Page 114 of Resisting the Fall

My fishing line tightened, and I gave the rod a solid tug to set the hook. “I got another one,” I called over to Ben, who was still cleaning the last trout I’d caught.

“Are you kidding me?” His gaze followed my line. “What bait did you use?”

“The stinky glittery one,” I said, making him chuckle. He tossed the cleaned fish in the cooler and approached me with the now empty net, taking careful steps to join me where I stood, thigh deep in the water. Ben had bought me a pair of cold-weather waders and my own pink rod, similar to the one I’d had as a kid but a lot nicer. And it was a good thing too, because this fish was putting up a fight.

When I finally got it out of the water, the fish flipping and flailing about, I sent him a wide smile. “Look at the size of that trout.”

Ben scooped it into the net, looked down at it, then lifted his gaze to mine, his head shaking.

I grinned. “Looks like a twenty-four-incher to me.”

He glanced down again, clearly in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

“I say we measure it and find out.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

I leaned closer to him, keeping my lips just out of his reach. “You’re scared. I can see it in your eyes.”

The temptation was apparently too much, and Ben lunged forward, placing his lips on mine with a force that sent me backward to compensate for it. The heel of my foot caught on a rock, and I intuitively sat back to prevent myself from fully submerging. By the time Ben caught hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet, I’d already taken on a rush of cold water over the top of my waders. The icy flow surged all the way down them and settled around my toes. Thankfully, it wasn’t a lot, but it was freezing cold.

After the initial shock that forced out a high-pitched squeal, laughter burst out of me.

“Sorry about that,” Ben said with an unrepentant grin, taking my rod with the hand holding the net and securing me by the elbow with his other. “You okay?”

“Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re up to. And here I thought you’d be above trying to take out your competition. Clearly, I was wrong. But two can play at that game.” I bent down and cupped my hands before sending water flying towards him. Twice. Three times.

With his hands so entirely occupied, all he could do was close his eyes and take it. “You did not just do that,” he said when I finally stopped my onslaught.

“What? This?” I splashed him again.

Once he headed toward the shore to put down his load, I knew I was in trouble. The ground was too slippery to be haphazardly attempting an escape. The last thing I wanted was to take on more water. I was already shivering. “Okay! Truce!” I said when he drew near again.

He took hold of my wrists. “You think I’m going to accept a truce after such a blatant attack?”

Unintentionally, I gave a big shiver, though the timing was admittedly perfect.

Ben’s expression softened, his hands moving to my icy cold fingers. “Fine. Truce.” He took hold of my elbow, helping me toward the river’s bank as the shivers took over my whole body. When I got to shore, he helped me out of my waders, then dumped out the excess water. There was more than I’d initially thought.

“I’ll start a fire while you change.” He grabbed a blanket off one of the camp chairs to wrap around me.

My shoulders shook and my teeth chattered. “And you’ll measure my fish?”

He dropped his chin, but then he nodded. “I’ll measure your fish.”

I started up the trailer steps, then stopped and turned back toward him. “Considering I can no longer trust you’re not out to sabotage me, I’m going to need photographic evidence of its length.”

Ben chuckled. “That’s fair. Now go get dry clothes on.”

Not fifteen minutes later, I was dry and seated by a roaring fire while Ben turned the fish filets in the cast iron pan, the underside now golden brown and flaky. It smelled amazing!

“Twenty-four and a quarter.” Ben handed me my phone where he’d taken the picture of my catch.

I zoomed in to make sure he hadn’t exaggerated the number, and sure enough, the fish was slightly longer than twenty-four inches. While I beamed up at him, my phone buzzed in my hand.

It was Jean-Paul.

My heart faltered slightly. He was probably just calling in response to the email I’d sent him, thanking him for all he’d done for me before informing him that instead of returning to New York City, I’d be staying in Autumn Ridge.