Back to him hanging up on her. She seemed determined to make him regret that.
Daniel cast his line forward and back. He was getting the hang of this, the rhythm, the way the line flicked over his head...
A sudden jerk on the line startled him out of his reverie, and he dropped the pole, jumping backward.
“What happened?”
Daniel pointed at the half-submerged tree. “Something yanked on my line. Was that a fish?”
“Why’d you drop it?”
“I was startled!”
“That doesn't mean you get to drop your pole! Go get it.” She pointed where the cork-handled pole had been drifting quickly downstream in the current.
The water looked faster near there, and deeper too. Plus the rocks of the streambed were slippery and shifted. “I'll buy a new one.”
“What?” She sounded horrified. “That's a perfectly good pole!”
“It's worth, what, a couple hundred dollars?”
“That's not the point,” she grumped, getting her own line into one hand and starting down the creek after the other pole.
He couldn't imagine she'd given him a pole with sentimental value. Still, he had been the one to drop it. “I'll get it, I'll get it.”
Stumbling and slipping, he made his way to where the line had drifted around a rock and slowed the pole’s travels. Grabbing the cork candle with both hands, he lifted it into the air like King Arthur after pulling the sword from the stone. “I am the keeper of the rod!”
She tried to hide her grin again, but he was starting to notice the way she tucked her chin when she did that. “All right, Mr. Keeper. Next time you get a strike, give it a jerk to set the hook instead of dropping it, yeah?”
Her hidden grins were making him want to tease her, a sport he hadn’t engaged in since freshman year of college. “Be a jerk and you're considered a catch. I always questioned that logic, but I'll try it out if it means you’ll keep calling me a keeper.” As her mouth dropped open in an adorable O, he winked at her—man, he was rusty at that. Hopefully it didn't look like he'd just gotten a bug in his eye—and finished wading back to his original spot and fixed his line for another cast.
She ducked her chin, and he hoped this time she was hiding a blush, not just a smile. It had been a long time since he’d flirted, but he couldn't be that rusty, right?
His next cast landed perfectly in the spot between the two branches, and just as he went to pull it back for another try, a silvery flash broke the surface of the water. The movement he'd already started to pull the line back caught the hook in the fish's mouth, and it flopped and dove back under the surface, pulling his line with it.
Daniel whooped and stripped in his line as Crystal had shown him in the yard.
“That's it! You got him.” Crystal splashed over to Daniel, cheering him on as he hauled the fish closer and it splashed about trying to break free.
“That's it, keep it tight...” She walked forward and snatched the fish with one hand, holding it up and splashing back toward him. “You got yourself a nice pig!”
The adrenaline was still rushing Daniel, stronger than the current at the middle of the stream. “Does it give bacon?”
She laughed, taking his pole with the hand that held her own, and holding the fish out for him to take in both hands. “Smallmouth bass. No bacon, but they’re fun little fighters.”
Daniel reached for the fish, which promptly wriggled out from between his hands like a... well, like a greased pig. Crystal grabbed at the line again and pulled the still-hooked fish closer, and Daniel grabbed hold of it, this time gripping it securely.
He looked down at the fish, then up at Crystal, an unusual giddiness filling his veins where the adrenaline had made its way through him. “What now?”
She reached over and seemingly effortlessly unhooked the little fly from the fish's mouth. “Now we send him home and see if we can catch another.”
Daniel ran a thumb across the scales of the striped fish. “Just... let it go?”
“Unless you’re planning to eat him.”
The fish squirmed again, sliming the back of his hand with its tail. “Are they good?”
“Trout are better. We’ll get you some of those to take home to your chef another day. For now, let's see if that was beginner’s luck or if you can repeat.”
Well, he wasn't going to let a challenge like that go. Tossing the fish back into the water, he gathered his line and marched back to his spot.
Chapter 6
Crystal had watched for signs of annoyance as she’d told Daniel to show up at six a.m. this morning to hit the creek early, but he hadn’t flinched. Rich boy had some discipline, then.
She didn’t know exactly how rich he was, but anyone who had a chef providing lunches was worthy of the term in her book. Also, his phone was sleeker and fancier than any she’d ever seen—and he’d been staring at it since he’d walked in five minutes earlier.
“Anyone you’re texting at this hour must be in a different time zone.”
He looked up in surprise and flipped the phone to show her a spreadsheet. “I did my research last night. I now know some of the differences between bass and trout, and fly fishing versus spinner reel.” He pointed to the different types of fishing rods on the wall as he named them. “I’ve started working on a plan for the rest of the month, but I need your input on some of these.” He stepped close to show his phone screen with her, and his scent slid across her, a mix of spices she couldn't identify but that probably came from exotic locations.
Daniel pointed to a column titled ‘projected fish caught.’ “I put in yesterday's totals, but wasn't sure if I could use that as a base average, or if the number will improve as I get better. I also wasn't sure how location might affect it, as I would like to try out both the lake and the river at some point.” He pointed to a different column. “These are my goals for each week, as far as number of fish caught and size goals in weight and inches.”
Crystal looked up into his face, which was much closer than she'd realized. The scruff along his jaw looked rough, and for an instant she was tempted to run a finger across to check. Then she snapped back to reality. “Are you serious?”
He blinked down at her.
“This isn't how fishing works—it changes with weather, time of day, how many other people are fishing. It's not something you plan numbers for and...” She waved her hands, not even sure how to express how anathema his suggestion was to her entire concept of fishing.
His brows drew together slightly. “You don't optimize? How do you improve performance?”
Flustered, she stomped over to the counter and grabbed her dad’s familiar, floppy hat, smashing it onto her curls. “You learn your tackle. You learn how to read the river. You can study, and you can practice, but there are no guarantees; even the best fishermen get skunked now and then.”
“Skunked?” He wrinkled his nose. “Are there a lot of those around here?”
She shook her head. “You can learn the lingo, too, which helps you understand what other fishermen are talking about. Skunked means you didn't catch anything.” She pointed at his spreadsheet. “But that? You need to stop that now. That would take all the magic from a good day and add unnecessary frustration to a slow one.”