Page 40 of The Enemy Plot
“You don’t look gross,” he mumbles, sizing me up, and that lights my entire body on fire. How can he compliment me when I look like this? Also, why is he complimenting me in the first place?
Feeling the warmth spreading through my cheeks, I look down.
“Thanks again for coming along. I hope you had a good time.”
“I did.” I shoot him a genuine smile.
“Good. I’ll get everything ready for fishing this afternoon.”
Adding the smell of fish to my current frumpy state sounds like a disaster, but I’m kind of excited to go. As long as Deacon is there, I’m game. After I take a shower, of course.
Deacon rented a fishing boat from one of his friends, and we’re now happily sailing—well, floating—on the lake.
“Okay,” Deacon announces, gathering the fishing poles and tackle box. “Let’s see if we can catch anything for dinner.”
“Wait,” Lola blurts, a look of horror on her face. “We’re not going toeatthe fish, right?”
He steals a glance at me, eyes widening.
I wince. I know that’s where fish sticks come from, but I agree with Lola. It’s too sad and cruel to do it ourselves.
“Fine. We’ll release them,” Deacon says with a sigh, and I suddenly feel guilty for spoiling his fishing expedition. “Have you ever tried fishing before?” he asks us, and we both shake our heads.
He spends the next twenty minutes explaining the equipment and how to use it. Then, he gives us each a fishing rod with bait dangling at the end.
“Ew. That worm is disgusting,” Lola says, grimacing at her bait.
Deacon gives her a pointed look. “I thought you liked worms. Or at least you were proud of being one.”
I chuckle while Lola scoffs. “It’s not the same thing. We were talking about bookworms, not actual, squiggly ones!”
Deacon just shakes his head, taking his seat.
My first attempts at casting are disastrous at best, but after what seems like forever, I finally feel a weight tugging at the end of the rod.
“I got one! I got one!”
Deacon stands up, placing his hands over mine. And suddenly, I don’t even care about the fish anymore, or feel it pulling on the line. Because Deacon’s warm hands on mine are the only thing I can focus on.
He helps me reel it in, and it’s quite a big fish—a lake trout, pretty common in this lake, apparently.
“Thanks,” I say, turning to meet his gaze. Our eyes lock, lingering until Deacon takes a step back and clears his throat.
Lola’s applause brings me back to the moment. “Well done.”
“Thanks.” I smile, my heart rattling in my chest, though it has nothing to do with my fishing exploits.
After that first catch, I feel more confident than ever, and I want to cast my line further this time, like Deacon does. Taking a step back, I muster all my energy and yank the fishing rod high. Only, my foot lands on my waterbottle which rolled behind me. My ankle buckles, and I fall back. Meanwhile, my fishing rod ends up hitting Deacon’s face, the worm sliding on his cheek.
Lola bursts into laughter, and my eyes widen in mortification. “Deacon! I’m so sorry. I slipped.”
He wipes his cheek with the back of his sleeve.
“Are you all right?” I ask, sitting up straight.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.” When he glances toward me, a hint of concern touches his indigo eyes. “Are you?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just a klutz, that’s all.” This vacation might kill me. One way or the other.