16. Hooked
16
Hooked
Alice
This trip has been a lot more fun than I expected. I survived my night with Deacon—I mean, my night in the wilderness—and he revealed a new side of himself to me. Deacon is not a true grump, more like a cinnamon roll in a grump costume, except his costume is sticking to him like glue and doesn't come off that easily. But when it does? Oh, it will be spectacular, and I hope I'll be here for it. Last night, he confided in me, and I think we both understand each other a little more. I felt a connection to him, probably because we both experienced loss, and I'm glad he told me about his past. I'm guessing he doesn't open up with many people, so I'm honored he felt safe enough to share his story with me. There are still many more layers to his personality, but I'm glad I'm starting to see the real Deacon.
Even if our little camping trip was kind of fun, I'm dying to get back to the rental home. I need a shower, and fast. My skin feels itchy, and my hair, like it's hosting a family of forest animals. I don't care if Deacon says there's nothing in it—I feel it.
Lola is just as eager for a shower, and we pretty much race to the only bathroom in the rental home. Unfortunately for me, she wins. I wish I could say I let her win because she's a kid, but I'm not that mature, especially when it comes to hygiene.
I'm currently watching Deacon unload the truck, and he looks as handsome as ever, as if a night in the wild didn't alter his sex appeal one bit. Who am I kidding? Of course it did, only in his case, it increased it. His hair is tousled, begging for me to run my fingers through it, and his black sweater seems to highlight his biceps. And now that I know there's a broken man underneath that hardened exterior, even his permanent frown makes him attractive. Because I know why he sports it, and I better understand the hardships he's faced to get here.
"Are you okay?" He stops in the living room, both hands on his hips.
I instinctively press my lips together, hoping I'm not shamelessly drooling. But luckily, they're dry. "I'm fine. Just eager for a shower. I feel so gross."
"You don't look gross," he mumbles, sizing me up, and that lights my entire body on fire. How can he compliment me when I look like this? Also, why is he complimenting me in the first place?
Feeling the warmth spreading through my cheeks, I look down.
"Thanks again for coming along. I hope you had a good time."
"I did." I shoot him a genuine smile.
"Good. I'll get everything ready for fishing this afternoon."
Adding the smell of fish to my current frumpy state sounds like a disaster, but I'm kind of excited to go. As long as Deacon is there, I'm game. After I take a shower, of course.
Deacon rented a fishing boat from one of his friends, and we're now happily sailing—well, floating—on the lake.
"Okay," Deacon announces, gathering the fishing poles and tackle box. "Let's see if we can catch anything for dinner."
"Wait," Lola blurts, a look of horror on her face. "We're not going to eat the fish, right?"
He steals a glance at me, eyes widening.
I wince. I know that's where fish sticks come from, but I agree with Lola. It's too sad and cruel to do it ourselves.
"Fine. We'll release them," Deacon says with a sigh, and I suddenly feel guilty for spoiling his fishing expedition. "Have you ever tried fishing before?" he asks us, and we both shake our heads.
He spends the next twenty minutes explaining the equipment and how to use it. Then, he gives us each a fishing rod with bait dangling at the end.
"Ew. That worm is disgusting," Lola says, grimacing at her bait.
Deacon gives her a pointed look. "I thought you liked worms. Or at least you were proud of being one. "
I chuckle while Lola scoffs. "It's not the same thing. We were talking about bookworms, not actual, squiggly ones!"
Deacon just shakes his head, taking his seat.
My first attempts at casting are disastrous at best, but after what seems like forever, I finally feel a weight tugging at the end of the rod.
"I got one! I got one!"
Deacon stands up, placing his hands over mine. And suddenly, I don't even care about the fish anymore, or feel it pulling on the line. Because Deacon's warm hands on mine are the only thing I can focus on.
He helps me reel it in, and it's quite a big fish—a lake trout, pretty common in this lake, apparently.
"Thanks," I say, turning to meet his gaze. Our eyes lock, lingering until Deacon takes a step back and clears his throat.
Lola's applause brings me back to the moment. "Well done."
"Thanks." I smile, my heart rattling in my chest, though it has nothing to do with my fishing exploits.
After that first catch, I feel more confident than ever, and I want to cast my line further this time, like Deacon does. Taking a step back, I muster all my energy and yank the fishing rod high. Only, my foot lands on my water bottle which rolled behind me. My ankle buckles, and I fall back. Meanwhile, my fishing rod ends up hitting Deacon's face, the worm sliding on his cheek.
Lola bursts into laughter, and my eyes widen in mortification. "Deacon! I'm so sorry. I slipped."
He wipes his cheek with the back of his sleeve.
"Are you all right?" I ask, sitting up straight.
He rolls his eyes. "I'm fine." When he glances toward me, a hint of concern touches his indigo eyes. "Are you?"
I nod. "Yeah. Just a klutz, that's all." This vacation might kill me. One way or the other.
"You know," Deacon says, hooking the bait back onto my line. "If you wanted to hook me, you could have just asked."
I freeze, trying to process his words, and make sure that wasn't just a figment of my imagination, but Lola's bursts of giggles tell me it was very much real.
I cock my head to the side, my heart thundering in my chest. "Did you just make a joke?"
His mouth twists, but I can tell he's containing his smile.
"Oh my goodness," I exclaim, a smile twitching at my lips. "You did. You're funny ! Who knew, all this time, that you were just a funny guy? "
He wears an annoyed scowl, but by now, I know it's all fake. "I'm not."
"Yes you are!" I poke his chest with my finger. "He is," I say to Lola, who's just laughing and nodding.
He casts me a playful glare.
"You can pretend to be grumpy anytime you want, Deacon Collier," I say, taking a step toward him. "But I see you."
He's close now, and for a second, I think we're about to kiss. His eyes darken to a near black, and I can feel the air warming around us. It'd be easy—just a little nudge forward from either of us would do the trick. But just when I'm about to make a move, he clears his throat and turns around.
I hustle back to my seat at the other end of the boat. My cheeks are now definitely on fire, and I contemplate jumping into the water to cool myself down. But the lake is kind of cold, not to mention I'd smell like fish afterward.
Of course he wasn't about to kiss me. I just read way too many romance novels and create these dreamy scenarios in my head out of nothing. A laugh and an intense look? That doesn't mean anything in real life. Deacon hasn't shown any genuine interest in me beyond friendship. Even if it's starting to feel like he could be book-boyfriend material, I know that this is not happening.
The only problem is, now that the real Deacon has been revealed to me, it's impossible to see anything else. Behind every scowl, sigh, or stern look, I see a man in pain. A man who's eaten alive by guilt, and underneath that, a kind and caring person. That reality makes it a bit harder to keep my feelings in check.
I washed the grime of the day away in the shower—I won the race this time. But every inch of my skin still burns every time I think of Deacon.
We're now done eating dinner—pizza delivery, not fish—and Lola has just gone up to bed, leaving Deacon and me alone on the couch where we just finished playing Monopoly.
"She seems to be having a good time so far," Deacon says, glancing at the stairs.
"I think so. It's been a fun trip. Even I have to admit that."
A smile touches his lips, and I look away before I blush.
"What am I doing wrong, though? Sure, she's having fun, but it doesn't feel like enough. I know I'll never replace my sister, but she seems closer to you than she is to me. "
My heart breaks for him. "Teenagers work in mysterious ways." I sigh. "It's a delicate situation, and a teenage girl will always bond more easily with a woman, but you'll get there. I think she just needs time to adjust."
He lifts his eyebrows. "Any tips? I feel like every time I try something, I make things worse."
"There's no handbook for this kind of thing, but don't force it too much. Your relationship with her will come naturally. Just show her that you love having her in your life and that it's not just an obligation," I say, remembering what Lola said at her birthday about Deacon being stuck with her.
"It's not an obligation," he retorts quickly. "Yeah, it's a difficult transition, but I love her."
"I know," I say, sliding my hand over his. "Just take your time."
We fall into each other's eyes, and this time, I swear it's not my imagination. His gaze drops to my lips, and if books and movies have taught me anything, it's that the "gaze dropping to lips" thing is a solid indication that a kiss is imminent.
But then, he looks into my eyes again, and something shifts. Fear and doubt fill his gaze, and he backs away, leaving my poor heart rattling in my chest .
"Um." He clears his throat. "I guess we should call it a night."
I hop to my feet. "Sure. Yes, let's go to bed." My cheeks instantly warm, and a smile twitches at Deacon's lips. "Separately, obviously."
He swallows and glances at my lips again. "Right. Good night, Frenchie."
I really thought this would be it. Why does he keep pulling back? And why didn't I make the first move? This is the twenty-first century, after all. Women should chase after what they want. And I want this. Maybe it's time I do something about it. There will be no more almost-kisses. Even if I love this micro trope, it's way too frustrating in real life. Next time, I will go for it.