I throw on a knit sweater and jeans, leaving my dark wet hair hanging loose down my back as I head downstairs. When I noisily drag my suitcase through the living room and into the beautiful formal dining room where I’ve spent all of my mornings, I halt in place as a group of five men are seated at the table with forks frozen halfway to their mouths.
“Hi,” I state, awkwardly waving at the group of gawking men.
They all murmur their hellos and then resume shoveling the food down their throats. Claire emerges from the kitchen with wide eyes. “Oh hello, Miss Hudson, have a seat. I have your plate right here.”
She walks slowly over to me, her old age slowing her down, but her smile as bright as the day I checked in a week ago. She sets the food in front of me and affectionately rubs my shoulder just as my mom would.
“Boys, this is Maggie…Maggie, these nice boys who have just checked in are from Backwoods Magazine. They are here working on a piece about ice climbing on grain silos. It all sounds very exciting,” she tuts while looking down at everyone’s plates. “Oh look, you need fresh coffee. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She disappears through the double doors into the kitchen so I force a smile and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why is there ice climbing on grain silos? Is it some kind of weather anomaly?” I spoon a big bite of cinnamon oatmeal into my mouth.
The guys all fail to conceal their amusement as the one closest to me responds. “No, it’s a sport…like ice climbing but instead of a mountain, we’re climbing a man-made iced silo. Definitely not a weather anomaly.” He chuckles around a sip of his coffee.
“Interesting,” I reply politely. “Why do you guys do it?”
“Because it’s fucking awesome,” the younger guy from across the table answers with a laugh. “It’s the hardest climb you’ll ever do because it’s eighty feet of straight vertical. No natural slopes like you’d get on a mountain. It’s a rush.”
“Sounds like it.” My eyes widen with interest. “How do they make the ice?”
“They dribble the water down the silo slowly during freezing temperatures. It takes several weeks before you get a good enough base to climb.”
“I see,” I reply and briefly wonder if this extreme sort of stuff is a Colorado thing, or if they do this back home. I was such a girlie-girl growing up that I would have never even noticed. My brother did a lot of outdoorsy things, but the only sporty thing I ever did was ski down the bunny hills for school trips. I was even too chicken to try snowboarding with my friends.
“I just went ice fishing for the first time last weekend,” I state proudly because this feels like something these guys would appreciate. “So yeahhh…” My voice trails off as I realize these guys have zero interest in ice fishing. “I thought that was pretty adventurous,” I add so they understand why I brought it up because they all continue to stare blankly back at me.
“Hardly,” replies the guy with dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail on the other side of me. “With ice fishing, you just sit there. There’s no physical exertion. No sense of danger or adrenaline. You’re missing the best parts of a rush. If you’re looking for an adventure, you should come check out the silo we’re climbing tomorrow. Experience isn’t required, and that’s where the real adventure awaits.” He digs into his pocket and fishes out a small business card. “This is the card to the farmstead where the silos are located.” He pauses and grabs a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something on the back. “And here’s my personal number if you’d like some personal coaching. My name is Ezekiel.” He looks up and winks at me, his dark eyes sparkling with obvious flirtation as he passes the card over to me.
I turn it over and finger the logo of the farmstead with a website and address. “Okay then.”
“I really hope to see you there tomorrow,” Ezekiel adds as he stuffs a bite of eggs into his mouth, then he mumbles, “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”
My eyes light up at those last words. Ice climbing on grain silos sounds like the total opposite of Basic Maggie. Ice climbing on grain silos would catapult me to Adventure Maggie for sure.
And you know what else? Adventure Maggie could probably ice fish on her own now too! I don’t need an oddly cute bearded ginger with kissable lips to be my guide. And since I can do it all on my own, it also means I get to avoid heading to my brother’s for a few more hours…double bonus. Maybe this is just the sort of risk-taking I need to turn everything around.
It’s a frigid and sunny Saturday afternoon as I make my way out to Marv’s Bait and Tackle. Normally, I’m a morning fisher. I like to get there early before all the out-of-towners make it in. But today, I held off for one very obvious, very gorgeous reason.
Maggie.
Fuck, I don’t even know her last name yet. We had our hands so full of fish and each other, we really didn’t get to talk a whole lot. And when we parted ways outside Marv’s, I could tell she was acting all twitchy because of our kiss. So young and innocent—hell, it’s fucking hot. And I did nothing to calm her nerves either. I just let her fumble her way back to her car without saying a word. Asking for a chick’s number is against my rules. I prefer to just let nature take its course. If I see her again, so be it. If I don’t, I won’t lose any sleep over it.
But I really hope I see her again.
When I maneuver my snowmobile into the parking lot of Marv’s, I’m grateful that the helmet I’m wearing is covering the way-too-fucking-happy smile on my face.
Sitting right outside of Marv’s on the curb in her puffy red and white snowsuit, Maggie wears an adorably sullen look on her face. Her black hair is hanging out the bottom of her red stocking cap, and she’s punching away at her phone so aggressively, she doesn’t even notice me pull up in front of her.
When she finally looks up and sees me climbing off my sled, she rolls her eyes like I’m the cherry on top of her clearly shit-tastic day. I stride over to her and slip my helmet off, noticing a heap of something by her feet that looks like the corpse of a fishing hut on the ground.
“Don’t say anything, all right?” she barks, looking away from me with a firm shake of her head and cold air puffing out between her ruddy lips.
I halt in front of her and close my mouth.
“I can already guess what you’re going to say,” she snaps again, kicking her booted feet out in front of her to shove the offensive pile farther away from her.
Again, I say nothing. My mother always said I was like a Labrador—great at following commands.
“You’re going to say that I’m still a rookie, and I shouldn’t think I can do this all on my own after only one session.” She stares up at me, and her vibrant blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“And you’re going to say I wasted money on this fishing hut because it’s a pile of crap, and if I had asked you for advice, you could have suggested something more suitable for a beginner.”
I exhale, my hand coming up to stroke the hair on my chin slowly as I listen.
She stares up at me and flicks her hand in my direction. “But honestly, after I assaulted you last weekend, I just didn’t think I could face you again.”
A small huff escapes my lips because that kiss was no big deal. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great kiss. Really great. But it wasn’t going to scare me off her.
She rolls her eyes at my expression. “Well, say something, won’t you?”
My shoulders lift once as I ask, “Wanna go ice fishing?”
An hour later, she’s apologized no less than nineteen times about that kiss, and she’s sworn twenty-four times that it won’t happen again. I’ve reassured her eight times that it’s no big deal. And once that conversation is done, we’re on my sled and heading back to the same spot we fished last weekend.
The heater in my hut has just finally taken the nip out of the air when I decide to fish for some details from the chick who swears on her life she won’t be kissing me ever again.
“So what’s the real reason you’re so determined to be an avid ice fisher?” I flick my line roller up and release some slack out of my pole, allowing my rig to fall deeper just as a small school of muskies ventures closer to where we’ve dropped.