Back The Naked Fisherman Save as PDF
Chapters (35)
  1. Playlist
  2. Dedication
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. The Lost Fisherman
  34. Also by Jewel E. Ann
  35. About the Author

Rivulets of water dotting his broad chest muscles.

“Is this a silent prayer?” Fisher asked, once again startling me back to reality. He squinted one eye at me like he’d just had both closed for the prayer. “Will you at least say the Amen part out loud?”

“Dear Lord …” I jumped into prayer instead of acknowledging the awkward pause. “We pray that you watch over us and keep us safe from the storm. Amen.”

“Amen,” my mom and Fisher echoed.

“So we’re good?” Fisher winked at me while releasing my hand. “Protected?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Reese. He’s just tired, and it’s probably coming across like he’s a little punchy.” My mom stuck up for him. That had to have meant they were together—a thing.

How did I feel about my mom being with a younger man? Well, that was a hard question to answer at the time because it had been so long since I’d not only seen my mom, but also since I’d seen my parents together.

“I’m not being punchy, Rory. I’m being a smart-ass. You can only take fifty percent of the things I say seriously, Reese. If you’re going to work for me, you’ll need to keep that in mind.”

I twisted my lips and nodded slowly. “That’s a bit vague. Kinda feels like you’re setting me up to fail. Or did my grandparents call and ask you to ensure I fail so that I’ll go crawling off to college?”

“Is … everything okay, sweetie?”

Sweetie.

I’d wondered if my mom would call me that again. It used to be the only thing she called me. It made me feel loved and special. At eighteen, sitting next to the naked fisherman in his basement, it felt a little condescending—like everyone needed to remember that I was the youngest, least experienced one in the room. That sealed the deal. I wasn’t going to call her “Mom.”

“I’m good, Rory.”

Her eyebrows slid toward the bridge of her nose as if I’d offended her in some way.

“Reese … I don’t think you are good. And I leave in less than forty-eight hours. I don’t want to go if you’re not okay here. I can do something else. I can tell my boss it’s not good timing.”