Page 52 of Statler

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun or felt so free. Which should have been fantastic, but every time her brain snapped back into reality, she knew this was a big mistake.

She’d admittedly fallen in love with Statler at first sight, but she’d subsequently talked herself out of pursuing her feelings because of the real dangers it posed to her heart and to Statler’s well-being.

Such as…what if he ended up like Holden?

But right now, how could she ignore how good this felt?

She gave an internal sigh.

Practically all Eliza could think about was how “normal” it was to be laughing and joking while she and Statler egged each other on to catch as many fish as possible at the pond where she and Holden used to angle next to an old fishing shack that had seen better days.

“Dammit. You’ve got another,” Statler huffed amusedly as she reeled in a hefty thirteen incher on her line. “Where did you buy those illegal trout-treats you’re using,” he teased, “and how can I get some?”

Eliza snorted. “No special yummies. Just skill,” she poked back. “I tried to tell you that what you’re using for lures isn’t optimum. As touted as glow-in-the-dark jigs are, I’ve learned that a dark silhouette from a black or brown lure is much more effective. Not so fake looking to the fish, maybe? I can’t think like a trout, but I know exactly what’s worked for me in the past.”

Statler’s line dipped, and he crowed.

“Aha!”

He reeled it in, enthusiastically, to find…a large clump of bottom-grass.

He groaned, resting the butt of his rod on the shore, and shook his head.

“I give up. I’ll never catch you, now,” he lamented playfully. “And I’m afraid we’re out of time. It’s getting late. We should probably call it a night.”

“What time is it?” Eliza questioned.

It seemed like they’d just eaten the sandwich supper that Statler had so very nicely put together for them.

“Nearly nine,” he answered.

Wow. The evening had flown by.

“This has been so much fun.” Eliza reeled in her line, reluctant for the night to end.

Statler looked like he agreed. “I just don’t want to keep you out past your bedtime. What time do you start work in the morning?” he asked, squatting down and pulling their fish stringer out of the water.

She could see Statler counting the trout, so before she answered his question, she gloated a bit.

“There are fourteen,” she told him with a snicker. “I caught nine. You hooked five.”

“And you kept track,” he mock-sulked.

“Hah.” Their banter was so enjoyable. “Who was the one who said it was a contest?”

Statler sat on his heels and squinted up at her. “That would be me.”

“Exactly,” Eliza scoffed.

She continued before she could think better of it. “You probably figured there was no way a woman could beat you.”

Statler reared back and blinked, his incredulous face just visible to her in the bright moonlit night.

Crap. She’d hurt his ego and blown the night all to hell.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, tipping his head to the side, forcing her to explain. “Why would fishing have anything to do with gender?”

Huh. He wasn’t simply going to call her out on her boorishness?