.” Joy patted her hips, the pants huge on her. “Now come along, Mr. Worthington. The fish await.”
He offered his arm, which she took with mock solemnity, and together they headed toward the shore.
Joy cast her line with practiced ease, reaching up to push her hair from her face. She’d tied it back, but the wind was strong and kept blowing it around. Thomas stood beside her, his brow furrowed in concentration as he mirrored her movements.
“When you feel a pull, you’ve got a bite,” she instructed. “I’ve already informed the housekeeper that we only eat what we catch for supper. So, if we catch nothing, I’m afraid we shall go hungry.”
“Seems easy enough,” Thomas replied. “And I’m not letting you go without supper while you carry my child.”
“Then you’d better catch something, because I refuse to eat anything but fish tonight.”
“If all else fails, I’ll get the net from the storeroom and catch fish with that!”
She shook her head. “It’s sort of like a game of cat and mouse. You have to stand still and not move until you feel that bite on your line.”
“Or a banker awaiting the perfect investment,” he countered with a grin.
“Exactly!” she said. They stood in companionable silence for a while.
“Joy, I believe something is pulling on my—” Thomas began, his voice trailing off as he was interrupted by a sudden tug on his line. His eyes widened. “Is this—?”
“Reel it in!” Joy urged, excitement tinting her words.
With a mix of panic and exhilaration, Thomas cranked the reel handle, reeling in his catch with clumsy enthusiasm. His actions resembled more of a wild dance than any sort of fishing technique.
“Steady, Thomas! Steady!” she called out, trying not to laugh at him.
Finally, with a triumphant whoop from Thomas, a decent-sized cod flopped onto the shore. Thomas looked at the fish, then at Joy, a boyish glee lighting up his eyes.
