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Graham
“Ican’t believe I let you two talk me into this,” Taeli says as she walks out of the dressing room at the outfitter shop.
I whistle when she does a little twirl to show Caleb and me her chest-high waders.
“You like?” she asks.
“I do like,” I tell her.
She’d look good in a potato sack.
Caleb giggles.
The salesgirl chimes in from behind us, “It’s perfect. Waders and flannel are the latest in lady lumberjack fashion. They’re the new little black dress of the valley.”
Taeli looks at herself in the mirror. No makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a smile on her face.
She’s absolutely stunning.
She catches my eye in the reflection, and her cheeks flush. I hold her stare, letting her know in no uncertain terms how gorgeous I think she is.
“Now what?” Caleb asks, breaking the moment.
I bend down to him and whisper, “Now, we find her some boots.”
“Yeah!” He skips over and takes her by the hand. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you some real wading boots,” he urges.
Taeli obliges and lets him lead her over to the boot section, and I follow.
Once we have her tricked out with her pants and footwear, I grab a bucket hat and a pair of ladies’ wraparound, polarized sunglasses.
I walk over and tug the tie from her hair. She shakes her head, and her long locks fall across her shoulders and down her back. The scent of apples envelops me, and I breathe deep.
I pop the hat on her head and gently place the sunglasses on her face.
She grins. “I have sunglasses, you know.”
I tug the hat further down on her forehead. “Those are for fashion. This bucket hat and these wraparound sunglasses, though they look awesome on you, are for safety. They keep the glare of the sun bouncing off the water out of your eyes. If your line breaks or gets caught in the wind and snaps back at you, you don’t want to spend the night in the hospital, having a fly removed from your eye because you were blinded,” I explain.
“No, there are definitely better ways to end our night than in a hospital,” she agrees, and I step into her.
“Careful. My son is in the next aisle,” she murmurs.
I slide my hands down to her ass and pull her in close. I lay a quick kiss on her nose.
“You started it,” I accuse.
She comes up on her tiptoes and nips my earlobe with her teeth.
“And I’ll finish it. Later,” she whispers.
I growl just as Caleb rounds the rack a row over, holding a colorful dry fly.
“Can we get some of these? They’re cool,” he says.
Taeli quickly steps back and looks down at him. “Sure, buddy. What is it?”
“It’s a fly. It’s what we trick the fish with. They think it’s a real fly, and they bite it.”
“So, we don’t have to put live worms on a hook?” she asks.
Caleb shakes his head. “Duh, it’s called fly-fishing, silly.”
We leave the outfitter shop and head down the creek bank. Caleb wades out into the water first, proud to show off his newfound skills to his mother.
He casts his line near the rocks upstream, which is a great technique.
“That was excellent, Caleb,” I praise, and then I lead Taeli into the water beside him.
“See how his fly is hanging out in that cluster of rocks. That’s a great place to concentrate on because trout hide in the rocks and wait for food to flow past them. You always fish upstream because it allows you to use the current to your advantage, the fish won’t see you, and it’s safer. Now, all Caleb has to do is wait for a tug on his line,” I explain.
“Okay, I think I can do it,” she says, and she takes her fly rod and whips it over her head before I can catch her.
“Whoa,” I say as I watch her fly flop in the water about ten feet from Caleb’s.
“You don’t want to cross lines with him,” I tell her just as Caleb cries, “Moooooom.”
“Oh, sorry.”
