The Lost Fisherman Read online

  On a nervous laugh, I shook my head and continued stirring as her hand dropped to her side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You didn’t see them. Before his accident, you didn’t see them. They were in love. You can’t be that person, the one who tries to steal another woman’s man.”

  “Like you stole my mom?”

  She deflated.

  I shut off my burner and set the spoon on the small plate as I blew out a long breath. “Rose, I love you. I love you with my mom. And I think things turned out exactly how they were supposed to turn out because you didn’t give up on her. You never thought you were taking something—someone—who wasn’t yours because you knew, you just knew she was, in fact, meant to be with you. What if I know? What if he’s meant to be with me?”

  She gave me a sad smile. “What if he’s not?”

  I swallowed hard. I wasn’t delusional, just hopeful. “Then he’s not.”

  “And you’ll stay out of the way?”

  “If he falls in love with her, if he decides to go through with the wedding, then I will stay out of the way.”

  “I’m worried you’re going to play unfairly.” Rose frowned.

  Coughing on a laugh, I shook my head. “It’s not a game, Rose. It’s real life. I don’t even know how I could play unfairly. I’m not the one living with him. I’m not the one sleeping in his bed. I haven’t told him that we were more than friends, more than employee/employer because I want him to fall in love with me, not a bunch of memories of an eighteen-year-old girl.” There. I said the quiet part aloud. I wanted Fisher Mann to fall in love with me … again.

  Angie gave him her whole damn body, a million photos, a million memories and stories of life since they were kids. I was a huge underdog. All I gave him was cruciverbalist. So if that trumped everything Angie gave him, then I thought everyone needed to back the hell off and let the two geeky word peeps have our happily ever after.

  If …

  I knew it was a big if. An unlikely if. Maybe even an impossible if.

  But here was the thing (it was an important thing), if a fifty-micrometer sperm could join with a point-one millimeter egg and result in an entire human being, then two cruciverbalists could fall in love … twice.

  “It might be time to tell Rory.”

  I shook my head. “There’s nothing to tell. The past is the past. And here in the present, there’s still nothing to tell. But if anything changes and becomes something to tell, I will tell Rory.”

  “You promise?”

  “Promise. Now, let’s eat. I have to take some crossword puzzles over to Fisher tonight, after Rory gets home, of course.”

  “Reese …” Rose shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  I grinned and shrugged. “Hey, he asked me to bring him more puzzles. No big deal.”

  “Angie packed a bag and has decided to stay with a friend. I think you visiting her fiancé will feel like a big deal.”

  “Well, then we won’t tell her because they’re puzzles, not nude photos of me. I’m saving the nude photos for closer to Christmas.”

  “Reese!” She playfully punched my arm as I giggled.

  “How’d it go?” Rose asked the second Rory walked through the door.

  I glanced up from my book, one of many books on birth Holly gave me to read.

  “Dinner was great. Just me and my friend Fisher, enjoying pizza and beer. I talked. He listened. And he didn’t seem the least bit surprised by anything I said. I’m sure he’s been anticipating it since everyone else has talked with him already.” She set her purse on the counter and plopped onto the sofa next to Rose, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “He wasn’t angry. I think he’s trying to put himself in Angie’s shoes. I really do. But it doesn’t change his feelings. And right now, she’s a stranger. He thinks he enjoys spending time with her, but he also wants time to himself. I think she’s still too much of a stranger to him to have her there so much. He wants space and time. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s the groom in an arranged marriage. Fisher wants to fall in love with his wife before he marries her.” Rory shrugged. “And I can’t blame him. He’s having dinner—a date—with Angie this Friday night. So he’s trying. He wants to date her. I say … let them date. Let things happen naturally.”

  I nodded slowly with a tight grin. Rose gave me a quick evil glare in return. When Rory glanced at her phone, head down, I stuck my tongue out at Rose. She had to bite her lips together to keep from laughing.

  “Well, if Fisher’s home, I’m going to run these crossword puzzles over to him before I crash for the night. He asked for more. Isn’t that crazy?” I closed my book and stood.

  “That is crazy. But I love that you have someone working on your puzzles.” Rory smiled.

  “I do.” I smiled back, ignoring distrusting Rose. “See ya after a bit.”

  Since it was getting late, I drove to Fisher’s house instead of walking there. I may have also added a little makeup in the car and a dab of perfume to make up for the rest of my casual attire, jeans and a hoodie. I wouldn’t have gotten away with anything dressier, not with Rose silently rooting for Team Angie.

  “It’s late. I assumed you weren’t coming,” Fisher said when he opened the front door. I stole a silent moment to take him in—always sexy in jeans and a tee. That messy, dark blond hair. The beard I trimmed for him.

  “Rose told me you were having dinner with my mom, so I waited until she got home. If it’s too late, I’ll just give you these…” I handed him the pile of puzzles “…and head home.”

  “Too late for what? My roommate moved out. I’m officially free.”

  I frowned, following him into the house. “I heard Angie’s staying with a friend while you date her. Big Friday night plans?”

  He gestured to the sofa, and I sat in the middle while he took a seat in his recliner. “I don’t know. What should we do? Dinner and movie? Just dinner? Do I bring her back here? Or is that too weird since I asked her to move out?”

  “You don’t remember the woman you’re engaged to. I think worrying about weird at this point is an afterthought. Do whatever feels right.”

  Fisher ran his hands through his hair. “Ugh … I don’t know what feels right because I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about her.”

  “It’s not about what you’re supposed to feel about her. Ask yourself how you honestly do feel about her. Let that be your starting point. I think you’ve already done that to some degree. I’m sure it wasn’t your family’s idea for her to move out and the two of you date. That was you. Go with that voice.”

  “It’s hard to go with that voice because I do have this other voice in my head, the one that tries to put myself in her shoes. I’m sure I would be really messed-up if I loved someone and they didn’t remember me. I don’t think I could just walk away without a fight.”

  Pulling my feet up and crisscrossing them, I formulated my response. He had no idea I was trying to see if I fit into his equation. “I couldn’t …” I smiled softly. “I couldn’t walk away without a fight.”

  “You’re so young.” His lips turned into a pleasant smile. “How old are you?”

  I chuckled. “What you mean is, how young am I? I’ll be twenty-four soon.”

  “So you’re twenty-three.”

  My eyes rolled upward. “Yes. I’m twenty-three.”

  “And have you ever been in love?”

  Oh, Fisher …

  My mind immediately jumped back five years to the day on the playground.

  “I’m trying so hard…” I whispered, my voice shaky in my chest and wobbly as the words fell from my lips “…trying so hard not to fall in love with you.”

  A few breaths later, he whispered back, “I know.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about him. What happened?”

  I laughed and cleared my throat, cleared the pain from the memories. My memories. Fisher didn’t have memories of us. “Bad timing. I was young. And I was tryi
ng to figure out some things in my life. He had things in his life figured out quite well. So …” I pulled in a shaky breath and shrugged. “It was just … bad timing.”

  “Did he love you back?” Fisher wasn’t the same man. The old Fisher wouldn’t have asked me those questions.

  “I think so.” I couldn’t look at him, so I fiddled with the hem to my shirt and kept my gaze on my lap.

  “Do you know where he is now? Have you thought about finding him?”

  More pain escaped my chest, disguised as laughter while I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes, I’ve thought about finding him.”

  “And?”

  My head inched side to side as I continued to pinch the bridge of my nose. “And I’m not sure he’s ready to be found by me.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  My gaze lifted slowly to his. “Because he’s found someone else.” My lips fell into a frown as I lifted one shoulder like it was no big deal.

  “Married?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then he’s fair game.”

  Barking a laugh, I glanced up at the ceiling again, gathering my hair in one hand and slowly releasing it as I made eye contact with him. “Fisher, you certainly have a liberal view of dating. You’re not married to Angie, but you’re dating her. So would you be okay with another guy making moves on her?”

  Fisher shrugged, lips twisted. “If another guy made moves on her and she responded to his moves, then I think I’d have my answer about us.”

  “What happened to fighting for what you want?”

  “I think fighting for something when you have an actual chance is different than fighting for second place.”

  “Stick to building houses, Fisher. I don’t think you have a future in couples counseling.”

  “No?” He grinned. “I’m just saying, if you’re still interested in the guy, knock on his door and say, ‘Remember me?’ Then at least you’ll know.”

  “And what if he doesn’t remember me?”

  “Then he never loved you.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. “Well …” I scratched my chin. “That’s harsh and a little heartbreaking.”

  “Life is harsh and heartbreaking.”

  I giggled. “Who are you? Because this is not the Fisher Mann I knew. Did your head injury awaken some deep philosophical part of your brain?”

  “No.” He stood and stretched his good arm above his head and his casted arm about half the way. His shirt lifted a few inches, revealing his abs.

  My gaze stuck like sticky spider fingers, and when I tore it away, after he dropped his arms back to his side, Fisher was looking at me. I felt the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face. His expression was more unexpected. Not the cocky one I remembered. It was more of a curious expression like he was in disbelief that I had been staring at his exposed skin.

  That familiar blush crawled up my neck.

  “I should go,” I whispered, scrambling to my feet and brushing my hair away from my face.

  “Thanks for the puzzles.” His grin held so much satisfaction, his eyes filled with that familiar look he’d given me so many times before.

  “You’re welcome.”

  My phone vibrated and I pulled it from the pocket of my hoodie. “Oh my gosh … oh my gosh! It’s time.”

  “Time for what exactly?”

  I glanced up from the screen, eyes wide, smile even wider. “Holly’s client is in labor! I have to go. I’m … I’m going to help deliver a baby. Eek!” I jumped up and down hysterically, and before I realized what was happening, I had my arms thrown around Fisher’s neck, my body still doing its spastic jumping motion.

  He rested his good hand on my back and chuckled.

  “This is happening!” My hands went from his neck to his face, framing it, and I kissed him. It was quick, but … ugh! It was on. The. Mouth. My excitement completely erased reality just long enough for my brain to fart.

  Jumping away from him, my eyes widened even more as I covered my mouth with my hand. “I … oh … shit … I’m so sorry. I … oh … shit. Fisher, I’m …” I shook my head repeatedly.

  When the shock dissipated from his face, he grinned. “It’s fine.”

  I tucked my phone back into my pocket and turned toward the door. “I have to go. I’m so embarrassed. It was nice knowing ya.” Flying out the door, I hopped into my car and bolted. I couldn’t get miles between us fast enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  I helped deliver a seven-pound twelve-ounce baby boy after twelve hours of labor. A water birth.

  Then two days later, I did the follow up visit with the family to check on the baby and mom. She was glowing.

  I focused on work and reading through the books Holly gave me, basically anything to keep from thinking about kissing Fisher. The weekend came and went. Rory and Rose hung out with Fisher on Saturday night, probably to get the scoop on his Friday night date with Angie. They invited me, but I declined, opting to just keep reading, just keep avoiding Fisher for approximately forever.

  On Wednesday of the following week, I helped deliver a baby girl. Six pounds, eleven ounces. And perfect.

  I loved every aspect of Holly’s job. Wellness visits. Prenatal visits. Postnatal visits. Happy families. Tiny babies. Women feeling alive again after working with Holly to get their hormones balanced—to get their lives balanced again. Very rewarding work.

  Holly and I had Thursday off to recoup from a long night of waiting for that sweet girl to make her way into the world. I was so tired and grateful for the time to get some sleep. After hours of not moving an inch in my bed, Rory woke me up.

  “Are you having dinner with us?” She ran her hand through my hair.

  I blinked my heavy eyelids open. “Um …” I rolled onto my back and stretched. “Yeah. I think so. What time is it?”

  “Six.”

  “Yeah, I’d better get up so I can sleep later.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

  “No rush, sleepy head. Dinner won’t be ready for another thirty minutes if you need a shower or whatever.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I need a shower, at least to wake up.”

  “Okay.” She kissed my head and left my room.

  I padded to the bathroom and stripped into my bra and panties. There were no clean towels on the shelf, which meant Rory probably hadn’t taken them out of the dryer.

  I opened the door and crossed the hallway to the laundry room. Sure enough, clean towels were in the dryer. As I crossed the hallway again, I made a casual glance to the side, seeing something move. Someone move …

  Fisher stood maybe three feet from me.

  Me in my bra and panties.

  Me holding the bath towel in my hand instead of covering my body.

  He didn’t hide his wandering gaze, not one bit. And I didn’t hide any part of my body. After a hard swallow, he met my gaze. “I’ll use Rory’s bathroom.”

  “K,” I whispered, wanting some tiny part of his lost memory to return upon seeing so much of my bared flesh. With no rush, I moseyed into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Then I showered and touched myself while replaying Fisher’s slow inspection of me. My hand pressed to the side of the shower, eyes pinched shut, jaw slack as I came, feeling weak in the knees.

  Feeling empty.

  Feeling impatient.

  Feeling confused.

  With wet hair, jeans, and a long-sleeved tee, I made my way to the kitchen. “Smells good.” I smiled at Rory while taking a seat next to Fisher, the only seat left to take.

  Rose passed me the dish filled with chicken and roasted veggies. “New baby?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I spooned food onto my plate. “A girl. Ivy Elizabeth. Tons of black hair. Ten fingers. Ten toes. And a strong, beautiful cry. When it was finally time, she pushed three times. It was a water birth. Fourth child.” I laughed. “I’m not sure why we were there. The mom did everything. She knew when to push. When to rest. How to breathe. She grabbed the baby all by
herself. Ivy cried. The mom put her right to the breast. It was … beautiful.” I realized I had tears in my eyes, and I quickly blotted the corners.

  “Oh … that sounds amazing, sweetie,” Rory said, clearly not missing my emotions.

  I refused to look at Fisher. What did he think of my sappy side?

  “So … how was everyone else’s day?” I asked.

  “Crazy, as usual.” Rose laughed.

  “How was your day, Fisher?” Rory asked him.

  He wiped his mouth. “Fine. I’ve been playing catch-up this week, driving around to see where we stand on all the jobs. It’s weird. So hard to describe. I don’t remember the projects, but I know what to do. I have these skills that my brain does remember. And all I need are the plans and an update on where each project stands, and I magically know what to do. So then I met with new clients over lunch. And I spent a few hours this afternoon in my workshop. Who knew I had unfinished projects? I don’t remember starting them, but again … I know what needs to be done. When I get this fucking cast off, it will be easier to do things. I need to grow an extra hand to help hold things when I glue and clamp pieces together.”

  “When are you seeing Angie again?” Rory asked.

  “Saturday. It’s my dad’s birthday, so they’re having a get-together, and of course, she was invited.”

  I couldn’t read him. Was he fine with that?

  “Things going okay?” Rose asked while I kept my focus on my plate.

  “I suppose. I’m trying, but sometimes I feel like she doesn’t think I’m trying hard enough. She texts or calls me every day. And I think on the days I don’t suggest we go somewhere or do something, that she’s disappointed. Sometimes I don’t answer her call because I don’t know what to say. So then she texts me. And since I don’t really know her yet, I can’t possibly read her.”

  “Before Rose and I moved in together, we called or texted each other every day. I think it’s normal for two people who are in love to talk every day. So you can’t blame her for that.” Rory did the best job of playing the middle ground. Trying to be the facilitator, the peacemaker.