“Is this like a fishing Field of Dreams moment or something?” I ask curiously and then lower the timbre of my voice to sound deep and soulful. “If you fish it, they will come.”
Sam angles his shoulders to face me and watches me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He licks his lips as though he’s about to say something but then just as quickly turns back to his pole and remains silent. He’s so good at the silent.
I exhale heavily and try to figure out why I’m not good at silence. I wanted to come out here to be alone with my thoughts and reflect, so I shouldn’t need to fill the silence like this. What’s that say about me?
“A nice cold glass of Chardonnay would be really good right about now. I’m sure most fishermen drink beer, but I hate beer, and I don’t see why you couldn’t have wine too. It’s not a highbrow beverage like some people think. A gas station by my parents’ house sells really good Chardonnay three for ten bucks. And it comes with a twist-off top so you could drink it right out of the bottle if you wanted! And with how cool it is out here? You wouldn’t even need a bottle chiller. Just stuff it in some snow, and you’re all set. I feel like wine should be the official drink of ice fishing!”
I laugh awkwardly and turn my face away from Sam in mortification. My inane rambling needs to stop like immediately. Maybe if I turn the attention to Sam, that’ll help me shut the heck up.
“So why do you like ice fishing so much, Sam?” I ask, turning to him.
“Do you hate it already?” he replies with a smirk.
“No!” I exclaim, my chest rising defensively. “I’m just trying to learn more about the appeal, that’s all.”
He shrugs. “I grew up ice fishing with my dad. I was the only son, so it was kind of our thing to get away from all the estrogen in our house.”
“Does your dad still come out here with you?”
He pauses, his brows furrowing for a moment. “No, he doesn’t.”
Oookay, I think to myself. He clearly doesn’t want to elaborate on that subject. “Do your sisters ever come out here with you?”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “Definitely not. This isn’t their thing at all.”
Suddenly, Sam’s eyes go wide, and I follow his gaze to the video monitor. “You’re getting a bite, Maggie.”
“I am?” I squeal, my hands squeezing my fishing reel so tight, I feel like I could break the thin metal.
“Shhh, just stay calm…watch.”
The fish darts at my rig once, and a chunk of the bait floats away from it as if he got just a taste. Then it comes back and opens its mouth wide and…
“Set it!” Sam exclaims loudly.
“Set what?” I exclaim back.
“The hook!”
“What?” I cry out, completely confused. “What are you talking about?”
Sam drops his pole and quickly wraps his arms around me, his body snug against mine. “You have to set the hook in the fish’s mouth. Just give the pole a good jerk.”
He yanks the pole upward, and as soon as he does, I feel a heavy weight pulling down the tip of my pole. “Holy heck, is this a big fish?”
Sam’s warm breath tickles my cheek as he chuckles. “It feels like it.”
“Awesome!” I squeal because I can’t help it. This is all so thrilling.
Sam helps me through the process of bringing the fish up to the surface. It’s deep down there, so it’s a lot of pulling up on the pole, reeling it in, and then pulling it up again. It feels like it’s taking forever, but when the fish finally gets close to the surface, I see it going bonkers right below the hole.
“Think you can grab it with your hands?” he asks, his voice breathless and excited, just like mine.
“Sure!” I exclaim, biting the fingertips of my gloves and yanking them off my hands.
Sam looks taken aback for a second but then shakes his surprise off and grabs the line with his hand. The fish stills for a second, and as he quickly pulls it through the hole, he says, “Grab it right in the open gill there.”
I do it.
I don’t think. I just…do it.
It’s freezing and wet and kinda sharp around the edges, but I hold this big ole squirming fish in my bare hand. Flipping heck, I’m holding a fish! I squeal with delight, and my smile is ear to ear as Sam watches me with an equally pleased expression.
“This is way cool. I can’t believe I’m holding a fish right now.”
He laughs hard. “Honestly, me neither.”
“Right?” I exclaim and waggle my brows at him. “What do I do with it now?”
Sam’s shrugs. “Do you want to release it or eat it?”
“Release it,” I reply instantly. “Definitely release it.”
Sam takes the fish from my hand and gently extracts the hook from the fish’s mouth. It looks like a strong fish. Like a fish who probably had his whole life figured out before this hook came out of nowhere and completely derailed him.
I know that feeling.
I’m all too familiar with that sense of contentment when you’re confident in your next step. When you feel yourself climbing this perfect staircase, but then suddenly, someone comes out of nowhere and shoves you straight backward.
Sam looks at me with earnest eyes. “It’s your catch, so you have to be the one to release it. Just grab it with two hands here at the tail and submerge it halfway into the water. Careful of his dorsal fin, it’s sharp. Wait until he swims out of your hand, okay? Don’t just drop him back in there if he doesn’t seem ready. He needs to take off on his own.”
Good god. The metaphors in my mind right now are out of control!
I nod slowly and grip the fish’s slimy scales firmly as I immerse his head into the water. It takes a minute—the poor guy must be in shock still—before he begins writhing in my hands, his tail flipping side to side viciously as I hold on for dear life.
I look at Sam for confirmation. When he nods his approval…I let Flipper go. Okay, I know I didn’t catch a dolphin. Let me try again.
I let Nemo go.
Wait, I feel like since I’m a bit lost right now, this fish’s name should actually be Dory.
I let Dory go.
I watch her swim away in the video monitor as if her life depends on it…because let’s face it, it does. She was living her best life, got hooked by some delicious bait that was meant to taste good and make her belly full and satisfied, and then she was completely sideswiped by a right hook.
Dory is my spirit animal.
Adrenaline surges through me as I watch her swim fast and free. Like a magnificent creature that can’t be held back by anything.
I hear Sam say, “That was a nice, strong release. You want them to really take off out of your hand because then you know they’ll survive next time.”
“Next time?” I ask, my high buzzing in my head so loudly, I can barely take in his words.
He shrugs. “The next time they’re caught.”
“Caught again,” I repeat to myself because the life of a fish is both tragic and beautiful. Beautiful because they have moments of complete freedom. Moments when they take the bait and see a new part of the world. And moments when they are released and allowed to live their lives. But tragic because ultimately, they are at the mercy of a fisherman. Someone to catch and release them. Or worse yet, consume them until nothing is left to show for themselves.
I swallow against the growing pit in my belly because I won’t be consumed. I won’t be caught. In this hut, at this moment, I am not a fish. I am not Dory waiting for the bait. I am a fisherwoman, and I take what I want.
What happens next can only be described as an out-of-body experience or a demonic possession of some sort because it is so unlike anything I’ve ever done before. And when I realize my lips are locked on Sam’s, I have no other choice but to embrace it.
Sam grunts when my body rams into his with all the grace of a flailing fish. Or a girl in a fishing hut is maybe a more suitable analogy for this particular scene. Either way, it’s a foreign physical movement for me because I’ve never made the first move on a guy before, especially not in a bulky snowsuit.