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“Fishing is a solo activity,” he said when I didn’t respond right away. “Having multiple people out there just means you talk, and talking scares the fish away. It’s a waste of time.”
He had a point. We continued past his favorite stump and headed straight toward the woods. We were having lunch in the middle of a bunch of trees?
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He didn’t respond, just kept walking. I followed him down a path, waiting for tree limbs to slash me in the face, but they didn’t. Someone had obviously come in and cleared the path at some point.
There was something sad about that. All these trees were being cleared away for some developer, who planned to put a business here. I had my fingers crossed for a much-needed restaurant. But the path just reminded me that this was once a place where people came to relax and go for a walk. All of that would be gone by the time these guys finished their work.
Within a minute of entering the woods, the trail dumped us into a clearing. It was a large, empty area, surrounded by trees. Itlooked like a great place to pop a tent. Tucker pointed to a group of tree stumps.
“I found these the other day,” he said. “Seems like a perfect place to sit.”
“Yes, perfect.” Smiling, I walked over to three close together and sat on one. “I’ve noticed you tend to sit by yourself.”
He’d plopped down on the stump two over from me, setting the bag on the stump between us. But my words froze his movements, making me wonder if I was out of line in mentioning it.
Trying to make it seem like it was no big deal, I started withdrawing contents from the bag and distributing them between the two of us. He watched, saying nothing for a long moment before finally speaking again.
“My wife died.”
Those three words, spoken in a quieter tone than I’d ever heard from him, stilled my movements. I had a cup of potato salad in my hand, compliments of Bart at the convenience market, so it left me in an awkward position.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Recently?”
He shook his head. “More than five years ago. I guess that wouldn’t be considered recent. Nobody really knows that about me. I moved to this town to leave it behind.”
An image flashed through my mind then. Tucker, sitting all by his lonesome, drinking his coffee while everyone else had a good time. Knowing what I knew now, my heart ached for him.
“I’m trying to get more involved with the group,” he said. “It’s just…I moved up here to be alone, you know? Playing pool with a bunch of guys every Friday night isn’t really my thing.”
He reached into the box, grabbed a drumstick, and took a generous bite of it. I distractedly poked at the potato salad while I thought through my answer.
“I totally get that,” I finally said. “I’d much rather be home alone reading a book than out with a big group.”
I overthought that response as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I didn’t want to sound like I’d prefer being home alone to being on a date with him. Being home alonewitha guy like Tucker would be preferable to all of it. Especially if we were naked under the sheets.
Whoa. Where had that thought come from? That wasn’t like me at all.
“You like to read,” he said. “What type of books?”
I’d like to say I was into classic literature. I’d certainly read enough of that in high school. But for some reason, I blurted out the truth.
“Romance, mostly,” I said. “The steamier, the better.”
I waited for the judgment—the words I’d heard from people most of my adult life about my choice of reading material. I was also into reality TV shows, which got more than a few snickers from friends over the years. I had friends who were into the same things I was, though, so I didn’t really care what the judgy people thought.
But the change in his expression was not what I expected at all. In fact, for once, his response wasn’t completely neutral. His eyebrows arched and his head tilted a little.
“You like them steamy, huh?”
There was something undeniably flirtatious about the way he asked that question. But more importantly, for the first time in my life, I felt comfortable opening up to someone about my constant quest for the perfect steamy romance.
My friend Helena always said I just needed to get laid, but the truth was, I wanted what I read about in books—the guy who’d take charge. The more experienced man who could make up for my complete lack of experience and show me what I’d been missing all these years.
“I’ve never read one of those,” Tucker said, adding a laugh. “Of course, I haven’t. What exactly are they about?”
That was a tough question to answer. “There are all kinds of steamy romances. There are some with bondage and spanking, some sci-fi, even monster romances…”
