“Moosey,” I repeat, beaming. The sculpture is cheesy and super weird and exactly the over-the-top nonsense I love. “He’s beautiful.”
The woman frowns. “Moosey is a lady.”
“Duh, Cubby,” Meg deadpans. “That’s Ms. Moosey to you.”
“Cubby?” the woman asks. “Are you the Cubby my son has been talking about?” She grabs the arm of another woman with identical hair but a rounder face. “This is that Cubby.”
My heart jumps. “Is your son Chase?”
She smiles, and I can suddenly see the similarity in her eyes, which sparkle with the same chestnut brown. “That’s him.”
“My nephew,” the other woman says with a nod. “You know, this town would fall apart without Chase.”
“Oh really?” I lean forward. “And what does Chase say about me?”
Before I can pry any useful info from them, a round of applause breaks through the crowd. I look up to see Moosey and her friends proudly positioned by the docks, and a half-second later, Chase appears before me.
“Oh! Cubby.”
Everything freezes, and it’s like he’s the only thing I can see. Chase stands there, his mouth slightly open. He’s wearing a fresh white T-shirt, which is stretched tight over his broad chest, and there’s perspiration on his temples. Chase is always handsome, but he must have combed his hair and trimmed his beard for the fish fry because he looks even more devastating than usual.
“Chase.”
He blinks, seems to catch himself, and turns. “You met my mother—Gianna? My Aunt Terri? And this is Cubby’s friend, Meg.”
“They were just explaining Moosey to us,” I say.
Chase offers me and Meg a sad smile. “Moosey Fest used to pull in the tourist dollars, but these days, the fish fry is the biggest night out she gets.”
Gianna lays her hand on Chase’s arm. “My break’s over,” she says, handing him her bottle of beer. “Finish this, will you?”
“Wait for me,” Terri says. “I need help skipping the line.”
The second they disappear, I give Chase a teasing smile. “So. You been talking about me, huh?”
He rubs the back of his head, ignoring me. “You just show up? We should get you two some fish.”
“Definitely,” Meg answers. “Lead the way.”
Chase starts walking us toward the fry, which is at the lakeside restaurant. “Not all the fish are from Lake Steamy,” he explains, “but they are all fresh and local.”
“Late-spring spawn,” Meg says.
“Exactly,” Chase agrees, happy.
I try to ignore how disgusting the wordspawnis. “Pick one for me that you caught yourself, please.”
“Well, they’re already breaded,” Chase says apologetically. “Even if they were whole, I couldn’t really recognize the—”
I clear my throat pointedly. “One that you caught yourself,” I repeat.
It takes a second, but Chase realizes I’m joking and lets out a chuckle. “He always like this?” he asks Meg.
“Unfortunately.”
As we approach the busy serving table, Chase holds a finger up. “Just wait right here.”
I lean close to Meg. “Isn’t he the sweetest? Did you see how much he loves his mom? And when he—”
