“Pffft,” I tut with a roll of my eyes while grabbing the menus from behind the napkin dispenser. “Gingers never went out of style. We’re like a fine wine that just needs to age a bit before you can fully appreciate us.”
I hand her a menu and prop mine in front of my face, peering over it at her as she looks down at hers. She definitely seems calmer than she did before, so that’s good. But she’s clearly not the outdoorsy type who hangs out in a bait shop. She looks more like a former cheerleader or a pageant girl. The kind who gets a manicure every other week, not the type who would dig her hand into a bucket of minnows.
So what the fuck is she doing here?
Barb, the elderly waitress who’s always working, interrupts my shameless ogling. “What can I get you two?” she asks as she clears the dishes, wipes the table, and gives us fresh glasses of water.
Once I’ve recovered from my creeper caught in action heart attack, I order a burger and fries. The girl nods and orders the same, once again surprising me when she doesn’t order a salad.
When Barb leaves, I decide to cut to the chase. “Look, what those assholes said back there was total bullshit. But I have to tell you, you really are a fish out of water around here,” I state, pun intended. “What are you doing here?”
She looks back at me with a frown. “Why am I a fish out of water? Because I’m a girl and I look a certain way?”
“Partly,” I reply with an unapologetic shrug. “Sorry if that’s sexist, but we don’t get many females who look like you at Marv’s Bait and Tackle. Barb is the only estrogen these guys around here get, and I’m pretty sure she’s gone through,” I pause to cup my hand to my mouth and whisper, “‘the change’ already.”
The girl bursts out laughing, covering her face as her cheeks flame red. “You did not just refer to menopause as ‘the change!’”
I duck my head and look around nervously, in case someone heard us. It may not be a normal thing for a guy to discuss, but I watched my mother go through it last summer, so I know how much it changes a woman. Mostly because she and my sisters talk about every-fucking-thing that happens to their bodies. Honestly, I’ve been subjected to some really uncomfortable conversations about pantyliners and night sweats. It was all very upsetting.
But the guys at Marv’s don’t see a hot-blooded girl like this…ever, so it’s no wonder she caused a ruckus. I lean across the table and speak in a low voice. “No need to shout about womanly issues. I’m just saying, these guys aren’t used to girls in here, and the fact that you marched in wearing those boots and threadbare leggings when it’s fifty fucking below outside means you’ll be the center of attention. Going ice fishing in that getup has the makings for some serious frostbite, sparky.”
She scoffs at me. “Well…that’s for me to worry about…not that Marv guy.”
“Marv is a protective old man who was only trying to look out for you because you seem like a nice girl when you’re not lunging at assholes.” My hands clench on the table, itching to touch hers again for some strange reason.
“Girl?” she scoffs again, her eyes rolling upward with a smile. “I’m a twenty-two-year-old college graduate, all right? I think it’s safe to call me a woman.”
“You got it,” I reply, holding my hands back. I know better than to argue with a female about her label. “So, woman, what are you trying to do here today? It’s clear you’ve never been fishing a day in your life.”
“I’ve fished!” she replies defiantly, her jaw setting into a scowl. “Just never been ice fishing.”
I shake my head knowingly. “Okay…well, I’ll be the second one to tell you that ice fishing is a serious sport. You can’t just go out and find a hole. You have to have a drill, a house, and a heat source. Proper clothing. Do you have any of those items?”
“No,” she murmurs, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.
“Then what on earth made you decide to go ice fishing today?”
She leans back in the booth and looks up at the ceiling. “You’re going to laugh.”
“I won’t laugh.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Try me.”
She sighs heavily and folds her hands on the table in front of her. “I’m on a road trip of self-discovery.”
“Not at all what I expected,” I stammer because hell, it’s the truth. I ruffle the strands of hair on my head, trying to hide my confused reaction. “And your self-discovery led you to Marv’s of all places?”
“Pretty much.” She shrugs and then leans forward on the table, with a tiny glimmer of a smile. “What happened was, I was driving down the highway, no music, no phone, no nothing. Just me and my thoughts. Did you know that we’re getting so reliant on technology and keeping our brain entertained that we never just sink into our own thoughts?”
“Oh yeah, I totally knew that actually.”
“You did?” she exclaims, her eyes bright and excited.
“No, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I deadpan. She rolls her eyes in annoyance, and that might turn me on a little bit.
“Well, it’s becoming a major issue because now our brains aren’t accessing the deep-thinking folds anymore. Just all this surface-level shit of social media and social, social, social bullshit,” she sputters and then shakes her head to refocus. “It’s more scientific than that, but you get the idea. So I’m trying to access this part of my brain that’s been lost to technology when I look over and see this tiny house on the ice. The inside glows from a light, and smoke drifts out of a little chimney. It looked so peaceful. Like something out of a magazine for deep thinking! And I thought to myself, I need something like that in my life.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I reply because honestly, I get it. There is a peacefulness when you’re sitting in a small ice shack with frigid temperatures all around you. It makes you feel really connected to yourself—which sounds super fucking lame, but damnit, it’s true.
“So yeah, I want to learn how to ice fish,” she says with a serious look. “Or try some outdoorsy nature adventures so that maybe, just maybe, I can find a better version of myself.”
My brow furrows at that last remark. “What makes you think this version isn’t good enough?”
She splays her hands out on the table and shakes her head slowly, her eyes downcast the entire time. “Lots of things. Too many to mention. But the place I’m staying at had a brochure for Marv’s Bait and Tackle, so here I am. I assumed Marv would be more helpful than he was. The pamphlet said Marv was some famous fish whisperer or something, I thought.”
I bite back a laugh. “I don’t think fish whisperer is a thing…but yes, Marv knows his shit. He’s a pro. But you came right at the start of ice fishing season, so everyone wants to talk to Marv this weekend. He’s like the Buddha whose belly everyone wants to rub so we can find the fishing sweet spots.”
“Is that why the bait area is full of waiting assholes?” she asks, glaring around the restaurant.
“They aren’t all assholes,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes. “Present company excluded…seemingly.”
“Seemingly?” I quirk a brow at her.
“Well, I just met you and watched you knock a guy out, so I can’t fully determine if you’re one of them or not.” She eyes me with an amused expression on her face that makes me think she’s joking. Yet somehow, I can’t be fully sure.
I nod slowly and lick my lips. “How about we introduce ourselves before we judge. What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Maggie,” she replies with a shrug.
“Well, Maggie, I’m Sam…and I will prove to you that I’m not a brawling asshole by offering to be your ice fishing guide this afternoon.” I smile, offering my hand to her, and her answering expression lights up her entire face.
“Seriously?” she asks, her voice high and excited as she slides her long, slender fingers into mine.