by Daws, Amy
“She could. But even if she doesn’t, I still want the dirty details…I’m not married yet.” Suddenly, Miles’s phone lights up. “Oh hey, I gotta take this call. I’ll check you later.”
He walks away, and I shake my head. Miles is so wrapped up in his own world these days that it’ll be weeks before he even asks about my spark plug again. And I’m cool with that. Just because I don’t believe in long term doesn’t mean I don’t understand why things between us have shifted a bit.
Catch And Release
A big yellow rotary telephone trills from the bedside table, and with a pained groan, I throw my arm across the bed to pick it up. “Hello?” I answer, trying not to sound like I was asleep but failing miserably.
“Hello, Miss Hudson, this is Claire from the front desk.” Claire’s waspy voice is like a feather on my cheek, annoying and soothing at the same time.
“Hi, Claire…yes, I’m coming down for breakfast. Sorry, I overslept again.” I shove the quilt off my body, allowing the cool air from the weak radiator heating of the Briar Rose Bed and Breakfast where I’m staying help me wake up.
“Oh, it’s perfectly okay. I was calling to remind you about your room.”
“My room?” I sit up and shove the hair out of my face to look around the adorable suite I’ve been calling home for a week now.
“I told you we had a group of travelers checking in today, so we’ll need to turn over your room as soon as possible.”
“Oh, right. Yes, of course,” I reply, trying to hide the urge to weep into the receiver. “I’ll just finish packing, then I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re welcome to stay for breakfast, of course. And if you need to stay in the living area for the day, that’s okay too. We can hold your luggage,” Claire adds helpfully. She really is a sweet old lady.
Nodding, I look at the clock to see it’s ten a.m. already. “It’s okay, Claire. I have somewhere else I can go.” I inhale deeply and shake my head. “I’ve avoided my brother for far too long as it is.”
I can almost hear Claire’s awkward smile. “All right, dear. We’ll see you down here for breakfast then.”
I hang up and drag myself to the en suite bathroom for a shower, but it does nothing to dampen my anxiety over finally having to face my brother today.
After Christmas and everything in my life went to shit, I jumped into my car and drove eight hours to cry in the arms of my brother who lived in Boulder. Then, just before I reached town, I happened upon the Briar Rose Bed and Breakfast, an idyllic little place that reminded me of a Nora Roberts romance novel. She always has the swooniest happily ever afters, and that’s just what I was after. So I pulled in and have been holed up eating Claire’s baked goods and avoiding my brother ever since.
And let’s face it…also thinking about that incredible kiss with Sam the fisherman.
Kissing Sam was a mistake. A huge, monumental mistake. I was nursing a broken heart and got caught up in the moment. Simple as that. It didn’t help that his lips tasted like freedom and his unyielding grip around my body felt like delicious confinement that I never wanted to end. But it meant nothing, and it was certainly not going to distract me from my goals.
I throw on a knit sweater and jeans, leaving my dark wet hair hanging loose down my back as I head downstairs. When I noisily drag my suitcase through the living room and into the beautiful formal dining room where I’ve spent all of my mornings, I halt in place as a group of five men are seated at the table with forks frozen halfway to their mouths.
“Hi,” I state, awkwardly waving at the group of gawking men.
They all murmur their hellos and then resume shoveling the food down their throats. Claire emerges from the kitchen with wide eyes. “Oh hello, Miss Hudson, have a seat. I have your plate right here.”
She walks slowly over to me, her old age slowing her down, but her smile as bright as the day I checked in a week ago. She sets the food in front of me and affectionately rubs my shoulder just as my mom would.
“Boys, this is Maggie…Maggie, these nice boys who have just checked in are from Backwoods Magazine. They are here working on a piece about ice climbing on grain silos. It all sounds very exciting,” she tuts while looking down at everyone’s plates. “Oh look, you need fresh coffee. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She disappears through the double doors into the kitchen so I force a smile and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why is there ice climbing on grain silos? Is it some kind of weather anomaly?” I spoon a big bite of cinnamon oatmeal into my mouth.
The guys all fail to conceal their amusement as the one closest to me responds. “No, it’s a sport…like ice climbing but instead of a mountain, we’re climbing a man-made iced silo. Definitely not a weather anomaly.” He chuckles around a sip of his coffee.
“Interesting,” I reply politely. “Why do you guys do it?”
“Because it’s fucking awesome,” the younger guy from across the table answers with a laugh. “It’s the hardest climb you’ll ever do because it’s eighty feet of straight vertical. No natural slopes like you’d get on a mountain. It’s a rush.”
“Sounds like it.” My eyes widen with interest. “How do they make the ice?”
“They dribble the water down the silo slowly during freezing temperatures. It takes several weeks before you get a good enough base to climb.”
“I see,” I reply and briefly wonder if this extreme sort of stuff is a Colorado thing, or if they do this back home. I was such a girlie-girl growing up that I would have never even noticed. My brother did a lot of outdoorsy things, but the only sporty thing I ever did was ski down the bunny hills for school trips. I was even too chicken to try snowboarding with my friends.
“I just went ice fishing for the first time last weekend,” I state proudly because this feels like something these guys would appreciate. “So yeahhh…” My voice trails off as I realize these guys have zero interest in ice fishing. “I thought that was pretty adventurous,” I add so they understand why I brought it up because they all continue to stare blankly back at me.
“Hardly,” replies the guy with dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail on the other side of me. “With ice fishing, you just sit there. There’s no physical exertion. No sense of danger or adrenaline. You’re missing the best parts of a rush. If you’re looking for an adventure, you should come check out the silo we’re climbing tomorrow. Experience isn’t required, and that’s where the real adventure awaits.” He digs into his pocket and fishes out a small business card. “This is the card to the farmstead where the silos are located.” He pauses and grabs a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something on the back. “And here’s my personal number if you’d like some personal coaching. My name is Ezekiel.” He looks up and winks at me, his dark eyes sparkling with obvious flirtation as he passes the card over to me.
I turn it over and finger the logo of the farmstead with a website and address. “Okay then.”
“I really hope to see you there tomorrow,” Ezekiel adds as he stuffs a bite of eggs into his mouth, then he mumbles, “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”
My eyes light up at those last words. Ice climbing on grain silos sounds like the total opposite of Basic Maggie. Ice climbing on grain silos would catapult me to Adventure Maggie for sure.
And you know what else? Adventure Maggie could probably ice fish on her own now too! I don’t need an oddly cute bearded ginger with kissable lips to be my guide. And since I can do it all on my own, it also means I get to avoid heading to my brother’s for a few more hours…double bonus. Maybe this is just the sort of risk-taking I need to turn everything around.
It’s a frigid and sunny Saturday afternoon as I make my way out to Marv’s Bait and Tackle. Normally, I’m a morning fisher. I like to get there early before all the out-of-towners make it in. But today, I held off for one very obvious, very gorgeous reason.
Maggie.
Fuck, I don’t even know her last name yet. We had our hands so full
of fish and each other, we really didn’t get to talk a whole lot. And when we parted ways outside Marv’s, I could tell she was acting all twitchy because of our kiss. So young and innocent—hell, it’s fucking hot. And I did nothing to calm her nerves either. I just let her fumble her way back to her car without saying a word. Asking for a chick’s number is against my rules. I prefer to just let nature take its course. If I see her again, so be it. If I don’t, I won’t lose any sleep over it.
But I really hope I see her again.
When I maneuver my snowmobile into the parking lot of Marv’s, I’m grateful that the helmet I’m wearing is covering the way-too-fucking-happy smile on my face.
Sitting right outside of Marv’s on the curb in her puffy red and white snowsuit, Maggie wears an adorably sullen look on her face. Her black hair is hanging out the bottom of her red stocking cap, and she’s punching away at her phone so aggressively, she doesn’t even notice me pull up in front of her.
When she finally looks up and sees me climbing off my sled, she rolls her eyes like I’m the cherry on top of her clearly shit-tastic day. I stride over to her and slip my helmet off, noticing a heap of something by her feet that looks like the corpse of a fishing hut on the ground.
“Don’t say anything, all right?” she barks, looking away from me with a firm shake of her head and cold air puffing out between her ruddy lips.
I halt in front of her and close my mouth.
“I can already guess what you’re going to say,” she snaps again, kicking her booted feet out in front of her to shove the offensive pile farther away from her.
Again, I say nothing. My mother always said I was like a Labrador—great at following commands.
“You’re going to say that I’m still a rookie, and I shouldn’t think I can do this all on my own after only one session.” She stares up at me, and her vibrant blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“And you’re going to say I wasted money on this fishing hut because it’s a pile of crap, and if I had asked you for advice, you could have suggested something more suitable for a beginner.”
I exhale, my hand coming up to stroke the hair on my chin slowly as I listen.
She stares up at me and flicks her hand in my direction. “But honestly, after I assaulted you last weekend, I just didn’t think I could face you again.”
A small huff escapes my lips because that kiss was no big deal. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great kiss. Really great. But it wasn’t going to scare me off her.
She rolls her eyes at my expression. “Well, say something, won’t you?”
My shoulders lift once as I ask, “Wanna go ice fishing?”
An hour later, she’s apologized no less than nineteen times about that kiss, and she’s sworn twenty-four times that it won’t happen again. I’ve reassured her eight times that it’s no big deal. And once that conversation is done, we’re on my sled and heading back to the same spot we fished last weekend.
The heater in my hut has just finally taken the nip out of the air when I decide to fish for some details from the chick who swears on her life she won’t be kissing me ever again.
“So what’s the real reason you’re so determined to be an avid ice fisher?” I flick my line roller up and release some slack out of my pole, allowing my rig to fall deeper just as a small school of muskies ventures closer to where we’ve dropped.
Maggie exhales heavily and mimics my actions. “I hate to say it’s because of a guy…”
“But it’s because of a guy,” I finish.
She nods. “It’s stupid, and I’m certain you don’t want to hear all the hairy details.”
I clench my jaw, trying to determine if I should write her off because she’s on the rebound. Normally, rebound girls are like catnip to me. They’re horny and emotionally unavailable…just my style. But it’s one thing to be recently rejected. It’s a whole other thing if they’re still hung up on the guy. If Maggie is going to these lengths for a guy, she’s clearly not ready for a rebound.
“I don’t need to know all the details, but I’m curious what kind of guy would inspire a person to take up ice fishing?”
“He’s a quarterback.” She states those two words as if they’re supposed to impress me. When I have no reaction, she quickly adds, “And he’s being drafted by the NFL this spring.”
“Okay,” I reply noncommittally, trying to conceal what I’m really thinking.
Now look, I don’t consider myself a judgmental prick most days, but growing up in Boulder, there were two kinds of guys: athletes and adventurists. And since I always preferred the rush of snowboarding down a black diamond hill or rock climbing a 5.15 mountain over shooting hoops and playing catch, I definitely ran in a different crowd than the athletes. I even tried ice swimming once when I was drunk. My poor balls have never forgiven me.
The point is, I’m an adrenaline junkie who loves the outdoors more than a “hey man, let’s play catch or get tickets to a game” type. So I never really understood why girls put athletes on a pedestal. I’m not condemning them for it, girls can be attracted to whoever they want. But part of me feels a pang of disappointment when I find out Maggie is one of those girls. I knew we were opposites when I met her, but after she held that fish, I had hoped she was different.
I guess I was wrong.
“I suppose you think I’m a lame cliché, right?” Maggie states, her voice wobbling with insecurity at the end. “You’ve probably never done anything to impress the opposite sex.”
I shake my head and remain silent as I watch the school of muskie swim away on the video monitor, almost as if they couldn’t bear to hear this sob story either.
“But Sterling and I had plans, okay?” she states firmly, spinning on her stool to face me. “I met him this summer at a party, and it was love at first sight, which is exactly how my parents met, and they’ve been married forever. It’s like the stuff my mom and I have been reading about in romance novels for like our entire lives! Sterling and I fell so hard and so fast. We were talking about marriage, kids, and our future together on our third date.”
“You were planning your future together after only a few dates?” I ask incredulously, doing nothing to hide the shock in my voice.
“Yes, don’t judge!” she snaps back, and the fire in her eyes has me biting my tongue. “Haven’t you ever been so madly in love that you can look at a person and see your whole future with them?”
I bark out a laugh. “No fucking way.”
“Well, how have you felt when you’re in love then?”
“I’ve felt nothing because I’ve never been in love,” I assert. “I’ve never even been in a relationship before. But I don’t have to experience commitment to know that talking about a future together after only three dates is fucking crazy.”
“But you’re old,” she retorts, looking me up and down as if she’s going to find a fucking deformity to be the cause of my lack of emotional commitment. “Surely, you’ve had at least one serious girlfriend.”
“I’m not that old,” I grind out because fucking hell, today is my birthday, and I don’t need to be reminded that I’m getting older.
“You’re pretty old. Come on, how old are you?” she asks, latching on to this topic change like a dog with a bone.
I glare at her for a second and then lean forward so we’re nose to nose. “I’m thirty-one today as a matter of fact.”
She jerks back, her challenging eyes softening instantly. “Today is your birthday?” she asks, her voice high pitched and overly sweet. “Happy Birthday!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grind out, rolling my eyes. “Since you think I’m such an old fuck, you’d better run on ahead and save me a seat with the blue-hairs at Marv’s. I’ve been dying to take Arthur in Old Maid for weeks.”
A laugh escapes her lips at my deadpanned expression, and I sit back, adjusting my pole in the water again and shaking my head at this girl. She really seems young now all of a s
udden. Either that or I really am just an old fuck. “Finish your story. What happened with this love at first sight guy?”
She exhales heavily and begins toying with her pole. “Well, we were planning our future together, right? My parents loved him, and my brother even took to him, which is a shock because he hates all the guys I’ve ever dated. So we started making plans for after graduation because I was finishing in December and the NFL draft is in April. Anyway, he asked me not to look for jobs until he knew what team he was going to play for. And I thought taking a few months off to spend time with family sounded nice. No big deal because we were clearly on the road to forever, right? The former cheerleader and the future NFL star. The beginning of a fairy-tale romance. Then Christmas morning came…we were visiting my parents, and he was acting weird, which made me think, ‘Oh my god, he’s going to propose!’ Well, I was ridiculously wrong because he was actually preparing to dump me.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, lowering my pole and turning to face her again. “You got dumped on Christmas morning?”
She nods, her lips jutting out into an angry duck face. “Yep,” she replies with extra emphasis on the p. “At my parents’ house before the sun came up over homemade cinnamon rolls and coffee.”
“Fuck,” I drawl, shaking my head from side to side. “Getting dumped on a holiday…that’s cold.”
“Colder than this lake,” she adds, sliding her boot on the glossy ice beneath us. “But the real kicker wasn’t that I got dumped…it was what he said when he dumped me.”
I wince because this douchebag already seems like half the idiots I got into fights with in high school. “I don’t even know if I can bring myself to ask.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll tell you.” Maggie sets her pole down and leans closer to me, her dark hair framing her angry face perfectly. Her lake blue eyes lock on mine in a threatening way that actually somehow makes her even hotter. “He said I was too basic.”
“Basic?” I repeat with a shake of my head. “Like…girl, that outfit is so basic?” I ask, regurgitating shit that I hear my sisters say to each other all the time even though they are all in their thirties.
