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“Sorry,” he said.
“You don’t look very sorry,” I pointed out.
With the bucket in his hand, he moved down the side of the truck and reached over into the bed, producing what looked to be a brand new fishing pole.
“You like pink?” I teased.
He shrugged. “If it’s a good reel, I could care less whether it’s pink or black. As long as it casts good, I’m happy.”
I followed him up to the house, surprised to find Pepper and Atlas already disappearing inside.
“Why so big for a retirement home?” I questioned the man in front of me.
He bypassed the front door for the side gate, which he held open for me.
“It’s big enough that all the kids, and grandkids, can be here at once. At least for now.” He paused. “If my siblings crank out any more kids, though, they’re gonna have to add an addition.”
“How many nieces and nephews do you have?” I asked as I took in my surroundings.
It wasn’t often that I had yard envy seeing as mine was pretty freakin’ fantastic, but seeing the Carter parents’ yard? It was everything that I would one day hope mine to be.
The amount of upkeep this place would take, though… it was daunting to think about.
Huge Elephant Ears, Delphiniums, and even wildflowers took up just a small amount of the flower beds.
What had my attention the most, though, was the huge greenhouse.
“Who’s the gardener?” I asked curiously.
“Me and my mom,” he answered. “I’m more of a lawn person than the flower bed person, but I’m no stranger to getting my hands dirty.”
Oh, my.
I didn’t think the man could get any sexier, but him telling me that he liked to get outside and get his hands dirty? I could put him to work in so many ways…
He kept walking down the path, winding through flowers, bushes, and all kinds of spectacular outdoor things, until we wound up at the dock at the end of the path.
He walked right out to the end and said, “What kind of fishing do you want to do?”
I shrugged. “There’s more than one kind?”
His eyes crinkled at the sides with his amusement at my remark. “Yeah, sweet thing. There is more than one kind.”
I tapped my lip before saying, “Which one is going to allow me to eat my Takis, read a book, and drink my Dr. Pepper without requiring me to do too much work?”
He answered without hesitation. “Catfishing.”
“Then let’s do that,” I agreed, because the thought of doing any more work than necessary right now sounded abysmal.
He placed his pole and the bucket down on the deck, then walked to a small closet looking area where he came back with a fold-out chair.
He placed it on the dock, then gestured to it. “Have a seat.”
I tucked my Dr. Pepper in the cup holder, plopped my happy ass in the chair, and opened my Takis.
Then he set the pole up for me, told me what to do, and handed me his brand new pink pole.
“When you see the bobber go down, give it a good yank,” he instructed as he picked up a different fishing pole.
