Page 7 of Mountain Man Summer

“Fish Out of Water”

Didi

"So you're actually going to teach me to fish?" I asked as Noah wrestled with the tangled mess I'd made of the fishing line. His fingers worked quickly, somehow turning my disaster into something usable.

"Seems like you could use the help," he replied with a wry smile. "Have you ever fished before?"

"Is it that obvious?" I sighed, watching him thread the line through the rod guides. "This is definitely a first for me."

"What made you decide to try fishing in the middle of your vacation?" His tone remained casual, but I caught the subtle shift to detective mode. Those perceptive blue eyes missed nothing.

I leaned against the dock railing, trying to appear more relaxed than I felt. "I needed a break from work, and every picture I've ever seen of people fishing shows them lookingcompletely at peace. Plus, I have this beautiful private dock. Seemed like a shame not to use it."

"What kind of work has you needing that kind of break?"

"The kind that never stops," I replied, deliberately vague. "Old habits die hard, I guess. Even on vacation."

His hands paused momentarily before he kept going. "I can relate to not knowing how to relax. Sheriff Callahan just ordered me to take the Fourth of July off. Apparently, I haven't taken a personal day in eighteen months."

"You? A workaholic? I never would have guessed," I teased, surprised by how easy the banter felt.

His lips quirked upward. "At least I do know how to fish. And yes, it can be very relaxing." He tied a complicated knot I'd never manage to copy. "Tell you what—I'll grab my gear and join you. We can enjoy the sunset while we fish off the pier."

I hesitated. The idea of spending more time with Noah Sterling was simultaneously appealing and alarming. The last thing I needed was to develop an attachment to anyone during my self-imposed exile—especially not someone who noticed too much.

"I don't want to impose on your evening," I said, trying to sound casual rather than cautious.

"No imposition." He handed me back the now-properly-rigged rod. "Besides, if you catch a fish, I'll cook it for dinner. Can't beat fresh lake bass."

"You cook too?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, tinged with more interest than I'd intended.

"Nothing fancy," he replied with a half-shrug that did fascinating things to his shoulder muscles beneath his t-shirt. "But I can throw together a decent fish fry. Local specialty."

The offer was tempting. Dinner with a gorgeous man who could save me from both shipwrecks and culinary disasters? After weeks of takeout and microwaved meals, the prospect of a home-cooked dinner—even one I'd technically caught myself—was almost irresistible.

"It's a deal," I said impulsively, surprised by my own answer. "Although I can't imagine I'll actually catch anything."

His smile reached his eyes this time, crinkling the corners in a way that made my stomach flip. "You'd be surprised. Fish are biting this time of evening. Be back in ten."

As he walked away, I watched the confident set of his shoulders, the way he moved with such assurance. What was I doing? I'd come to Hope Peak to hide, to recover, to avoid men entirely—not to go on impromptu fishing dates with the local law enforcement.

"This isn't a date," I reminded myself firmly. "It's a neighbor being neighborly."

But the flutter in my chest told a different story.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd spent an evening with a man who wasn't a colleague or an interview subject. Not since catching my fiancé with his coworker in a compromising position three months ago. I would have probably believed Brittany's excuse for why she'd been on her knees under Ryan's desk if his pants hadn't been unzipped when he stood up. The memory still stung, though less than I'd expected. Maybe because I'd been too preoccupied with my stalker situation to properly mourn my relationship.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Jamie's name flashed on the screen along with a text that immediately tightened my stomach.

Another package arrived at the station today. Security confiscated it, but I got a look before they took it. Photos of you at the coffee shop across from your apartment. From last week, Didi. LAST. WEEK. How did he know you go there? Has anyone from Chicago contacted you directly?

I clutched the railing, suddenly lightheaded. The thought of ChicagoNightOwl watching me, photographing me at my regular coffee shop made my heart pound. The station was supposed to be keeping all correspondence from him, but clearly he was escalating.

Before I could reply, another text came through.

Thomas Vincetti from CPD called. They're getting a warrant to check security footage from businesses near the coffee shop. Stay put where you are. Don't post ANYTHING online, not even with location services off.

I typed back quickly:

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