The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman 2)

Again, Fisher held my hand as we made it through the parking lot that hadn’t been plowed and into the empty Starbucks, save for two employees behind the counter.

“My treat. You plowed the driveway,” I said like I would have said to a kind stranger. “Coffee. Black?”

He nodded and headed in the direction of a table while I ordered our drinks. And instead of taking a seat and waiting for my name to be called, I milled around the registers reading all the advertisements for their holiday drinks. Anything to put off the inevitable.

“Here you go.” The guy at the register set the two drinks on the counter.

I took a deep breath and made my way to the table. Fisher had his gloves on the table and jacket off, but his beanie still on, and a sad look on his face. Once I got seated and unzipped my jacket, it took a few awkward seconds for our gazes to lock. But once they did, I knew there wasn’t any more small talk to be said.

“We were more than friends,” he said like it physically pained him to say it.

I thought it was a statement, but maybe it was a question. Maybe he needed confirmation that what he remembered was real.

“We were more than friends,” I echoed, giving him confirmation.

“And you didn’t tell me this why?”

With a tiny head shake, I rubbed my lips together. “For several reasons. At first, I didn’t think it was beneficial information to share given the fact that you were engaged and we hadn’t seen each other in five years anyway. And I didn’t want to give you something you couldn’t remember and make you feel like you owed me something in return. Some sort of emotional acknowledgment. And honestly, I didn’t need it. I liked where we were going. I liked our present. And the closer we got, the less I cared if we shared the past.”

I stopped. I had a truckload of other things to say, but I had to pace myself and get a feel for where his head was after recent revelations.

“So we … what? We were just fucking around?”

“There was a physical attraction. And we messed around, yes.”

“Messed around. But we weren’t sleeping together because you already told me you gave that other guy your virginity. Correct?”

I nodded.

“Did I try to have sex with you?”

I took a sip of my coffee and then another sip, buying all the time before clearing my throat. “No.”

He blinked several times, an unreadable expression pinned to his face. “Why not?”

“Because I was upfront with you that I wasn’t going to have sex with you.”

“But oral didn’t count?”

My cheeks filled with embarrassment as I glanced toward the counter to see if anyone seemed to be listening to us. “Do we have to go into such detail? Does it matter?”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“Well…” I kept my gaze pointed to the counter “…you have amnesia, so you might not ever really understand.”

“Maybe if you give me all the facts, all the details, then I can understand.”

“Like Angie? She gave you everything. Do you understand your love for her? Or should I say, before you left for Costa Rica, did you understand your love for her?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Before I left for Costa Rica …” He narrowed his eyes.

“Did you have a nice time? Was the couples’ massage in the same room? And how does that work? If they do, in fact, think you’re a couple, does that mean you undress for the massage in the same room? Did you take off all your clothes for her? Did she take hers off for you? What about the room where you stayed? Were there two beds? Because in the photo on Instagram, it looked like there was only one bed. And before you answer that, fair warning … Angie told me, Rose, and Rory all about her plans for you two on the trip. She requested a room with one bed instead of two. The couples’ massage. Oh, and we must not forget the sexy lingerie she bought to wear for you. How did you like that? Did you try to have sex with her? Or did you settle for oral like you did with me? Was it all-night oral? Because the photo of you on Instagram sleeping in bed made you look thoroughly exhausted. Oh … and it definitely looked like you were naked under the sheet resting so low on your torso.”

I was so angry my hand shook as I gripped my coffee. My heart raced. And my jaw worked overtime grinding my teeth.

“Are you done?” he asked, looking completely unaffected by my long spiel.

I stood. “I think we’re done.”

Fisher’s gaze fell from me to his coffee cup, and after a few seconds, he nodded, pulling on his jacket and sliding his gloves onto his fingers.