When I organized the shed, I gathered and sorted all the fishing equipment for him, which included a variety of rods and lures. While I’m no expert on fishing gear, I enjoyed arranging everything by size and color. Some of the lures were gorgeous, too, like gems. That part of the cleanout was enjoyable.
Gray re-emerged with two rods, a tackle box, and a heavy wool blanket. He approached and passed me, and I followed him as he walked toward the pool where we took our daily cold plunge. I’d gotten used to the shock of the water, no longer needing to warm up in the tub afterward, although I had other reasons for wanting to do so—all of them involving seeing Gray half naked and getting the chance to lay all over him.
This was the stalemate I’d mentioned, the strange limbo we were caught in.
We’d tentatively explored intimacy, but neither of us was ready to commit. I think we were scared, but boy-howdy, the attraction was there, full force.
If we gave in? There would be no turning back.
It had been a week since he’d saved me from that bear-infested sleepover, and while I appreciated being saved, yet again, it made my affection for him harder to ignore. The growing admiration felt like a constant pull in my gut, drawing us closer with every passing minute.Each event was a catalyst, breaking down my stubborn walls.
He set the tackle box down, leaned the poles against a rock, and began unfolding the blanket. There was a dry, sandy beach near the bank of the river, smooth now that the waters had receded, no longer swirling and angry with excessive melt-off.
Gray sat and patted the spot beside him.
I joined him, watching as he grabbed a pole and unwound some of the clear thread, or line, I suppose it was called. Whatever it was, it already had a hook on the end, something I learned the hard way when I organized them; I’d gotten one lodged in my thumb.
He opened the tackle box and took out a small jar with something bright pink inside. I squinted, wondering if I was seeing what I thought I was.
“Are those… neon-pink marshmallows?”
Gray chuckled, his rough fingers pinching out a pink puff and holding it up.“I guess they could be misconstrued as such, but they don’t smell like marshmallows, that’s for sure. Not for s’mores.” He held it out for me to smell.
I leaned in, initially eager, but a strong fishy odor assaulted my nostrils, causing me to recoil.“Ugh, gross,” I exclaimed, pinching my nose and grimacing.“That’s just terrible, what a disappointment—talk about getting catfished.”
He laughed and threaded the marshmallow onto the hook, then reached into the box for something else. The next item resembled a small metallic ball or bead. I watched, fascinated, as he pinched it onto the line about a foot above the hook.
“This way, the line will sink into the pool,” he explained.“And the marshmallow will float. Trout absolutely love these fish marshmallows, trust me. They’re like crack for trout. It almost feels like cheating, but my priority is survival, not the sport. I don’t overcomplicate things. Whatever gets the job done, gets the job done.”
I nodded, and he handed me the pole, then picked up the second one. I sat there awkwardly, swinging mine back and forth while he got his ready.
Once his line was baited, he explained how the reel worked and how to set it for casting and reeling in. We stood up, and he demonstrated a few casts before letting me try. After several attempts, including one where a wet marshmallow ended up stuck in my hair, I finally managed to cast the hook into the pool.
We sat down again, and Gray showed me how to dig a hole and bury the reel’s handle so we wouldn’t have to hold them while we waited for a bite. After I secured my pole, I lay back and felt the sun warm my face. It wasn’t the beaches of New Jersey, but it was still pleasant.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Gray sitting cross-legged facing me, a piece of leather string between his fingers. His gaze fixed on me from beneath half-hooded eyelids, his look contemplative. We watched each other for a long time, another silent conversation passing between us.
After a few minutes like this, I finally asked,“What are you thinking about?”
He gave a slight smile and a shrug.
Just then, the little mound of sand around his pole cracked and wiggled, the reel clicking once every few seconds.
I gasped and sat up.“Is that a fish?” The surprise in my voice caught even me off guard.
He dropped the piece of leather and reached for the pole, handing it to me.“I think so. Here, take it.”
“What do I do with it?” I protested, but in no way refused to take the pole. I eagerly grabbed it, fiddling with the reel.
“Wait for a tug and then pull back hard and sharp,” he explained.“That’ll set the hook in the fish’s mouth.”
I nodded, my hands tingling with anticipation as I felt a tug on the line. I instinctively yanked back, and the pole came alive with a thrashing and pulling sensation. The line connected to the water was suddenly vibrant, dancing in erratic figure eights.
“You got a bite!” he exclaimed, standing up.
I stood up too, Gray helping me to my own feet while I managed the pole.
“Alright. Now, reel it in just like I showed you,” he said.
