Crystal pointed out a fallen tree on the opposite side. “That's what we are aiming for. Tons of fish down in those branches, but try not to get your line stuck.”
Daniel eyed the tree branches and the still water around them, outside of the rush of the current in the center of the creek. “This does get fun at some point, right? Because you're not making it sound very fun.”
Crystal smirked. “With that attitude...”
She was right. He'd been grumpy ever since Dr. Myers had told him to take this vacation. It hadn't even been forty-eight hours, and already his hand was itching to pull up his email and get back into things. It wouldn't take long to at least keep on top of emails. That wasn't really working.
His unease wasn’t helped by how the combination of the Bassmaster t-shirt with the suit pants was chaffing his sense of identity—the t-shirt made him feel strangely free, almost like a kid again, but the slacks wouldn’t let him forget who he was now: Daniel Waltham, CEO of Waltham Tech.
Not that he ever forgot that.
Crystal pulled lures from her pocket and began tying them on to their lines. She barely looked at it—like her fingers knew the knots without her needing to see the pieces. She explained how the clear leader at the end of the green-colored line would make his rig harder for fish to spot, but he had his doubts. Those little hairy things didn't look much like actual flies to him—more like a lint ball.
Daniel eyed the stream. “To swing my line that far out, though, wouldn't it first catch on all the trees behind me?”
“Why do you think I dragged along the waders?” She gestured to the canvas bundle Daniel held, and he unrolled it to find a large pair of overalls with attached boots.
“Where are yours?”
“On a little bitty stream like this? I’d rather feel the water. A little water won’t hurt these.” She gestured down at her cargo shorts, which matched her khaki fishing vest—how many pockets did one girl need, anyway?—and then at his suit pants, which he already knew he would have to get rid of after the trek through brush and thorn bushes to get here. If he soaked them in the stream, though, they probably wouldn’t even be worth donating, so he did the embarrassing hop-shuffle necessary to get into the overall-boot combo.
“We won’t go in far today, just enough to give us room for our lines. I won’t make you go past your knees until we hit White River another day.”
Daniel pushed into the water, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn’t penetrate the protective layer of the waders. “I remember seeing White River mentioned on your web page. Why didn't we go there today? Isn’t it supposed to have the best fishing?”
“This whole area has amazing fishing if you know where to look,” she said in a defensive tone. “But out here you have a chance to practice and get the hang of things fishing in an area where other groups won’t be coming in and out all the time and sometimes stopping to watch.”
She waded out into the water, and Daniel could practically see it wash over her soul as her slender shoulders relaxed and her face smoothed. She wore no makeup, and plastic surgery definitely didn’t seem like something she’d go for, so those cheekbones and lips were natural. Lucky girl.
She smiled up at him with none of the forced, polite edge she'd been using on him most of the day, and Daniel’s instinctive reaction to return the gesture felt as strange as the old t-shirt he wore.
“If you'd just come for one day, we probably would have gone to the river. But you have the whole month, and this creek is one of the prettiest spots around.”
She looked so peaceful. Daniel looked around again, in part because he needed to get his eyes off her. The creek was pretty, with its smooth boulders causing ripples and bubbles in the current, and everything surrounded by the intense green you only saw in the South. The sound the water made as it burbled over the rocks was practically identical to a setting on the white noise machine Eleanor had given him for Christmas two years back. Nice, but nothing that made him want to sigh and settle his shoulders the way Crystal had.
Maybe it was a thing for fishermen. Maybe he'd get the hang of it later... maybe once he wasn’t wearing this ridiculous Bassmaster shirt so he didn’t have to worry if anyone saw him.
Daniel waded further out, then looked at Crystal for directions. She stepped close to him and spoke with her voice low. “See that spot where the two branches curve around and there's a space in the middle?” Daniel squinted at the half-submerged tree and shook his head.
She stepped closer still, close enough that he could no longer see her face when he looked down because of the floppy brim of her hat, with its fluffy white fly perched on the edge. “Right there.” She grabbed Daniel’s arm and pointed with his finger, and Daniel was able to follow it to a place that looked much like the rest of the area. “You want to pretend that is the license plate of your car, right there. You're going to place your fly right in that spot, let it rest for a moment, then pop back and do it again.”
Distracted by her closeness, Daniel missed a beat, but recovered quickly. “What if I hit one of the branches instead?”
She tipped her head up, her eyes mischievous again. “You hope it doesn't stick.”
The humor in those big brown eyes made him want to lean toward her, even though they were already closer than he normally got to women he wasn’t familiar with. Her hand on his arm was warm and made him relax in a way the setting hadn’t.
Pitching his voice low like hers, he whispered, “And if it does?”
“Then you’ll be glad to have your waders, because it’s a lot deeper over there.” She smacked him on the back and then sidestepped away, hardly disturbing the surface of the water as she moved.
Knee-deep in the water, Daniel eyed the small spot between the branches. The spot was bigger than the license plate had been, but he'd only hit the plate once out of every ten tries. Crystal had put the end of her line exactly where she wanted it every time, making it look effortless.
Well. He’d learn. And if he had to undo a few snags while he was at it, he’d just try not to let it get to him. After all, he was supposed to be relaxing.
The practice time on the grass in front of the shop served him well, and his first cast landed only a couple feet short of his target, and no branches. Pulling it back, he sent the line out again.
And again.
And again.
Crystal watched, but didn’t say anything, which was more disconcerting than if she'd been snarking at him. His shoulders tightened, and he stopped and made himself unclench his jaw. “Isn't something supposed to be happening?”
She snorted. “Patience not your thing, Danny?”
“Daniel is fine. Or Mr. Waltham.”
“Danny or Walt. Got it.”
“Do you talk like this to all your clients, or am I just special?”
Her shoulders twitched in a shrug, but her fidgeting let him know he’d scored a hit. She knew exactly how she was treating him, and he definitely didn't think it was her normal. Strangely, he didn't mind the thought.
“My clients usually come in knowing at least what kind of fishing they want to do. The brand-newbies still usually have a preference between boat, wading, or lake. If you state no preferences, you get what you get.”