Page 48 of Mistletoe and Molly

“You sure?”

She nodded. With a quick twist, Jonas removed the hook and slipped the trout back in the river. It disappeared in less than a second.

“Bye-bye, fish.” She waved to it. “Your T-shirt is going to be stinky.”

“Not a problem. I brought another one.” He stuck it in the waistband of his trunks, and, balancing on the big rocks, they went back to the branch where Jonas’s line had tangled.

“I think I can get this loose.” Molly picked at the nylon filament until it suddenly sprang loose and he could undo the rest.

“Great work. Thanks, kiddo.”

Molly nodded. “You’re welcome. It’s your turn to fish.”

“I think that one learned his lesson.”

The little girl shrugged. “Maybe he has a stupid friend under the other rock. You never know. You have to try.”

“You’re right, Molly.” He fished for another half-hour, with her watching, giving him a few pointers on his casting.

Yes, sir, he thought. One day at a time. And one trout at a time.

They picnicked on the bank by the car, devouring the box lunches and starting in on the sweets. Molly swigged lemonade when she was finished, curling up in a nest of sun-warmed towels. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a magazine.

“Let me guess,” Jonas joked. “Field and Stream.”

“Nope,” Molly said. “This is the back-to-school issue of Teen Vogue. I’m planning my wardrobe.”

Bridget snorted. “Aren’t you a little early?”

“Mo-om,” Molly said indignantly. “School starts in only two weeks.”

“I meant for Vogue. Excuse me, Teen Vogue.”

Molly shook her head but otherwise didn’t answer the question.

She flipped the pages, dog-earing a few, then lay back with the open magazine over her face. “I’m sleepy.”

“So take a nap,” Bridget said.

Molly mumbled her agreement from underneath the magazine, and Jonas drew Bridget against him.

“Having fun?”

“Yes,” she admitted. She rested her head on his chest for a few seconds. “Is this part of a nefarious plan to get me to calm down?”

Jonas laughed, pushing back the damp tendrils of chestnut hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “Uh-huh.”

“Careful. If I get too relaxed, we might end up …”

“What?” Jonas asked softly.

She put a finger to her lips as the magazine pages rustled.

“You might end up smooching. That’s disgusting,” Molly said. “Also sickening. And repulsive.”

“Open your eyes and look,” her mother said indignantly, straightening away from Jonas. “We aren’t doing anything.”

Molly lifted the magazine and looked. “Good.”