The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman, #2)

by Jewel E. Ann

I, nor anyone else, shouldn’t rely on another human to be a measure of self-worth and success.

“Well, as soon as he gets out of the hospital, I’ll have a word with him.” Rose laughed. “You’re going to talk to him about taking your daughter on his motorcycle when he doesn’t remember her? Good plan. Make sure I’m with you when this conversation takes place. I want to listen.” I laughed too. It wasn’t funny, but it was.

“Crossword puzzles?” Fisher did that head tilt that I’d always adored. My little puppy dog. More like a wolf back then.

“I’m sure someday I’ll find my nerdy, cruciverbalist soul mate. And he will find my affinity for clues and words to be endearing. Maybe even sexy.” I winked.

Yes, Fisher. You’re my cruciverbalist soul mate, you stubborn ass with a broken brain.

Then I saw you. And it was … Nine across: Eleven letters. Hint: A calamity. Catastrophe.

You survived a pretty intense accident on your motorcycle. I’d say you’re still lucky. And you still have a fiancée. What’s the problem? Are you having erectile dysfunction issues? It’s not uncommon after accidents.” He choked on his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the fuck? No. Why would you ask me that?”

Yeah, Fisher … I’m not the deer-in-the-headlights girl you don’t remember. I swap saliva. Drink beer. And have sex. Sometimes I even touch myself because it feels “good.”

“Need help standing?” I pushed off the pillar and held out my hand. Shaking his head, he leaned forward and stood on his own while mumbling, “I don’t need help getting anything up.”

Believing you can is half the battle,” I murmured back to him as I headed into the house. It was just a whisper, but I felt pretty certain he said, “Smart ass,”

“You were my favorite jerk.”

“I think love—the good kind—holds an equal mix of wonder and familiarity. That feeling like you know someone, yet you also know parts of them are still a mystery that you can’t wait to slowly discover. If there’s no wonder, I think the love can die. If there’s no familiarity, I think the love already feels dead. If I were the one marrying you, I would be bothered more than I am. But you chose her.”

Ten across: Seven letters. Clue: Awakening. Rebirth.

“You need to get back before you freeze to death. How am I supposed to do things to you later if you’re frozen to death?” I laughed. “Your biggest concern about me dying is what that means for you getting to second base? Do you need me to grant you a special ten-second rule?” “I’m listening.” He tipped his chin up while glancing down at me. “I die. You get ten seconds to fondle me before it will be considered perverse.” Fisher’s eyebrows crawled up his head. “You’re one sick chick.” “Is that a yes or a no?” “It’s a solid yes, but I just want it on record that it was your idea.” “Noted.”

“I’m reneging. If I die, you will not get ten seconds to fondle me.” “That’s a little harsh. You’re acting like it’s my fault you did such a terrible job of sneaking out of the house. So now we’re down to only two options.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What two options?” “Either you don’t die, or I fondle you now.”

“Are you sure?” He waddled toward me, taking tiny steps restricted by his jeans at his ankles. Fisher was the sexiest duck I had ever seen. “Stop.” I giggled. “Just … put your clothes on.”

There was no other way to describe that moment other than to say, I had super fucking (necessary use of the word) hero bravery to say those words to him without my heart exploding through my chest and shattering onto the floor.

He rested his forehead on mine and blew out a slow breath. “Can I tell you something truly terrible?” I grinned, lifting my chin and brushing my lips against his as I giggled. “Tell me.” Fisher dragged his mouth along my cheek, depositing small kisses on his way to my ear. “The only memories of my past I want to get back … are the ones of you.”

There really was nothing that signified life more than a baby’s first cry. It was like she announced her place in the world. As equal and deserving as anyone else. Life would be hard. Life would be beautiful. And she would have to fight to find the courage to keep that voice, not be silenced by guilt or circumstance. She would have to make difficult choices—sometimes choosing her own happiness over someone else’s happiness.

Well fuck. (Mandatory use of the F-word)

“I rescind what I told you about him. Don’t go knock on his door. He doesn’t deserve you. If he didn’t have the balls to man the fuck up when you chose him, then he didn’t deserve it or you. He choked, and that’s pretty pathetic.”

“You’re with me every night. In my dreams. You’re naked, except for my tool belt. You’re always wearing my tool belt.” I laughed. “Sounds interesting. Am I building something?” He frowned. “No. You’re always just teasing me.”

“I told her I’m engaged to a woman I’ve known nearly my whole life. But I’m in love with a woman I’ve known for a breath, maybe two.”

The only gift I cared to give my future husband was the most confident version of myself. A full heart and a humbled soul.

“Callipygian,” he said slowly. “I was drunk, hence the hidden tattoo on my butt. It means—” “It means you have a shapely ass. Alcohol makes you confident and a little vain.” He chuckled before biting it.

“Stop teasing me,” I pled my case with my hands claiming his hair as he tried to set up camp down there. “Don’t hurry me.”

He didn’t understand my rush because in his mind, he’d been waiting weeks for this. I’d been waiting years.

But for me, it doesn’t matter if you loved me then, it only matters if you love me now.” He turned. “Just …” I whispered. “Love me today.”

“I love you today,” he said. That was his reply. The perfect reply.

“You’re one, Fisher.” “One in what?” I opened the door, and he closed it behind us. “Not in anything. Not one in eighty thousand. Not one in a billion times infinity. You’re just one. The one.”

John Legend’s “Wild.”

Josie Dunne’s “Good Boys.”

James Bay’s “Wild Love.” ZAYN’s “It’s You.” HRVY’s “Me Because of You.”

“Natural” by The Driver Era.

Every touch was a silent whisper, all the things he said to me by showing me. This is how I make you moan. This is how I steal your breath. This is how I make you beg. This is where you make me feel like a god. Because I don’t remember you, but I know you. I. Know. You.

“Fisher? You ready for bed?” Rory called. “Yup,” he called from inside his tent. “I went potty and brushed my teeth. Thanks, Mom.”

I’ll ask anyway … wait for me.

I didn’t want to grin, but I did. He squeezed my hand as we made our way up the incline. I wondered if he had meaningless banter like that with Angie. And by meaningless, I meant it was everything. It meant we made each other laugh. It meant he enjoyed being with me as much as I enjoyed being with him.

His eyes narrowed. “Keep your distance? It’s going to be hard for you to keep your distance with my dick inside of you at every possible chance.” There’s my crude naked fisherman. I’ve missed you.

1/2

“And when do you think your next possible chance might be?” “Can’t say.” He took my hand again. “Why not?” “Because it’s your birthday. And birthdays are for surprises.” “So you’re going to surprise me with your dick?” I giggled. “You’ll never see it coming.” “Well, I won’t if it’s inside of me.”

2/2

“Take the kiddo for a walk?” I scowled at Fisher. “You make me sound like a five-year-old … or a dog.” “If the leash fits.” He grabbed a bottle of orange juice out of the cooler. I nudged the back of his knee, making his leg bend unexpectedly, throwing him a little off balance as he shut the cooler. “Watch it.” He gave me a narrowed-eyed expression. “Watch what, old man?”

“Do you want to play with me tonight, Reese?” My chewing slowed. He said that. Yes, he sure did. Rory paid no attention to his comment. But Rose choked on a bite of her pancake. “You okay, babe?” Rory asked her. Rose patted her chest several times and nodded. “F-fine.” After swallowing my bite, I smirked at Rose while answering Fisher. “That sounds fun. I’d love to play with you tonight.”

Rose’s face looked like a ripe red apple, and there was nothing she could do to stop us. And Fisher had no idea she knew. He thought our innuendos were solely between the two of us. “I’m not going to go easy on you. I’m pretty competitive. I like to be on top at the end.” Again, Rose coughed and Rory handed her a bottled water. “Drink. And chew your food better.” Rory shifted her attention to Fisher. “Don’t get too cocky and underestimate Reese. She has a competitive streak too. I can see her winning … being on top instead of you. So no pouting tomorrow.” By that point, Rose had her head bowed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. I felt certain she was silently chanting, “Make them stop!”

Before I left Texas to reunite with Rory, I knew three things. One: I wasn’t ever going to drink or do drugs. Two: No sex before marriage. Three: I would think about God first in all my decisions. At twenty-four, I knew nothing.

We sat across from each other in his tent and played mancala for almost two hours, and it was fun. Everything with Fisher was fun and happy. He was bliss. And I couldn’t imagine my life without bliss.

“I love her.” Dead. Fisher just slayed me. Lassoed my heart. And locked it up in his castle where it will take an army or an act of God to steal it from him.

YOU ARE ENGAGED!” There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. Then Fisher spoke. Calm. Controlled. Matter-of-fact. “I love her.”

It was one thing to hear someone tell you they love you. It was something entirely different, infinitely more special to hear them say the words to someone else like it was a three-word explanation for their existence. I love her. I was the luckiest her in the world.

It wasn’t something you could put on a dating app. The things that really made two people click were not something anyone would ever even think to put on a dating app.

“Twelve across. A bird’s wishbone.” Fisher blinked once. Once! “Merrythought.”