Page 87 of Next in Line
“What?” Maggie asks, hopping off the bench and holding her helmet under her arm. “I thought I did pretty good for my first time.”
Marv’s wrinkled eyes go wide. “You said you were an experienced snowmobiler!”
“Welllll.” Maggie shoots him a crooked smile. “I should have said I’m an experienced rider. I’ve never driven before.”
Marv presses his hands to his face and shakes his head with exasperation. “I have to go. I need my blood pressure medication.” He looks at me with a terrified shake of the head, yanks on his helmet, and takes off faster than I’ve ever seen an old man drive in my entire life.
Maggie turns to look at me, her face glowing in the light of my lantern as perfect white snowflakes cling to her dark hair.
“Hi!” she says excitedly.
“Um…hi,” I reply, still totally fucking confused by her presence out here.
“I was waiting at your house for you, and you never showed, so I checked at Marv’s, and he said you were here.” She shrugs and smiles awkwardly. “I convinced him to give me a ride out here.”
I nod and reply woodenly. “I…um…decided to do some night fishing.”
She looks back at my hut with wide eyes. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“It’s a thing.” I shrug.
She nods and sticks her hands in the pockets of her snowsuit. “So how are you?”
I exhale heavily. “I’m fine. Look, Maggie, we don’t have to do this—”
“I wanted to tell you this great fishing story,” she says, stepping into the light so I can see the bright blue of her eyes.
She smiles hopefully up at me, and I can’t help but smile back. “How do I know if it’s true? Fishermen are always telling lies.”
She presses her lips together. “Well, this one is a love story, so it has to be true.”
I roll my eyes because even after everything that’s happened, she still believes in fairy tales. “I’m more of a real-life romance kind of guy,” I reply, setting the lantern down on the ice and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Then you’re going to like this one,” she says, pressing her hands together to begin. “So there’s this girl. Let’s call her Margaret. She’s never fished a day in her life…but one day, in the dead of winter, she hears these guys talking about a famous fish that always gets away. Now Margaret is a determined sort of gal who enjoys a bit of a challenge, so she decides she’s going to catch this famous fish and impress her whole family.”
“Margaret sounds stubborn,” I interrupt.
Maggie tilts her head, snow sticking to the tips of her long eyelashes. “I see it more as tenacious but tomatoe, tomahto. Anyway, she shows up at this bait and tackle shop and upsets everyone because she’s running her mouth like a smartass. But this one lonely fisherman…let’s call him Sid…takes pity on Margaret and decides to help her out.”
She removes her gloves and tucks her hair behind her ears before continuing. “He’s a grumpy old fisherman, but magically, the two hit it off and become fast friends in his ice fishing hut. Time flies as they catch small fish after small fish. It’s a great time, but of course, Margaret isn’t happy because she wants the big fish. The uncatchable catch. The one that always gets away.”
“Stubborn,” I add again.
“Okay, she’s stubborn,” Maggie concedes with a wink. “But as the weeks pass, she finds out that Sid doesn’t fish with anyone. In fact, she’s the first person he’s ever even let inside his fishing hut. Margaret is so touched by his kindness, she begins to fall for the grumpy old guy who was kind enough to help her in the beginning.”
Maggie steps closer to me, the light from below casting a halo around her head as she places herself right in my space. “But once Margaret stops focusing on impressing her family and accepts what’s in her heart, she decides to stop baiting her hook.”
I shake my head from side to side. “It’s hard to catch a fish without any bait.”
She bites her lip. “It’s not, though, because Margaret figured out that the biggest catch wasn’t in that icy water…it was sitting right beside her all along.”
I exhale heavily as Maggie reaches up and cups my face in her hands. I turn and press my lips to her cold palm, and murmur, “Let me guess, Sid is Sam?”
She beams up at me. “Only if Margaret is Sparky.”
I nod once, letting the sentiment of that story soothe the ache in my chest. “Are you sure you’re done chasing after that big fish?”
She splays her hand on my chest. “I don’t even care about the catch. I just care about you. I love you, Sam.”
