The Naked Fisherman (Fisherman 1)

“Am I allowed out?” I asked.

Fisher grabbed my hard hat out of the back seat and plopped it on my head. “If you can stay out of trouble and not distract my crew with stories about wild ice cream socials.”

Had I used swear words, I would have told him to fuck off, and it would have felt so liberating. But I remained silent because I knew those other words would feel foreign leaving my lips.

“Cat got your tongue?” Fisher grinned as I fumed.

I climbed out and mumbled to myself, “No. Jesus does.”

WWJD?

Fisher walked around the perimeter looking at things. What? I had no clue. I assumed he knew what he was doing. I followed a few feet behind him.

“Plumber been here?” he asked one of the guys carrying a stack of two-by-fours on his shoulder and depositing it in the middle of the basement.

“Not yet,” the guy said just as he adjusted his jeans and stood erect again.

Whoa …

He was built like an ox. “Hi. I’m Jason.”

“I’m—”

“What about Kevin? Has he been by yet?” Fisher totally cut me off. Rude.

“Not yet.” Jason shook his head, scratching the back of his thick, tattooed neck.

I didn’t think I was a big fan of tattoos, but Jason changed my mind.

“Christ … are they fuckin’ sleeping in this morning? I don’t have time to wait around.” Fisher pulled his phone from his pocket and walked a few feet away from me, answering it with a sharp “Fisher.”

“Are you the sidekick this summer?” Jason asked, glancing up as he measured and marked a board.

“I guess. I think he offered me the job as a favor to my mom. I feel like a shadow that’s in his way. I think I prefer working with Hailey.”

“Amen. She’s awesome.”

“Yeah.” I slipped the tips of my fingers into my front pockets, glancing over my shoulder to see if Fisher was still on his phone. “Is he always in such a delightful mood?”

“Just in the mornings. He’s not much of a morning person.”

I laughed. “That’s what Hailey said.” I thought of our ride to the job site. He seemed fine with me.

“Let’s go, Reese. It’s going to be a long day.” He made what I felt pretty sure was a growling sound which meant he was mad, but not at me or anyone in our proximity.

I cringed at Jason and he laughed, shaking his head.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“See ya around. Good luck with Mr. Sunshine.”

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes and smiled. That smile quickly faded when I turned toward Fisher who was not smiling.

“Are you done rolling your eyes and talking about your boss?” Fisher asked me.

I had nothing to lose. I kinda knew he wasn’t going to fire Rory’s daughter. “For now.” I shot him an extra toothy grin.

“No lunch for you,” he murmured as he trekked toward his truck with me right behind him.

“I have a Cliff Bar in my bag. I came prepared for your less than stellar attitude. And AHHH!” I tripped. Stupid big boots. I hissed a sharp breath, sitting back on my knees as I brought my hand close to my chest with a dirty nail partially impaled into my palm. “Ouch! Oh my gosh! I’m fine.” I hissed again. “I’m not fine. It hurts.” Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to set them free in front of Fisher and his all-male framing crew.

“What did you do?” Fisher hunched down and reached for my arm.

“I tripped,” I said with a bit of irritation lacing my words. What did he think happened?

“Let me see.”

I shook my head and turned my torso, hiding my hand and the nail away from his line of sight. I didn’t want him or anyone to touch it because it hurt too much.

“Don’t. Touch. It.” I felt my control slipping. I needed someone. A female. My grandma. I needed her to fix this. She was good at fixing and mending things.

“I just need to look at it. I won’t touch it.” Fisher grabbed my forearm and forced me to show him my hand. He frowned. “Well, looks like we’ll be adding another stop to our morning.”

That did it. That made my tears escape. “I’m sorry,” I said with a trembling lower lip.

“Why? It was an accident. Shit happens. We’ll get you fixed up. Okay?”

Sniffling. I nodded.

“Can you walk?” he asked. “Or do I need to carry you?”

He didn’t want to open my door in front of anyone. I felt certain that carrying me was way out of the question as long as my legs weren’t broken.

“I’m fine.” I started to stand on the uneven pile of dirt and, just as quickly, my foot turned to the side, and I felt myself going down again, but not before Fisher grabbed my torso.

“I guess I’m carrying you.” He lifted me up, cradling me in his arms like a needy two-year-old and carrying me to the truck. After he helped me into my seat, he grabbed my forearm again.