Next In Line Read online

  We end up at Partridge Lake, a spot that’s a good deal smaller than the one we passed and more secluded because it’s surrounded by snow-covered trees. A single lonely house is out on the ice already with a puff of smoke billowing out the top. It’s like a postcard and exactly what inspired me to try this out.

  I squeal in excitement as Sam ventures down a snow-covered boat ramp, and we hit the open ice. This entire day has already been ten times more thrilling than I ever could have imagined, which is much appreciated after the Christmas I had. Two days ago, I was supposed to be on a plane to the East Coast, but somehow, I ended up here in Boulder. Life is funny sometimes.

  When Sam finds the spot he wants, he stops the sled and kills the engine. “Ready to help, sparky?” he asks as he removes his helmet and hops off the snowmobile, readjusting his knit hat so just a tiny bit of his reddish blond hair sticks out beneath it.

  I smile at his nickname for me, which only cements the fact that I had to have known him in a past life. We begin setting up camp, and Sam guides me through the entire process. His fishing shelter is a small, cube-shaped pop-up tent made of what appears to be an insulated thick nylon material using collapsible tent poles for framing. The sides have two plastic windows and two flaps at the top for some sort of airflow.

  I have to admit that I sigh with relief when he mentions the flaps are for a heater because holy shit, my nipples could cut glass right now. But there is no way in hell I am telling Sam I’m cold. I’m not going to be Basic Maggie today. I’m going to be Adventurous Maggie. However, I’m still kicking myself for not investing in some thermal undergarments to go beneath my two-hundred-dollar snowsuit. Rookie mistake that won’t happen again!

  I’m on my hands and knees, brushing a square of snow off the ice for the tent when Sam comes over with a giant, scary looking drill. I watch him position the sharp tip on the ice.

  “That thing looks vicious,” I state, watching with great fascination.

  “Want to try?” he asks, eyeing me over his shoulder.

  “Yes!” I exclaim and nearly biff it in my attempt to hurry over to him.

  He stands behind me and positions my hands where they need to be for the manual crank ice auger. His body feels warm against mine as he presses up against me, but I’m ignoring that pleasantness because this trip isn’t about boy hunting. This is about un-basicing. That’s a thing, right? A verb? If not, I’m making it one. I’m un-basicing myself, and that apparently means becoming an ice fisherwoman. Which also means I can’t be attracted to the first fisherman I lay eyes on.

  Sam helps me crank the handle, and we drill a small six-inch hole through the ice for what feels like ages. But when it finally plunges through to the arctic water below, I can’t help but feel an immense sense of accomplishment.

  I begin to ladle out the slushy ice inside the hole as Sam quickly drills two more holes. Once we’ve got them ready to go, we position the tent over the cleared space and shove snow around the bottom edges to seal it off. He unzips the door and begins handing me things I’ve never seen before in my life. At least I recognize the propane heater! Score one for Basic Maggie.

  Sam works quietly inside the hut, propped on his knees, his eyes intensely focused as he slips something into the middle hole and plugs in a video monitor.

  “Holy shit, is that a video camera?” I exclaim, dropping to my knees beside him and seeing something sway in the water below. “Was that a fish?”

  He chuckles. “Yes, it was a fish, and yes, this a video fish locator. My auger is small, so you can’t see what you have going on down there. And this lake is almost a hundred feet deep in some areas, so you need this to see what’s going on beneath the ice.”

  “Fascinating,” I say with a sigh. Because it is.

  He rigs up two fishing poles next, one of which is the brand new one I just purchased from Marv. There really was no way in hell I could have done this all on my own today. Sam’s doing special knots and shit, and I wasn’t even a Girl Scout growing up! I was…a cheerleader. And cheer squad has not prepared me for today’s events whatsoever.

  Sam takes a match and lights the heater at last. As soon as the warmth touches the tip of my frozen nose, I want to kiss him. Well, maybe not kiss him but thank him profusely. But honestly, under normal circumstances and if I were fishing with a boyfriend instead of a complete stranger, this glorious heat would be worthy of sexual favors.

  He props up two little stools for us, and in seconds, we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with our poles in the icy water.

  Then it begins.

  The…ice fishing.

  Which I realize now is mostly just sitting in silence and staring at a hole.

  Guys really do this for fun?

  I shake my head, forcing myself to live in the moment and enjoy the nature all around me. To allow myself to do some deep thinking and embrace something new and different for a change.

  So I wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  I glance at my watch and am gutted when I see it’s only been four minutes. It feels like we’ve been at this for at least an hour. Is my watch broken?

  More minutes tick by.

  Or is it seconds?

  Is there a weird wrinkle in time here on this lake where everything slows down? And flipping heck, why is it so quiet? This silence is excruciating. All I hear is the cold wind outside and the faint crackle of the propane heater every once in a while. No city or traffic sounds…nothing!

  We’re all alone out here. The only other ice house is on the other side of the lake and probably wouldn’t even hear my cries over the wind.

  “Let some—”

  “Ahh!” I scream, my eyes going wide in horror as I realize Sam’s voice just made me jump like the dumb girl in all horror films.

  “Jesus hell, what’s wrong?” Sam asks, turning to gawk at me with worry.

  I shake my head aggressively. “Nothing.”

  “You scream like that when nothing’s wrong?” he asks. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at them.

  “Your voice just…surprised me,” I chirp.

  He’s staring at me now. He’s staring at me in that silent, easy way he has about him. “Were you doing some deep thinking there, sparky?”

  “No,” I balk defensively, and then my brows lift. “Or maybe I was!” I look at him with wide, excited eyes. “I mean, my imagination was certainly taking flight. Do you think that’s deep thinking?”

  “I have no fucking idea,” Sam replies with a laugh and a shake of his head. “But I know screaming like that is going to scare all the fish away…so maybe, try to deep think a little more shallow.”

  I smile at that remark because at least he didn’t accuse me of being basic. After another moment of silence, I finally ask, “So this is it?”

  Sam jiggles his line a bit, letting more slack down into the hole. “This is it.”

  “You just…sit out here and wait?”

  He nods. “They’ll come.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know…Marv knows. If Marv says they’ll come, they’ll come.”

  “Is this like a fishing Field of Dreams moment or something?” I ask curiously and then lower the timbre of my voice to sound deep and soulful. “If you fish it, they will come.”

  Sam angles his shoulders to face me and watches me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He licks his lips as though he’s about to say something but then just as quickly turns back to his pole and remains silent. He’s so good at the silent.

  I exhale heavily and try to figure out why I’m not good at silence. I wanted to come out here to be alone with my thoughts and reflect, so I shouldn’t need to fill the silence like this. What’s that say about me?

  “A nice cold glass of Chardonnay would be really good right about now. I’m sure most fishermen drink beer, but I hate beer, and I don’t see why you couldn’t have wine too. It’s not a highbrow beverage like some people t
hink. A gas station by my parents’ house sells really good Chardonnay three for ten bucks. And it comes with a twist-off top so you could drink it right out of the bottle if you wanted! And with how cool it is out here? You wouldn’t even need a bottle chiller. Just stuff it in some snow, and you’re all set. I feel like wine should be the official drink of ice fishing!”

  I laugh awkwardly and turn my face away from Sam in mortification. My inane rambling needs to stop like immediately. Maybe if I turn the attention to Sam, that’ll help me shut the heck up.

  “So why do you like ice fishing so much, Sam?” I ask, turning to him.

  “Do you hate it already?” he replies with a smirk.

  “No!” I exclaim, my chest rising defensively. “I’m just trying to learn more about the appeal, that’s all.”

  He shrugs. “I grew up ice fishing with my dad. I was the only son, so it was kind of our thing to get away from all the estrogen in our house.”

  “Does your dad still come out here with you?”

  He pauses, his brows furrowing for a moment. “No, he doesn’t.”

  Oookay, I think to myself. He clearly doesn’t want to elaborate on that subject. “Do your sisters ever come out here with you?”

  He shakes his head with a laugh. “Definitely not. This isn’t their thing at all.”

  Suddenly, Sam’s eyes go wide, and I follow his gaze to the video monitor. “You’re getting a bite, Maggie.”

  “I am?” I squeal, my hands squeezing my fishing reel so tight, I feel like I could break the thin metal.

  “Shhh, just stay calm…watch.”

  The fish darts at my rig once, and a chunk of the bait floats away from it as if he got just a taste. Then it comes back and opens its mouth wide and…

  “Set it!” Sam exclaims loudly.

  “Set what?” I exclaim back.

  “The hook!”

  “What?” I cry out, completely confused. “What are you talking about?”

  Sam drops his pole and quickly wraps his arms around me, his body snug against mine. “You have to set the hook in the fish’s mouth. Just give the pole a good jerk.”

  He yanks the pole upward, and as soon as he does, I feel a heavy weight pulling down the tip of my pole. “Holy heck, is this a big fish?”

  Sam’s warm breath tickles my cheek as he chuckles. “It feels like it.”

  “Awesome!” I squeal because I can’t help it. This is all so thrilling.

  Sam helps me through the process of bringing the fish up to the surface. It’s deep down there, so it’s a lot of pulling up on the pole, reeling it in, and then pulling it up again. It feels like it’s taking forever, but when the fish finally gets close to the surface, I see it going bonkers right below the hole.

  “Think you can grab it with your hands?” he asks, his voice breathless and excited, just like mine.

  “Sure!” I exclaim, biting the fingertips of my gloves and yanking them off my hands.

  Sam looks taken aback for a second but then shakes his surprise off and grabs the line with his hand. The fish stills for a second, and as he quickly pulls it through the hole, he says, “Grab it right in the open gill there.”

  I do it.

  I don’t think. I just…do it.

  It’s freezing and wet and kinda sharp around the edges, but I hold this big ole squirming fish in my bare hand. Flipping heck, I’m holding a fish! I squeal with delight, and my smile is ear to ear as Sam watches me with an equally pleased expression.

  “This is way cool. I can’t believe I’m holding a fish right now.”

  He laughs hard. “Honestly, me neither.”

  “Right?” I exclaim and waggle my brows at him. “What do I do with it now?”

  Sam’s shrugs. “Do you want to release it or eat it?”

  “Release it,” I reply instantly. “Definitely release it.”

  Sam takes the fish from my hand and gently extracts the hook from the fish’s mouth. It looks like a strong fish. Like a fish who probably had his whole life figured out before this hook came out of nowhere and completely derailed him.

  I know that feeling.

  I’m all too familiar with that sense of contentment when you’re confident in your next step. When you feel yourself climbing this perfect staircase, but then suddenly, someone comes out of nowhere and shoves you straight backward.

  Sam looks at me with earnest eyes. “It’s your catch, so you have to be the one to release it. Just grab it with two hands here at the tail and submerge it halfway into the water. Careful of his dorsal fin, it’s sharp. Wait until he swims out of your hand, okay? Don’t just drop him back in there if he doesn’t seem ready. He needs to take off on his own.”

  Good god. The metaphors in my mind right now are out of control!

  I nod slowly and grip the fish’s slimy scales firmly as I immerse his head into the water. It takes a minute—the poor guy must be in shock still—before he begins writhing in my hands, his tail flipping side to side viciously as I hold on for dear life.

  I look at Sam for confirmation. When he nods his approval…I let Flipper go. Okay, I know I didn’t catch a dolphin. Let me try again.

  I let Nemo go.

  Wait, I feel like since I’m a bit lost right now, this fish’s name should actually be Dory.

  I let Dory go.

  I watch her swim away in the video monitor as if her life depends on it…because let’s face it, it does. She was living her best life, got hooked by some delicious bait that was meant to taste good and make her belly full and satisfied, and then she was completely sideswiped by a right hook.

  Dory is my spirit animal.

  Adrenaline surges through me as I watch her swim fast and free. Like a magnificent creature that can’t be held back by anything.

  I hear Sam say, “That was a nice, strong release. You want them to really take off out of your hand because then you know they’ll survive next time.”

  “Next time?” I ask, my high buzzing in my head so loudly, I can barely take in his words.

  He shrugs. “The next time they’re caught.”

  “Caught again,” I repeat to myself because the life of a fish is both tragic and beautiful. Beautiful because they have moments of complete freedom. Moments when they take the bait and see a new part of the world. And moments when they are released and allowed to live their lives. But tragic because ultimately, they are at the mercy of a fisherman. Someone to catch and release them. Or worse yet, consume them until nothing is left to show for themselves.

  I swallow against the growing pit in my belly because I won’t be consumed. I won’t be caught. In this hut, at this moment, I am not a fish. I am not Dory waiting for the bait. I am a fisherwoman, and I take what I want.

  What happens next can only be described as an out-of-body experience or a demonic possession of some sort because it is so unlike anything I’ve ever done before. And when I realize my lips are locked on Sam’s, I have no other choice but to embrace it.

  Sam grunts when my body rams into his with all the grace of a flailing fish. Or a girl in a fishing hut is maybe a more suitable analogy for this particular scene. Either way, it’s a foreign physical movement for me because I’ve never made the first move on a guy before, especially not in a bulky snowsuit.

  Sam’s beard is rough against my mouth as I grab the lapels of his jacket and arch my neck up to flatten my lips to his. When he realizes what’s happening, he goes stiff as a board for a minute, and I fear that he’s going to out fisherman me and release me back into the wild.

  But then, his shoulders drop. His hand releases the fishing pole he was in the middle of re-rigging and cinches tightly around my waist as he pulls me up on my knees. Now we’re both kneeling in front of each other, sucking face like a couple of largemouth bass at the bottom of the lake. Our snowsuit-covered bodies are flush against each other, the thick fabric rubbing against all my sensitive nerve-endings that have come alive under this surprising and unexpected embrace. Sam’s tongue parts my
lips and sweeps inside with an unwavering confidence he wants me to feel. And man do I feel it. I think I even whimper a little when he yanks off his gloves, and his warm, dry hands cup my face. His palms are rough, but his touch is tender as his thumbs caress my cheekbones.

  I may have started this kiss, but he’s completely taken over now, and his deft touch makes me feel like an inexperienced, never-been-kissed teenager. Oh my heck, is this what it’s like to kiss an older man? Someone with experience? Someone who’s rugged and rough around the edges? Who’s clearly not only lived life but also made life his bitch? Because if so, I had no idea what I’d been missing out on by dating college boys. Preppy college boys have nothing on this…fisherman.

  But this fisherman is also a complete stranger. A familiar stranger but still a stranger I’m kissing in the middle of nowhere after recently getting dumped. I am an idiot.

  As if the ghost that possessed me earlier has left my body, I jerk back, then press my hands flat against his chest to put some space between us. Our breaths are foggy and ragged as I lick my lips that are now raw from his beard and burning in a way that I basically love.

  “I really didn’t mean to do that,” I pant, looking up at him with blazing eyes.

  He smolders back at me, his gaze holding a wicked promise as he pulls his lower lip into his mouth. “It’s seriously okay.”

  I bite back a groan. “No…but like, I really didn’t mean to do that.” I move away from him, extracting my body from his and shaking my head from side to side as I reposition myself on my stool a solid two feet away from him. It suddenly feels horribly hot and cramped in here. Did the heater get turned up?

  “I’m not complaining,” Sam replies, his voice still deep with arousal. He moves to his own stool, and I swear I see a bulge in his snow pants. Holy shit! How big is he if he has a bulge showing through thick snow pants?

  “Going ice fishing wasn’t a ploy to get a new guy, you know,” I state firmly as I begin tugging at the chest of my snowsuit to get some air to my clammy skin underneath. I’m literally sweating! How can I be sweating on a frozen flipping lake? The heater isn’t that warm. “I’m supposed to be finding myself. There’s more to me than just my hormones. I graduated a semester early and at the top of my class in college, ya know?”