Ready to Fall (18 page)

The rain from the night before never let up. Sunday meant a day for being lazy or fishing. Despite her sworn promise of going fishing with me, I knew today wasn’t the day to call in that promise. Plus, we’d spent the morning fooling around and wasted the best fishing hours. Not that I complained.

Instead, we found ourselves showered and lazing around the living room debating what to watch on TV. Easy.

Except she had the worst taste in movies. I didn’t expect her to like action movies, but not only did she love them, the more ridiculous and terrible the better. And she had all sorts of rules.

“Let me get this straight, you hate horror movies because of the gore and scary, but you can watch two guys kick the ever-living shit out of each other?”

She shrugged and smiled. “Don’t try to analyze it. And for the record, I’ll watch kickass women kicking the shit out of men, too.”

“You’re scary. Remind me to never get on your bad side. You’d probably be able to take me out with some kind of ninja move, despite your size.”

Her eyes narrowed and I knew I was in trouble.

“Listen, lumberjack, I don’t need the ninja moves to take you out. It’s all about strength and speed.”

She’d straddled me before I knew what was happening, and tugged my head back by pulling on the hair at my neck. My throat lay exposed, my legs pinned by hers. Her mistake was leaving my arms free. Despite her best effort to keep me pinned to the couch, I lifted her up and tossed her back on the cushions, trapping her with my body. I didn’t make the same mistake she did, and pinned her arms above her head. Her thrashing and squirming only brought our bodies closer together.

“What were you saying?” I smiled down at her, knowing I had the gleam of victory in my eyes.

She leaned up and found my lips with hers. My thoughts forgot all about … well, everything.

First rule of wrestling, don’t become overconfident.

The pressure I felt at my groin snapped me back. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasurable. Should she have wanted to, she could have inflicted real pain with her knee, precariously positioned against my testicles. I arched my hips back and away from her pointy knee.

My eyes found her and my triumphant gleam from earlier shone in her eyes.

“Never leave your most vulnerable assets unprotected.”

“You don’t play fair, ninja girl,” I said, resigned, releasing her arms and sitting back on my heels.

“You know what they say about love and war.”

“Didn’t know we were in either.” I laughed.

But she didn’t.

“No one said we were.” Her tone of voice lost the lighthearted teasing of earlier. She scrambled up on the sofa and straightened her clothes.

I sensed I had done something to change the mood, but while I watched her and tried to figure out what it was, her smile returned. Softer and less bright, she smiled at me, then tucked herself into the corner of the sofa.

“All this talk of ninjas and badass women has me wanting to watch
Kill Bill
. Let’s watch that.”

Not a huge Tarantino fan, but if it made her happy, who was I to deny her?

Later when it got dark, she returned home and I drove to family dinner. Simple. No drama. She even agreed next weekend we’d go fishing.

“How do you feel about camping?” I asked Diane.

“Like sleeping out in the woods? With bears and serial killers lurking, waiting to kill me?

“Are the bears and serial killers working together to kill you?”

“Don’t mock me. There are many stories about people being mauled to death because they aren’t smart enough to sleep in a bed behind a locked door.”

“Not sure about the bears, but I’m pretty sure a locked door isn’t going to stop a serial killer.”

We’d been talking about new experiences for the past hour. Sitting out on a boat in the early morning while waiting for Blackmouth Salmon to bite required interesting conversation topics to keep Diane awake. Most men fished for the quiet and to get away from the chatter of their girlfriends, or wives and families. Two men could sit in a boat for hours and not say a word. We liked it that way.

Bringing Diane out on the boat wasn’t a huge mistake. Only a little one. For some reason, being out on the water made her chattier. Maybe it was nerves. Or excitement. After an hour out here without even a bite, nerves were the obvious answer.

“Muffin?” she offered. Muffins. On a fishing boat. What nonsense was this?

“Sure. You didn’t have to bring food.”

“I know, but it seemed a polite thing to do. Plus, I didn’t know how long we’d be out here. We could get lost at sea or something, and later think if not for a few cranberry orange muffins, we’d be dead.”

She definitely wasn’t an island girl. “For one thing, we’re not ‘at sea’. We’re in a sound, which means land on two sides.” I pointed over my shoulder at the coast, and then turned to point behind her at the island. “Second, we’d be in more trouble with dehydration than starvation.”

“See? These are good things for a girl to know. I feel prepared with this lovely vest.” She patted her life vest over her windbreaker. I’d insisted she dress in layers and wear my beanie. The morning was warm for mid-April, but that didn’t say much.

I tugged at her braid sticking out beneath the knit cap. “You look adorable.”

“Thanks.”

“Back to camping. I think we should go.”

“Go where?”

“Camping.”

“In a tent? With bugs and peeing in the woods? Not to mention the mauling bears and lurking serial killers?” Her eyes widened with each question into something that was a mix of fright and disgust.

“Yeah. We’ll camp someplace with toilets and hot showers. There’s something magical about sleeping outside.” I absorbed her frozen expression. “By outside, I mean in a tent. Cooking over a fire. Telling tall tales.”

“No ghost stories though. That’s how every scary movie starts. Overconfidence in the face of the limitless terror of nature.”

“Limitless terror of nature? Honestly? I was going to make you my famous campfire roasted bananas.” I wasn’t certain when the idea of going camping with Diane first entered my mind, but I knew it had to happen. “Don’t say we can make those at a beach fire. It’s different.”

“You want me to go camping with you?” She tilted her head and smiled at me.

“I do. It’ll be fun. We’ll stay on the island … for the first time.”

“First time?” She caught my hint there’d be more than one time.

“Trust me. Once you do it with me, you’ll want to keep going.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Is this conversation going the same way the fishing one went? By the way, your boat is bigger than I thought it would be.”

I choked on the coffee I’d attempted to swallow. She leaned over to pat my back. “Thanks. I’m glad you like my ... boat.”

“It doesn’t look new like so many I see around the island.”

“That’s because it isn’t. It was my grandfather’s. I inherited it when he passed away. Donnely helped me restore it.”

“She’s very yar.”

“Yar?”

“Don’t you say yar about boats?”

“Not fishing boats. I think that’s a sailing term.”

“I only know it from
The Philadelphia Story.
”

“Is that where you got the muffin idea? From the movies?”

“Maybe. I read something somewhere about dried out bread or biscuits eaten on those long crossings. Figured muffins would work for us.”

“You’re weird.” I couldn’t help myself. She was weird.

“You’re weird.” Giving me a gentle shove, she let go of her pole. The tip bent toward the water. She had a bite.

“Grab your pole!” I shouted at her and simultaneously reached out for it before the whole thing fell over the side.

It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t fast, but that morning Diane caught her first fish. And that night we ate fresh salmon inside, in my house, no bears or lurking serial killers around to test the locks.

“This is the best salmon I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.” She moaned.

I stared.

She licked her lips and met my eyes. Raising her glass, she toasted to the chef. “To a man who can not only catch dinner, but cook it, too.”

“You caught it, I only grilled it.”

“We make a good team,” she said. “I bet you’ll be a hot commodity come the apocalypse.”

“But not until then? Gee, thanks.” I attempted to glower at her, but failed. I couldn’t keep a straight face when she grinned at me.

Her hair undone from her braids, I wrapped a long strand around my finger and tugged her closer. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how hot I am right now.”

I watched her throat when she swallowed before speaking. “So hot,” she whispered, leaning forward to brush her lips against mine.

“Don’t forget it.”

“Never.”

“Do you believe in the coming apocalypse?” I asked.

“Zombie apocalypse? Or rising seas and economic crisis apocalypses?”

“Either?” I asked.

“Both are terrifying in their own ways. I’d hate to think of a world where this beach didn’t exist, but the looming threat of flesh eating humans is terrifying.”

“This keep you up at night?”

“Not really. I have an active imagination, so maybe that’s why I can’t watch scary movies. At least action movies might somehow give me fight skills through osmosis.”

“Or you could take some karate or self-defense classes.”

“I have. Well, the self-defense class. I think everyone in my dorm in college had to do it. College campuses are dangerous places for girls. Where do you think I learned that trick with my knee the other day?”

My hand instinctively protected my balls. “I wondered about that. Good to know you can defend yourself against monsters of the human kind.”

“I wonder if kneeing a zombie man would have the same benefit.”

“I don’t think you want to ever get that close. Better to aim for the head. You ever fired a gun before?”

She shook her head. “Even though I grew up in a small town, my parents were always anti-gun. My dad didn’t hunt. Didn’t have to since patients brought him venison and duck, sometimes as payment.”

“Everyone should know how to fire a gun.”

“Do you hunt?” Her eyes widened and I could sense part of her was appalled at the idea.

“Is hunting any different than fishing? Still catching food. Providing for your family.”

“It feels different. I mean, consider Bambi.” She pouted her lips and gave me a wide-eyed look of horror.

“I don’t hunt Bambi. Have I? Sure. But I prefer fishing.”

“Good. For some reason that makes me feel better.”

I laughed at her. “At least we’ll still have those skills when the zombies come.”

“Right! Excellent point. All is right in the world. You and me against the zombies.”

“What do you bring to this equation?” I asked.

“Hmmm …” She furrowed her brow and pouted her lips. It wasn’t attractive, but the more I saw it, the more I found it adorable.

“You don’t cook, you can’t bake … you have questionable ninja skills.”

“Hey now, Lumberjack. Let me think.” Her fingers tapped on the edge of her plate.

I crossed my arms and waited.

“I’ve got it. My womb.”

“Your womb?” Where was she going with this?

“Yes, my fertile womb will nurture the hope for humanity. I’m also good at staying up late. I can take the night watches against the undead.”

“Well then, you can stay.” Talk of wombs and fertility. This conversation had veered off into strange territory.

“Do you want kids?” she asked.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Very strange territory.

“I’m not talking with me and my womb of hope for humanity. In the grand scheme of life way.”

I exhaled. “Um …” I was at a loss for words.

“Does this freak you out?” Her hand rested on my arm.

“I’m, um …” Why did this freak me out? “Um, sure. I mean I like kids. You?”

“I do. I did.”

“Did past tense?” Turning the conversation back to her helped me breathe easier.

“I’m single at thirty. Doesn’t bode too well for my chances.”

“Thirty’s not old.”

“Oh, I know. I’m saying the whole life plan I had with Kip got blown to pieces. Who can say what the future will bring? Best not to have a plan.”

I growled at the name of the asshole. Good thing he lived on the other side of the country.

“Well, I totally put a damper on this conversation. Ugh. Sorry for the kid and baby talk.”

“No problem.” I meant it.

“I know I freaked you out. Please don’t be freaked out.”

“I’m not,” I lied. “You and your hope for humanity womb will be good assets during the zombie siege.”

“Your face says otherwise, but thank you for lying.”

“That obvious, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m learning your ticks. You stroke your beard or tug your earlobe when you’re uncomfortable or embarrassed.”

I didn’t remember doing either.

“If I’ve learned anything over the last year or so it’s to read people’s body language better. You’d be surprised what people give away if you pay attention.”

“Oh really? What does this tell you?” I stared at her lips. Enough with weird conversations about zombies and wombs.