Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Everett Howell exhaled, letting out a puff of air that quickly froze. He was standing at the bow of his small commercial fishing boat, making repairs on things that had gotten too worn out during the busy season. Winter was when fishing slowed down, and he had more time for maintenance. His hands were cold even through his gloves, and he dropped a socket wrench which clattered on the ground. He grunted and picked it up again, getting back to work without hesitation.

He didn't mind the cold so much, as long as he kept moving. He tugged the sides of his red knit hat down over his ears and rubbed his stubbly cheeks with his gloved hands. He promised himself that after another half an hour or so, he'd go down into the cabin of his boat and drink some warm coffee.

I'll go out and fish later, he thought. Tonight when the water is quiet again. I should be able to get a good haul that way.

He loved fishing. To him, there was something soothing about the way he got to interact with nature on a daily basis. He had to follow the patterns of the seasons and the weather, and he'd learned to become an expert at studying every sign he could. He was happiest during the busy season, when he could fish regularly, but even during the winter there were certain types of fish to be caught. He kept himself busy—as a bachelor, he had to keep himself busy in order to not feel too lonely.

"Hey, Everett!"

He stood up when he heard someone call his name. Looking over the side of his boat, he grinned when he saw his friend Braden Watson. The muscular blond architect was standing on the dock, waving at him.

"Braden!" Everett was always happy to see the younger man, who used to work for his father's boating company before choosing a career in architecture. "How were your holidays? How's the wife?"

"Oh, great." Braden grinned. "Monica is doing really well—the bed and breakfast was pretty busy during the holidays, but we still got a lot of good time to ourselves. My mom and Thomas spent Christmas with us."

Everett nodded, smiling back. Braden didn't refer to his mother's new husband as "Dad" but it was clear from the way he spoke about Thomas Watson-Thurmond that he was very fond of him. "Glad to hear it," he said, meaning it sincerely.

"How were your holidays, Everett?" Braden asked.

Everett shrugged. He never liked to talk about how he usually spent his holidays alone—since he had no kids of his own, and after his parents had passed away, he'd been left without any close family members. He had some distant relatives who invited him to Thanksgiving every year, but Christmas and New Year's were holidays that he had gotten used to spending alone—well, alone with his dog, who was the best companion a man could ask for, in Everett's opinion. "Not too much happened," Everett said. "I volunteered at a food bank for a few days. The holidays are especially tough for people who need money."

"That's awesome." Braden nodded, looking genuinely impressed. "Good for you."

"Thanks." Everett smiled at him. Privately he was thinking that he was glad his loneliness could at least benefit other people.

After chatting amiably for a few more minutes, Braden glanced at his watch and said that he needed to get going.

"Great to see you, Everett," he said, smiling at his friend. "I'll see you again soon, hopefully!"

"See you soon." The fisherman smiled at the other man and went back to his repair work.

The wind picked up, and Everett's cheeks smarted from the cold. "I guess I can still stick with that original plan of taking a break after a half hour," he murmured, chuckling, as he glanced at his watch. "Even though I spent a lot of time talking instead of working."

He realized he was talking to himself again and laughed—a low, warm chuckle. He often talked to himself—it had become a habit over the years, as he spent a lot of time alone on the water. He went back to concentrating on his repair work, which he enjoyed. He found it immensely satisfying to make things run smoothly after they had fallen into disrepair. He loved machines—especially boats—almost as much as he loved fishing.

After a while he glanced at his watch and saw that it was seven minutes past the time when he'd decided he would take a break. Standing up, he stretched, grunting over how stiff his muscles were. He retreated into the warm cabin, where he let himself thaw out for a while while drinking a cup of hot black coffee.

Once he was sufficiently warmed up, he went back out and finished repairing the engine of the boat. He grunted in satisfaction when he heard it purr effortlessly to life.

"Well, you're welcome," he said, patting the side of the boat—and then he chuckled to himself. "Talking to the boat instead of yourself now, huh, Everett? Time to go home so you can talk to your dog." He smiled and carefully packed up his tools and covered up the engine of the boat again.

As he was getting off the boat, the wind picked up. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, wondering what he would make himself for dinner. Probably a ham sandwich, maybe with a side of carrots. Maybe he would cook the carrots. Afterward he would sit in his small but comfortable living room with his dog and watch sports on TV. After that, if he was feeling up for it, he'd probably go out and fish.

Cold air blew against his neck, and he thought about Braden and Monica, and how happier they both had been ever since they got married. For a moment, he wished he had somebody else to go home to. As much as he loved his dog, it might be nice to get to talk to a special someone—someone who would respond to him with words.

.