Page 11 of Catch and Release
As she sat at the kitchen table and began to reline and hook the rods, she thought back to her visit to the bait shop. She was used to people taking one look at her and assuming she was a ditz. Being conventionally attractive came with that price, and most of the time, she didn’t mind it. She’d used it to her advantage more times than she could count, hustling men at bars when they challenged her to a game of pool.
But Willa grew up on Perdido Bay.
She knew the telltale signs that a storm was coming before any weatherman could predict it, she knew the best fishing spots to find flounder or trout or redfish, and she grew up catching mullet by the dozens in her castnet and cooking them for lunch. She spent most of her childhood at this very kitchen table with her grandparents, talking about the different wildlife they could spot through binoculars and arguing with her cousins about who got to bait the crab traps. Her grandfather made sure she knew how to throw a cast net and cast a fishing rod when she was barely out of toddlerhood, and he’d taught her everything he could about the flora and fauna of the Bay.
She knew she didn’t look like a fisherwoman. At face value, she probably did look more like a tourist than a local.
But it hurt her more than she wanted to admit to herself that the guy at the bait shop assumed she was an airhead, that she was biting off more than she could chew.
His polite yet emotionless demeanor didn’t soften the blow, and as much as she wanted to put it out of her head, she couldn’t forget the way he looked at her—like she was a toddler trying to get behind the steering wheel of a car.
Cute until they start honking the horn.
Willa couldn’t help feeling like this place was quintessential to who she was, but perhaps the Bay didn’t need her nearly as much as she needed it.
Perhaps that was what was so alluring about it.
After hooking and relining all the rods, she quickly changed into her favorite navy bikini and threw on some light-wash jean shorts. It took her two trips to take the fishing rods, the bait, and the rest of her tools out on the wharf. By the time she finished, the sun was hanging low over the sepia waves, littering the sky with pink and orange clouds. She turned on the fishing light at the end of the wharf, praying that it would attract some trout within a few hours after nightfall, and trudged back to the kitchen, where she grabbed her newly purchased cast net and a bucket from the garage.
She cast the net a few times, reactivating old muscles she hadn’t used in the years since her grandparents died. Once she got the hang of it, she started biding her time until she saw a mullet jump. Then she cast the net over the school of fish she saw, and dragged in her loot. After about 30 minutes, it was starting to get dark and she’d caught about a dozen mullet that were sizable enough for her to eat. They were clamoring around in the bucket she’d brought out to the wharf, and she wiped a sheen of sweat off her forehead as she admired her handiwork.
“What are you going to do with them?”
A deep voice carried over the sound of the waves crashing the shore, startling Willa enough that her heart hammered as she gasped.
She turned around, her right hand clinging to her chest as she let out a curse. When she locked eyes with the source of the question, she recognized the guy from the bait shop. He had sandy blonde hair pulled into a bun and a slightly scruffy, tan face, with a jawline sharp enough to cut her fishing line. Her stomach dropped in annoyance.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she said, releasing a heavy breath.
He reached his hand behind his head, seeming a bit self-conscious. Willa couldn’t help but notice his perfectly displayed biceps, toned from what she imagined were many mornings spent reeling in fish.
“Sorry about that,” he said gruffly.
Willa was still trying to regain control of her breath as she said, “You work at the bait shop.”
“I own the bait shop,” he responded with a small smirk. “I’m Shawn, by the way. I live a couple houses down.”
Cocky bastard, Willa thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
“Seems like we both underestimated each other today,” she responded, pressing her lips in a thin line.
Shawn grimaced.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “You clearly know your way around a cast net, Greene.”
She flushed at his casual use of her last name. He must’ve remembered it from her credit card, and she couldn’t help the rush of pleasure she felt. “Among other things.”
Did she imagine the way his eyes darkened when she said that, before quickly skirting over her body? He looked away too quickly for her to be certain.
“So what can I do for you, Shawn?”
“My grandmother made you brownies. To welcome you to the neighborhood.”
Willa pointedly looked at his empty hands.
“And where are these brownies?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I left them on the table up there,” he all but grunted, pointing to the deck in the backyard.