Page 30 of More Than My Hometown

We yank backward, the two of us working against both the fish and the water. Maisey squeaks, so I tighten my grip, whispering in her ear again. Shuddering against me, she nods, following my instructions, leaving me to wonder for a split second if that’s how she likes it.

Fish, Ewan, fish…

Turning my attention back to the water, we tug harder, reeling in faster, winning the battle.

“Net!”

Maisey ducks out from under my arms, grabbing the fishing net from behind us and holding it out over the water. I give the rod one last good heave, yanking it back as hard and fast as I can, drawing the bass out with it. Maisey is right there with the net, catching the sucker to help bring him into the boat.

“Ummm, he’s kinda little, isn’t he?”

There is no missing the judgment in her voice, nor is there any missing the opportunity to walk straight through that door.

“Thought it wasn’t about how big you are, but what you do with it that matters,” I quip.

Maisey blushes, mumbling something that sounds a lot like “I wouldn’t know,” but she turns away from me as she says it so I can’t quite tell. Despite our new pact from a moment ago, I don’t want to push. Not here. Because if what I heard is correct, that’s an entirely different conversation—for the both of us.

“Yes, he’s smaller than average,” I answer seriously, going into fishing guide mode. Giving our catch the once-over, he looks to be about ten inches, in good health, and that we’re his first hook. “Which means he’s still a little guy. Probably only about a year old.”

“We’re not going to keep him, right?”

“No, catch and release, baby.” I hold out the bass, offering it out to her. “Want to drop him back in?”

“I am not touching the fish.”

I laugh, slipping him back in the water, once again remembering who I am talking to. Blood, guts, and triage is perfectly fine, but no touching live fish.

The sun climbs over the horizon, the bright light a harsh reminder that we have a real life to get back to. Turning to Maisey, I pull her into me, holding her close as I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

“This morning didn’t go how I thought it would,” I say.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. I promise.” I press my lips to her forehead. “Be mine, Maisey.”

Giggling, she looks up at me, eyes glassy with tears.

“I can’t imagine being anything else.”