Chapter 3

Fisher

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"my mother called in the pitch of a cartoon chipmunk. "It's not healthy to sleep your days away."

I tugged up the sheet, which was barely covering my naked body. "Mom, I'm not dressed!"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry. I learned not to look too closely in your bedroom after I caught you with your hand down your pants when you were thirteen."

Oh, geez.

"Not a kid anymore," I pointed out. "And this is my apartment, so you need to knock."

"Well, I did knock, sweetie. You just didn't answer."

My mother smiled brightly, and with her dyed blond hair and splash of freckles, she looked half her age.

"But when someone doesn't answer, that means…"

Not to enter.

I didn't finish the thought, because my mother wasn't listening anyway, too busy scooping up a pair of dirty boxer briefs from my floor.

I inwardly groaned. I'd moved into the apartment over my parents' garage and paid rent to set some boundaries. It didn't seem to matter that I was most of the way through a college degree while also working full-time. My parents continued to see me as a kid.

"Mom, stop. This is my apartment, and I'll take care of my laundry."

She scoffed. "Since when?"

"Since now, okay?" I leaned over the edge of the bed to grab a pair of sweats and pulled them on under the blankets. "You need to stop barging in here. This is my place. I'm just a tenant."

"A tenant? You're not…" She frowned at me as I climbed from the bed and began gathering the rest of the laundry.

"I can take care of myself, Mom. I want to take care of myself."

"But, honey, I don't mind. Besides, I know when the washer and dryer are free. You know I'm particular about order in my laundry room."

I took the small bundle of clothes she still held in her arms and tossed it onto my bed. "I'll go to the laundromat."

"What?" Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean that you had to—"

"I want to," I said firmly.

"Well, come on over for breakfast first," she suggested. "Your dad has the griddle out."

My stomach growled, urging me to take her up on the offer, but I resisted. "I'll grab something while I'm out. Thanks, anyway."

"Fisher…"

"You have to let me grow up," I reminded her. "I only live here because housing is so hard to come by in this town."

She sighed. "I didn't know it bothered you to stay with us."

She sounded so sad guilt shot through me.

"It doesn't bother me," I said quickly. "You're both great. I just want some privacy. I want to sleep in after a late night studying if I don't need to be anywhere. You know?"

Mom cringed. "I didn't realize you were up late."

"I've got an exam to go sit this afternoon." I hugged her. "I needed to get up anyway. Apparently, it's past time I did my laundry."

She tucked her face against my shoulder, body shaking with a laugh. "You're a good boy, Fisher." She drew back and met my eyes. "A good man. I see how you've grown up." She laid her palm on my cheek. "You don't have to try so hard. We all see more than you think we do."

"Tell that to Dad," I grumbled.

"I will." She headed for the door. "Right after I tell him you're turning down pancakes to do laundry. The man might have a heart attack, though. I'm warning you."

I rolled my eyes, smile tugging at my lips, as she exited the room. With a tired sigh, I headed for the bathroom to take a shower.

My apartment wasn't much. Just a large bedroom with a king-size bed, a dresser against one wall, a closet, and a bathroom. A mini fridge and microwave gave me some semblance of a kitchenette, though I had to wash dishes in the bathroom, so I didn't eat here often.

Slanted ceilings required me to hunch slightly as I moved around the room, but luckily I didn't have the kind of height Hudson did. I could only imagine how much the man would have to bend to fit in here. Not that he was likely to be in my room anytime soon.

I imagined my mother barging in to find me in bed with a man, any man, and cringed. I really needed to find my own space somewhere else.

I swung by Tastes Like Grandma—which made me snicker every time I saw the sign—and ordered biscuits with chocolate gravy to scarf down. Hopefully they didn't actually taste like Grandma Rosie, who ran the restaurant, but they were damn tasty.

By the time I got to the laundromat, it was nearing noon, and I needed to hurry to finish up and hit the road to the Ozarks College satellite campus. It would be a fifty-minute drive to reach my classroom for my exam. Thankfully, I was able to take the majority of my classes online and save the gas money.

There were a couple of vehicles in the parking lot in front of Big Loads laundromat, but there were still two washers open when I walked inside. I dumped my laundry bag into one, fished out some quarters, and settled in for a long, boring wait.

A middle-aged woman appeared to be managing a whole family's laundry on her own. A tourist staying in the BB probably. She was avoiding eye contact. Then again, I might avoid eye contact too if I were the only woman in a place called Big Loads. Not sure the owners thought that name through.

Across the room by the dryers, a couple of older residents, Chester and Ansel, were jawing it up. Their booming voices carried through the space, the two of them clearly unworried about anyone listening in.

"…try fishing out east? There's a little inlet over there. I had some good luck the other day."

"Yeah? I might have to check it out. I've been staying farther north and west. There's some nice deep water where it's cool."

"You want some vegetation too though…"

I tuned them out, well versed in fishing tips after years working in a lake bait and supply store. Instead, I scrolled through my phone until time to switch my laundry to the dryer.

Eventually, their conversation moved on from fishing to more interesting topics.

"Did you see ol' Reba shoot down Hudson's silly Dock Hop?" Chester chuckled. "That boy doesn't know the first thing about what we want in Swallow Cove."

"Ayuh," Ansel grunted. "I heard he was going around town trying to drag us all into some touristy nonsense."

"Yup, and you know what's even worse?"

"What?"

"I saw a fancy town car parked in front of the old resort."

"What? You don't think…"

"I hope to hell not," Chester groused. "The last thing we need is Golden Sands opening back up."

Ansel snorted. "Golden Sands? More like golden showers from all the beer and piss around the place."

The unfortunately named Golden Sands Caribbean Resort closed four years ago, but I remembered that our town economy was a bit healthier when it was open to bring in more tourists. Currently, we had one BB, and it only had four rooms for rent. There were a few cabin rentals too, but we had no big hotels for larger groups of people or those who wanted a less rustic experience. As a result, we got more day-trippers and fewer long-term vacationers.

Chester and Ansel might like it that way, but they were retired, spending their days fishing. The younger generation of this town needed more opportunity, not less.

I hoped it was true that someone was looking to invest in the resort. It could use a facelift and a better name, one that wasn't asking to be made into a big joke, considering we had muddy soil, not golden sand, and were nowhere near the Caribbean. But with the right changes it could be great.

Just thinking of it made my heart skip with excitement. Ideas ran through my mind. They could take out the ridiculous fake palm trees and add a water sports rental component. Turn it into a true lake resort rather than the dumb "tropical" mockery that made people laugh and call us hillbillies.

My dryer buzzed, and Chester and Ansel glanced in my direction.

"Hey, Fisher!" Chester adjusted the bill of his ballcap that read Weekend Hookers, the name of a local fishing group. "Didn't see you over there."

Because you're too busy trash-talking?

I smiled politely. "Yep. Just doing some laundry."

"Figured you'd have your mama for that," Ansel said with a guffaw.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Acting like a disgruntled teenager wouldn't get old coots like Chester and Ansel to see me as an adult.

"My mom is great, but she doesn't need to take care of me." I pulled out a T-shirt and folded it before stuffing it into my laundry bag. "I'm old enough to do my own laundry."

"Well, all right, that's a good attitude," Ansel said with an approving nod. "More young people should take responsibility. Too many of you young folks don't want to work."

"Well…" I normally bit my tongue, but today was pushing all my buttons. "It'd be easier if there were better jobs. I know you all hate the idea of that resort opening, but it would bring opportunities."

"Not good ones," Chester said shortly. "You don't know how it is, son, watching these rich bastards invest in our town and reap all the rewards while we labor for them. That's no way to provide opportunity for our young people."

"Then what is?" I asked.

He shook his head, and Ansel got busy with his own laundry. Neither had an answer for me, because they both knew there wasn't one.

Swallow Cove was in a Catch-22. Big business was frowned upon because locals weren't the ones making money off it, and yet, without it, our town was in decline.

We might not want outsiders to come in and tell us what to do, but like it or not, we needed them.

Hudson

"I don't know, Hudson." Pearl stacked her signature jams and jellies at the marina's outdoor market early Saturday morning. "Sounds like a hassle."

"This event will be a great opportunity to get your name out there."

Pearl arched one carefully drawn-on eyebrow beneath her silver fringe. "Are you saying folks don't know Pearl's Pantry?" She snorted loudly. "Nonsense. I make the best jams and jellies in these parts, Hudson Nash." She brandished a small jar at me. "No one else makes a dandelion jelly as good as mine. No one." She tapped a different jar. "People become addicted to my jalapeno peach preserves, you know."

"I'm sure they do," I said, attempting to repair the damage of my careless words. "But if you participate in the Dock Hop, you can reach even more people. You have a great product, and I think—"

"You think I ought to play silly games and spend my hard-earned money is what you think."

I knew the money was going to be a tough sell with some of these small business owners and vendors. The event simply didn't work without small drawings at each stop and a grand prize at the end.

"We have to entice people," I started to explain.

"Bah." She waved one gnarled hand at me, as if I were a bothersome fly. "If we have to work that hard to get them here, I'm not sure what the point is. They'll never come back."

"We're raising awareness about more remote areas of the lake. Once they know what's here, they might come back in the future."

"Might," she scoffed.

"Well, I can't guarantee anything, but there's a good chance."

"And what about Ruth Marie?"

"What about her?"

"Are you asking her to participate too?"

Ruth Marie was another vendor at the Outdoor Market. She sold mostly canned fruits such as pears in heavy syrup and spiced peaches, as well as some pie fillings. But recently she'd gotten Pearl's back up by offering an apple pie jam.

As far as Pearl was concerned, Ruth Marie was breaching her borders, and she'd retaliated by offering brandied peaches, which had been an immediate hit.

"Well, I don't know. She's a vendor here too."

The Outdoor Market hosted about ten vendors every Wednesday and Saturday morning, so I'd had to hustle to get out here before heading on my first boat tour of the day.

Pearl shook her head. "Not interested then."

"But, Pearl—"

She turned away, eyes lighting on a customer. "Fisher, dear! What can I do for you?"

I turned my head so fast I wrenched my neck, wincing, all so I could see Fisher flash his dimples.

"Hi, Pearl. I was actually just picking up a few things for my mother before I head to over to Bait Swallow."

"Well, I set aside some of that tomato jam she likes."

I suppressed a shudder as Pearl retrieved a jar from under the table. It wouldn't help my case to let Pearl know my revulsion for the stuff. It wasn't like regular jam, pairing with meatloaf and the like, but there was something about it that struck me as wrong. But then there were quite a few foods in the Ozarks region that seemed odd to me. Historically, the region had a hunter-and-gatherer approach to its cuisine. If it grows, eat it. If it swims, catch it. If it runs, shoot it.

"Thanks, Pearl," Fisher said brightly. "So, are you going to participate in this Dock Hop I've been hearing about?"

Pearl paused, glancing between us. "Well, I don't know that I want to spend my money on something like that." She lowered her voice, but not all that much. "Especially if it benefits that copycat Ruth Marie."

Ruth was three booths down, but she'd clearly heard her name. She shot Pearl a scowl.

"Well," Fisher said, "what if you could be the exclusive Outdoor Market vendor?"

Pearl cocked her head. "How would that work?"

"You'd have to pay a bit more for exclusivity," Fisher said. Pearl looked poised to protest, but he hurried on. "But think of the benefits!" He leaned in and whispered. "All those participants would beeline to your booth while Ruth Marie was out in the cold."

Pearl's eyes lit up. "Oh, you naughty boy."

Fisher grinned, and hell, that smile was sinful.

"Seriously, though," Fisher said, "this event could be really good for business. I betcha people will come back here after the event just to get more of that delicious elderberry jelly."

"Oh, you," Pearl said, blushing like a schoolgirl at Fisher's compliment. "All, right, you little charmer. I'm sold." She picked up a jar of elderberry jam and pushed it at him. "Take one on the house."

"Aw thanks, Pearl. I could live on this stuff."

She giggled and waved a hand. "I already said I'd do it. You can stop flattering me."

"But you make it so easy," he teased.

I butted in. "So, you'll do the Dock Hop, then? I can sign you up?"

Pearl tore her gaze from the cute guy at my side, her easy smile slipping into something more stern. "If I can be exclusive like Fisher says."

"Although…" Fisher said.

"What?" Pearl asked.

"It is an event to benefit the whole community. In the spirit of friendship, maybe you'd be generous enough to let Ruth Marie take part." He lowered his voice. "She probably needs the help more than you."

Pearl's eyes narrowed as she glanced at Ruth Marie, and I thought for sure that Fisher had just pushed too far, but then she bestowed us with a magnanimous smile. "You know, Fisher, you're right. I should share my wealth with the less fortunate."

Damn, he was good.

"Get me all the details," Pearl said, "and Hudson?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to make me regret it."

"Yes, ma'am," I said with a grin of my own. "I'll do my best."

"Good." She waved us on. "Now git before you cost me sales."

With a laugh, Fisher joined me as I scuttled away from her booth.

"Thanks for the help with that," I said.

Fisher shrugged it off. "Old ladies love me. I think it's the dimples."

My gaze fell again to that delicious smile of his and the dimples on either side. Lord have mercy.

"I can see that."

"Yeah?" His bright blue eyes locked on me. "Well, how come you never give me any jelly?"

I laughed. "It's a terrible oversight. I'll work on that."

"You know, like I said, the old ladies love me, so if you need any help with this event…"

I stopped and turned to face him. "You mean that? Because I admit, I thought this would be easier. Between running the boats all day and then trying to find time to persuade business owners it's in their best interest, even if it costs a little money…"

"I mean it," Fisher said. "In fact, how about we meet up for a drink later to strategize? I need to know a little more about this event if I'm going to be really helpful."

I swallowed hard. The thought of me and Fisher out for a drink was a dangerous proposition.

"Sure, uh, but all the paperwork is back at my place."

"Even better," he said brightly. "I'll come out after the store closes. I'll bring some Red Hot Cod Pieces and we can get down to business."

He was teasing me. Maybe even flirting. Red Hot Cod Pieces was the name of a fried-fish food stand, but he'd inflected his voice with a crap-ton of innuendo.

Instead of turning him down, I stuttered out a flustered, "I like fish."

Fisher grinned. "Good thing. I don't offer to help people who don't like me."

"I didn't—Uh, I mean…"

Fisher was already walking away, still grinning, as I attempted to find the words to express I hadn't meant Fish, as in him. But hell, he wasn't wrong. I did like Fish.

I liked him a hell of a lot, and spending time in close quarters was going to send me from the frying pan and straight into the damn fire.