Do You Take This Daddy?

“Sure.” He stood and followed to the side of the boat farthest from the mangroves. “I thought you said the fish like to hide in the tree roots?”

“The little ones do, but getting your line trapped in the trees is a huge pain. Most of the time it snaps, and then a bird can get tangled in whatever is left in the branches.” She patted him on the back. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of fish on this side of the boat, too. Now, take the pole in your right hand, like this.”

She quickly showed him how to hold the pole with one finger securing the line before releasing the wire bail that controlled the reel. He imitated her movements, finding that the muscle memory built from those trips as a kid was still there.

“Good, now just bring the tip of the pole back. No, not so stiff...that’s it, you’ve got it!”

Without even really thinking, he released the line just as the pole swung overhead and his hook sailed out to land right in the middle of the cove. Hot damn, it was like riding a bike, you never really forgot. Thank heavens for muscle memory.

Mollie beamed, her smile as bright as the Florida sun overhead. “Great cast! You’ll be a fisherman yet.”

“I have to catch something first.”

“You will—I have faith in you. Besides, you have an excellent teacher.”

Her words proved prophetic, and what seemed like only minutes later he felt a tug on his line. The current? Or something more. A second later a harder tug gave him his answer. “I think I’ve got something!”

“Ooh, awesome! Keep reeling. Let’s see what you got.”

He had no intention of stopping; he was having too much fun. Seconds ticked by with the turning of the reel as he brought the fish closer to the boat. When it broke the water, Mollie leaned out and grabbed the line, handing him his prize, a sleek white and silver speckled fish.

“You did it! That’s a spotted trout, and if it’s big enough to be legal it’s our dinner tonight.”

He was grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care. He was on a boat in Paradise, he’d caught a fish and he had a beautiful woman smiling at him. Simple pleasures, sure, but often those were the best kind.

* * *

Mollie couldn’t take her eyes off of Noah. His bronze skin was shining in the bright sun, his hair ruffled by the breeze, and he was standing there like every proud fisherman before him, except he wasn’t every fisherman. He was a famous artist. And yet that didn’t matter, not out here. In his T-shirt and flip flops, he looked...perfect.

“So, is he big enough?”

Right, focus on the task at hand, Mollie. You’re fishing, for heaven’s sake; since when do you get all girly when you could be fishing?

“I’ll grab the ruler, just a sec.” Digging in the tackle box, she found the same folding ruler she’d used for her own first fish and measured carefully. “Fourteen inches. That’s an inch under legal. Looks like he’s gotta go back. Need some help unhooking him?”

“No, let me try.” His brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully eased the hook back out. “Did it. See, I’m a quick learner.”

“It helps that you’re good with your hands.” His eyes widened at the remark. “I mean, with sculpting and—oh, hell, you know what I mean. Just put the fish back in the water and pretend I didn’t say that, okay?” She knew from long experience that the best way to get past one of her ill-thought-out remarks was to just acknowledge it and move on.

Smirking, he did as she instructed, proving once again he could follow instructions. If only her tongue would do the same. “Ready to try again?”

“Sure, but I’ll bait it myself this time. You haven’t even gotten a line in the water yet. I can fend for myself.”

“Thanks.” She quickly baited her own hook and cast out into her favorite spot, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was managing fine, which was no surprise. He really was good with his hands, which despite her protest to the contrary had her thinking about all the other ways he could use them.

Damn, she needed to cool off before she did something crazy, like make a move on him. She never did that. Guys were not interested in skinny brunettes with fish slime on their hands; they wanted blonde bombshells who got manicures and wore sundresses. Her own cutoffs were getting so frayed she’d need to throw them out soon, and her tank top was faded and plain. Her biggest nod to fashion was her extensive collection of bathing suits. It’s not that she disliked shopping as much as she figured she was never going to look like a supermodel, so why bother?

Noah might make her feel good about herself, but she needed to remember she was still a small-town tomboy who probably smelled like bait. And even if he was interested, he was leaving in a week. She respected herself too much to be just an upgrade on some guy’s vacation package. She needed to treat him like all the other guys she knew, a buddy, someone to have some laughs with. She could do that. She just needed to put things back in perspective.

Thankfully, when it came to perspective, she had a secret weapon. Putting her pole in one of the rod holders, she retrieved her camera bag from where she’d stowed it earlier. Her Canon Rebel was secondhand, but worked better than a lot of the newer models she’d seen tourists carrying. More importantly, she’d spent enough time with it to learn all its quirks, until it had the same familiar comfort as a favorite pair of slippers.

Noah was watching his line with the intensity of a lion stalking its prey, and she was able to snap several shots of him before he noticed.

“I wondered how long it would take you to get that thing out.”

“Sorry, I don’t usually sneak photos of people like that. You just looked so....” Gorgeous? Distracting? “Focused,” she finished. “I can get rid of it if you want, but it’s a good shot.”

He shrugged. “If it’s good, keep it.”

It was good, she knew without looking. She’d felt that tingle that said the shot was exactly how she wanted it to be. “Thanks. And I promise I’ll give you a heads-up if I aim your way again.”

Glancing at her still slack line, she moved to the bow. There was an anhinga perched on a partially sinking tree stump drying its wings, just begging to be photographed. Stretching out on her belly, she steadied the camera, letting her world shrink down to the size of her viewfinder. Shot after shot, the hypnotic sound of the shutter clearing her mind. By the time the gangly bird flew off, she had a cramp in her neck and could feel the sting of a sunburn starting. No telling how long she’d been there; hopefully Noah wasn’t too bored. So much for being a fun tour guide.

She rolled over and saw him reeling in his line, Baby asleep at his feet. A minute later, he pulled up a small fish, deftly snagging it in one hand. “Are these things good to eat?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a mangrove snapper, but he’s a bit too small.”

“I figured, but this is the third one I’ve caught. The first two were bigger, but I wasn’t sure what they were or if I should keep them, so I let them go. Guess I’ll send this one back to his buddies.” He deftly released the fish, unconcernedly watching it swim away.

“Two more? You should have said something!”

“I didn’t want to break your concentration. I hate it when people interrupt me when I’m working.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate that, but I’m supposed to be helping you. You could have kept those bigger ones for dinner tonight.”

“I’m fine. There was nothing pressing I needed. Besides, we can still have a fish dinner.”

“I don’t think so.” She eyed the sun, now directly overhead. “It’s getting too hot to catch much now. We’d have to stay out until nearly dark if we wanted to have a chance, and I didn’t bring enough food or water for that.”

“You forget, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Er, fish.” He winked. “Trust me. Be at the Sandpiper at six and I’ll show you.”

* * *

Noah stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. After the fishing trip this morning, he’d taken a walk on the beach, then ordered room service for lunch, staying in his room to work on some sketches and catch up on email. He’d also used part of the afternoon to track down the area’s best seafood restaurant. Initially he’d approached Nic, but the hotel proprietor had deferred to his wife, explaining that Jillian had lived on the island far longer and was the better source of information.

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