Brady knelt down and rummaged through the tackle box. “We can go out on the lake some other time.” He seemed to have read my mind. “Today, our mission is to catch and cook some food before the others have to resort to cereal out of a box.”
Clearly, the chef in him disapproved of that idea, but cereal sounded pretty damn good compared to trout. However, I didn’t tell him that—I was too busy enjoying watching the competent way he moved. Soon, he had both fishing poles locked and loaded, or whatever it was one did with fishing poles.
“I sincerely hope one of those isn't for me.” I tried my best not to notice the squirming worm on the hook, but it was hard not to.
Brady chuckled. “Not a fan of fishing—who would’ve guessed?” He drew his arm back and did something to make the hook and cork fly far out into water. Oh, yeah, it was called casting. Probably.
Then he placed the pole into a little cup-like holder at the end of the dock. “Can you at least keep an eye on that one?”
“What am I watching for?”
“Let me know if the cork goes under.”
Ah. That I probably could do.
He cast again and kept his pole in his hands. “You know, maybe you’d like fishing if we added some technology to the process.”
“Like what? Email the fish and ask it to come bite on the worm?”
“More like a rod with an electric reel so you don’t have to fight the fish yourself. Or I think they have special radar systems that can show you where the fish are. Think your fans would like it if you reviewed something like that?”
“I can ask.” Sometimes I posted polls asking what tech they wanted me to explore next. I could just see it: the choice between a three-hundred-dollar state-of-the-art vibrator or an automatic fishing rod.
I sat down on the dock, my legs crossed as I watched Brady. He went very still as he held the rod, but I got the feeling his senses were on high alert. I was right, because he yanked the fishing pole back almost before the cork disappeared under the surface.
He cranked the reel hard, and in almost no time, he had a slimy, wiggling fish in front of him. “There’s a net in the tacklebox.”
Ignoring the strong impulse to put as much distance between myself and the gross fish as possible, I located the net and handed it to him. No way was I going to have any part in this.
“Such a city girl.” He grinned, seeming amused by my reluctance. “Come on, let’s catch us some more breakfast.”
18
LILA
I could feel Brady’s eyes on me as the four of us sat around the table. “Well?”
“Okay, you were right.” I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't deny the truth.
“Right about what?” Cole asked.
“Having trout for breakfast,” Brady elaborated. “Lila didn’t think she’d like it.”
“No one fries up fish like Brady,” Cole said.
“It’s delicious,” Penny said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that when I’d told her what Brady was making, she’d been just as horrified as me.
“Yeah… if you can ignore the fact that it’s fish.”
Brady raised an eyebrow as he held up a thick slice of toast. “Protein gets your day off to a good start. Aren’t most of you city types into the low-carb lifestyle?”
“I like carbs,” I protested. Especially homemade bread. EspeciallyBrady’shomemade bread.
“Me too,” Penny said. “Will you be baking bread again soon?”
Cole chuckled at her eagerness, and her face turned pink. “I just meant, maybe we could take some pictures for the website.”
“Good idea.” The loaves that Brady made were a work of art.