“Enough games,” Gordon said irritably. He was clearly reaching the end of his long rope. “Let’s be straight. Are you still in love with her? Is that what this be-a-good-neighbor bit is all about?”

“This what?”

“You coming home and being there to fix things, help her out. You sticking around. Always around.”

“Me giving you my place to live in…”

Gordon’s expression changed. “Thank you for that.” Then he tilted his head. “I think. Or is that one more way you’re trying to make yourself the good guy in this scenario?”

“You know,” Cooper said, chuckling, “if this was a film, the heroine would have to choose between Hugh Grant, which is you”—he pointed to Gordon—“and Ryan Gosling, which is you.”

“Why are you saying I’m Hugh Grant?” Gordon asked. “Because I’m British? Well, if you want to pick someone who is British, then how about… Liam Neeson.”

“He’s Irish.” Cooper smiled.

“Hugh Jackman, then.”

“Australian,” John jabbed.

“I know,” Gordon said. “Benedict Cumberbatch.”

John looked at Cooper and they smirked. “Okay, sure.”

“Never mind,” Gordon said. “This is a ridiculous game. Don’t you two ever take life seriously?”

“All right. Look,” John said in a serious tone. “I’m just trying to get through the day, you know? Like everyone in this lifeboat called the pandemic. Maybe I do care about her still. Maybe I know I messed up. Maybe it’s just a lot of maybes right now. So, why don’t we all just fish or cut bait.”

Gordon’s line suddenly dropped hard, the tip pulled into the water.

“Bloody hell!” he said loudly, suddenly alert. “I got a hit.” He beamed as his line whirred.

“Let it out,” Cooper instructed, stepping closer. “Let the line out. Let it wrestle a bit, get the hook in there good.”

“Don’t pull too hard, you’ll pull the hook out,” John suggested.

“What the hell do you know about fishing?” Gordon snapped.

“Okay, bring it in… slowly. Slowly.” Cooper was at Gordon’s side, encouraging him.

“This bloke is strong.” Joy and concern were mingled on Gordon’s face.

John moved closer. “Can I help?”

“Yes. Get away,” Gordon snapped.

John put his hands up and backed away.

He sat and watched as the battle raged for another few minutes. The sun was hot, the boat was rocking, and he was feeling sick. He wanted this morning to be over.

Cooper was calling out encouragement, telling Gordon to “give him line,” when, in a great moment of anticlimax, the line broke. The boat rocked in aftershock.

“Bollocks!” Gordon shouted, catching his balance.

Out on the water, the line floated pitifully on the surface, the fish long gone. The three men watched the ripple in the water, all that was left of the battle.

“It’s all right,” Cooper said, bending over the side of the boat to reel in the lost line. “It happens.”

“Yeah,” John said, and looked up from the water. “Sometimes they just get away.”

chapter fifteen