“You might say that.”

She tapped the glass, trying to get Mabel’s attention. After a moment, she turned to him again. “So what do you usually do on your day off?”

“Just a good old southern boy, huh? Going fishing, watching the clouds. I feel like you should be wearing a NASCAR hat and chewing tobacco.”

They’d spent another half hour at the aquarium-Ronnie was especially delighted by the otters-before Will had taken her to a bait shop to pick up some frozen shrimp. From there, he’d brought her to an undeveloped lot on the intracoastal side of the island, where he’d pulled out the fishing gear he kept stored in the truck box. Then he’d led her to the edge of a small dock, and they sat, their feet dangling just a couple of feet above the water.

“Don’t be a snob,” he chided her. “Believe it or not, the South is great. We have indoor plumbing and everything. And on weekends, we get to go mudding.”

“Mudding?”

“We drive our trucks in the mud.”

Ronnie faked a dreamy expression. “That sounds so… intellectual.”

He nudged her playfully. “Yeah, tease me if you want. But it’s fun. Muddy water spraying all over the windshield, getting stuck, spinning your wheels to soak the guy behind you.”

“Believe me, I’m giddy just thinking about it,” Ronnie said, deadpan.

“I take it that’s not how you spend your weekends in the city.”

She shook her head. “Uh… no. Not exactly.”

“I’ll bet you never even leave the city, do you?”

“Of course I leave the city. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You know what I mean. On the weekends.”

“Why would I want to leave the city?”

“Maybe just to be alone now and then?”

“I can be alone in my room.”

“Where would you go if you wanted to sit beneath a tree and read?”

“I’d go to Central Park,” she countered easily. “There’s this great knoll behind Tavern on the Green. And I can buy a latte just around the corner.”

He shook his head in mock lament. “You’re such a city girl. Do you even know how to fish?”

“It’s not that hard. Bait the hook, cast the line, then hold the pole. How am I doing so far?”

“Okay, if that’s all there was to it. But you have to know where to cast and be good enough to cast exactly where you want. You have to know what bait and lures to use, and those depend on everything from the type of fish to the weather to the clarity of the water. And then, of course, you have to set the hook. If you’re too early or too late, you’ll miss the fish.”

Ronnie seemed to consider his comment. “So why did you choose to use shrimp?”

“Because it was on sale,” he answered.

She giggled, then brushed lightly against him. “Cute,” she said. “But I guess I deserved that.”

He could still feel the warmth of her touch on his shoulder. “You deserve worse,” he said. “Believe me, fishing is like a religion to some folks around here.”

“You included?”

“No. Fishing is… contemplative. Gives me time to think without interruption. And besides, I enjoy watching the clouds while I wear my NASCAR hat and chew tobacco.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You don’t really chew tobacco, do you?”

“No. I kind of like the idea of not losing my lips to mouth cancer.”

“Good,” she said. She swung her legs back and forth. “I’d never date anyone who chewed tobacco.”

“Are you saying we’re on a date?”

“No. This definitely isn’t a date. This is fishing.”

“You’ve got so much to learn. I mean, this… is what life’s all about.”

She picked at a sliver of wood on the dock. “You sound like a beer commercial.”

An osprey glided over them just as the line ducked once and then a second time. Will jerked the rod upward as the line went tight. He scrambled to his feet as he began to reel it in, the rod already bending. It happened so fast that Ronnie barely had time to figure out what was happening.

“Did you get one?” she asked, jumping up.

“Come closer,” he urged, continuing to reel. He forced the rod toward her. “Here!” he shouted. “Take it!”

“I can’t!” she squealed, backing away.

“It’s not hard! Just take it and continue to turn the reel!”

“I don’t know what to do!”

“I just told you!” he said. Ronnie edged forward, and he practically forced the rod into her hands. “Now keep turning the reel!”

She watched the rod bob lower as she began to turn the crank.

“Hold it up! Keep the line tight!”

“I’m trying!” she cried.

“You’re doing great!”

The fish splashed near the surface-a small red drum, he noticed-and Ronnie screamed, making a scene. When he burst out laughing, she started laughing, too, hopping on one foot. When the fish splashed again, she screamed a second time, jumping even higher, but this time with an expression of fierce determination.

It was, he thought, one of the funniest things he’d seen in a long time.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he encouraged. “Get it closer to the dock and I’ll take care of the rest.” Holding the net, he got down on his belly, stretching his arm over the water as Ronnie continued to reel. With a quick motion, he was able to scoop the fish into the net, then he stood. As he inverted the net, the fish dropped onto the dock, flopping as it hit the surface. Ronnie continued to hold the reel, dancing around the fish as Will grabbed for the line.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “You’ve got to put it back into the water!”

“It’ll be fine-”

“It’s dying!”

He squatted and grabbed the fish, pinning it to the dock. “No, it isn’t!”

“You’ve got to get the hook out!” she shrieked again.

He reached for the hook and began to pry it out. “I’m trying! Just give me a second!”

“It’s bleeding! You hurt it!” She danced around him frantically.

Ignoring her, he began to work the hook out. He could feel the tail moving back and forth, flopping against the back of his hand. It was small, maybe three or four pounds, but surprisingly strong.

“You’re taking too long!” Ronnie fretted.

He carefully freed the hook but held the fish pinned against the dock. “You sure you don’t want to bring it home for dinner? You should be able to get a couple of fillets out of it.”

Her mouth opened and closed in disbelief, but before she could say anything, Will tossed the fish back into the water. With a splash, it dove and vanished. Will reached for a hand towel and wiped the blood from his fingers.

Ronnie continued to stare at him accusingly, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You would have eaten it, wouldn’t you? If I weren’t here?”

“I would have thrown it back.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re probably right.” He smiled at her before reaching for the rod. “Now, do you want to bait the next hook or should I?”

“So Mom’s been going crazy trying to plan my sister’s wedding and make the whole thing perfect,” Will said. “It’s been a little… tense at the house.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“August ninth. It doesn’t help matters that my sister wants to have it at our house. Which, of course, only adds to my mom’s stress.”

Ronnie smiled. “What’s your sister like?”

“Smart. Lives in New York. A bit of a free spirit. Pretty much like another older sister I know.”

That seemed to please her. As they strolled the beach, the sun was setting and Will could tell that Ronnie was feeling more relaxed. They’d ended up catching and releasing three more fish before he drove her to downtown Wilmington, where they’d enjoyed lunch on a deck that overlooked the Cape Fear River. Drawing her eyes to a spot on the opposite bank, he’d pointed out the USS North Carolina, a decommissioned battleship from World War II. Watching Ronnie inspect it, Will was struck by how easy it was to spend time with her. Unlike other girls he knew, she said what she meant and didn’t play stupid games. She had a quirky sense of humor that he liked, even when it was directed at him. In fact, he liked everything about her.