“I would have thought baiting fish would have gotten more sophisticated these days.”

“We’re just pleasure fishing. We don’t need anything special.”

“It’s very nice that you can rent the boat, get the fishing license and all the accoutrements right here at the lake.” She crammed her worm onto her hook. “There. I’m good to go.”

“Just cast your line again, then.”

Imogen was staring at the worm. “So . . . does the worm die when I jam that hook through him? Because he looks like he’s still moving.”

“No. Worms can actually survive parts of their body being chopped off.”

“That’s impressive.” She lifted her rod. “But does the worm drown, then? Or is it still alive when the fish eats it?”

“I have no idea how long it takes a worm to drown.”

“Maybe I should just kill mine now, then, so as not to prolong his agony.”

Trust Imogen to consider the consequences of fishing to the worm. She didn’t look particularly upset or disturbed, she was just clearly thinking it through.

“If that seems appropriate to you, go for it. I’m tossing mine in, because I suspect the fish likes a wiggling, live worm better than a dead one.”

“Really? They have discerning tastes?”

“I would just think a moving worm would attract their attention more than a dead one. They might just think it’s debris floating in the water if it isn’t wiggling around.”

“Oh. That’s a valid point.” Imogen lifted her rod and spoke to her worm. “I’m sorry, but try to remember you are a part of the circle of life.” She cast her line. “Speaking of which, I’m hungry. I should have brought some snack foods.”

“I did.” Ty reached into his smaller, portable backpack. “Water, pretzels, and granola bars. And if you’re nice to me, I’ll share.”

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and trained those big wide eyes on him. “You promised to take care of me on this camping adventure.”

Ouch. She went for the jugular. “Fine. Here’s some water.” He tucked it between her legs. “And do you want pretzels or a granola bar?”

“Both.”

Of course she wanted both. Ty pulled out some antibacterial gel and squirted it into his hand. “Hold out your palms.”

“I can’t. I’m holding the rod.”

“Well, then one of them.”

She did, gingerly, and he put gel in her hand. Sticking the rod between her legs with the water, Imogen tried to carefully rub her hands together. “If I drop the rod, grab it,” she ordered him.

“Of course.” Ty watched her, trying not to grin. She did everything so cautiously, so precisely. When she held her palm out, he dropped three pretzel twists in it and she popped them in her mouth.

“Whew, it’s hot out here on the water,” she said when she was finished chewing, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Drink your water.”

“I don’t want to.”