Brody Wilder has destroyed me for all men, I think, as I resume licking and sucking him, loving it in a way I have never loved a blow job before. Genuinely. Wanting to make him feel good the way I do and not the way some nameless faceless sex goddess might.

And I think I do all right, because a moment later he’s calling my name, pulling my hair (still feels so damn good), and coming (in my mouth).

And I love it the whole time.

“Rachel,” he says, much more quietly, when he’s done. “Ahhh. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It was good for me.”

He laughs quietly, that rough honey chuckle. “I can’t unlearn my manners.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

When he can stand again, he extracts two cans of root beer and a paper sack bearing the Rush Creek Bakery logo from his motorcycle bag.

“Picnic time.” He spreads the blanket and we sit. The sky is blue, the sun is warm, and it’s that magic time of year and day when the whole world holds still except for the hum and buzz of insects among the wildflowers in the field.

The paper sack holds Nan’s cookies.

“Oh, you are my hero.”

“That’s all it takes?”

I nod.

“This is my perfect date,” Brody says. He says it super casually, but I feel like it contains a world of significance.

“Motorcycle ride and picnic?”

He nods.

“It’s pretty dang great.”

He smiles, maybe at my inadequate curse.

“What about fishing? I would have thought that would be your dream date.”

“I mean, that would be pretty amazing, too. But there aren’t a lot of women who want to go fishing as a date.” He thinks about it. “Actually, zero. There are zero women I know who’d want to go fishing as a date.”

“I’d go.”

“Yeah? For real?”

“Sure.”

“Monday?”

He sounds so eager, it makes me laugh. But only kind of. The other part of me feels like some shy wild creature has just eaten out of my hand. “Absolutely.”

27

Brody

I wake up way too early on Monday morning, wishing I hadn’t asked Rachel to go fly fishing.

Because here’s the thing: I really like Rachel. And I love fly fishing.

But some things that are great on their own aren’t meant to be blended. Split pea soup with smoked bacon, and mint chocolate chip ice cream, for example. Separately? Brilliant. Together? Scary.

Most people are too impatient for fly fishing. Too chatty. Too inquisitive. I’m careful who I take on my river charters, because I don’t want to ruin fly fishing for myself.

I pick up Rachel in the truck.