River Song

The river makes for a good companion. It’s soothing. It’s constant. It’s full of life. It’s quiet…on occasion.

            Today the clear stream is running swift over the smooth stones underneath. I can see all kinds of fish flowing with the current; bluegill, carp, and bass mostly, along with silvery minnows trying to keep up. The catfish  come out to see what’s going on as if they’re grumpy old men watching kids run on their lawn. Once they see my bright green paddle in the water though, they go back to their logs to complain in silence.

            I pull up my paddle and place it inside my pale lavender kayak, deciding to lounge back and let the current pull me. I can see more wildlife this way. I look up at the clear, cerulean sky edged by jagged gray cliffs on one side and trees on the other. Birds flit from side to side, whistling at each other. I whistle and hear a response from a robin. I smile and then promptly run into a fallen tree trunk with a thunk.

            The kayak sways slightly, making little ripples in the green-blue water. I calmly sit up and grab my paddle, intending to dislodge myself from the current that is holding my kayak in place by the tree, when I see it. The faintest shadow drifts from the bottom of the trunk. I take small, whisper light breaths and still the kayak as slowly as possible as not to make any more waves than usual. It swims out slowly, testing the waters. Before too long I see him in full. The grumpiest, oldest, biggest cat I’d ever laid eyes on. I marked the location by its surroundings in my mind. Dad would want a picture of this.

            I reach for my waterproof camera and gently as possible place it an inch or two above the water and take a picture of him. At least I hope I did. The camera is one of those cheap disposable ones that doesn’t have a flash or zoom. Those pictures have a forty/sixty chance of turning out great and a fifty/fifty chance of turning out okay. I just hope my shadow didn’t get in the way.

            I stow the camera back in my backpack and push against the trunk with my paddle, sending me back into the middle of the river. Paddling faster to pick up some speed, I maneuver over a row of rocks, a shot of adrenaline surging through my veins. Just as quickly as the ‘rapids’ started, they’re over. Someday I’d like to go to Colorado or somewhere where there are some real rapids. Just to test my skills in the kayak. That won’t happen for a while though.

            With a less than a mile to go until I reach my stopping point on the river, I remember the first time I was able to be in a kayak by myself. I was six and a half and my mother was terrified…

 

            “Jimmy, she can’t be in that big ol’ thing by herself! Are you crazy?” My mother, Janice, in a white fluffy robe, was biting her nails (a habit she still hasn’t given up) with her long, dark hair dripping water onto the dark wooden floor. She was so steamed she didn’t even notice the water pooling around her feet. What stands out the most though was how funny her face was and how Dad was trying not to laugh.

            Dad had a bad habit of telling my mom important things when she was busy doing something and he said it in a way that made it sound decidedly unimportant. At first Mom said it took her a little bit to get what he was saying when he did this, but her reaction time got faster over the years.

            So when Dad hollered at Mom while she was in the shower, that he was going to take me down to the river to float in a kayak by myself, she sprang from that shower like a rabbit running from our dog Coach. I was impatiently sitting on our wide wraparound porch waiting for Dad to come back out so we could get down to the Illinois river. I could hardly take my eyes off the kayak. It was bright red, six feet long, and came with a matching double blade paddle. With my hands under my chin, I stared at it, envisioning myself seated in that kayak, floating in the water, making my way around the river obstacles. All by myself.

            When I heard Mom yelling at Dad though, I sighed and dragged my eyes away from my precious present. Slowly, I turned around and crept on hands and knees to the door. Through the screen I saw Dad, his lean frame in knee length, cutoff denim shorts and a plain white tee-shirt, trying to look seriously at Mom. Which was difficult even for me because she had some kind of goop on her face which I realized eventually was a facial mask. She looked like a river monster in my six year old mind though and a funny one at that.

            “Honey, just relax,” Dad told her, his big hands held up as if to show her he’s unarmed.

            “Relax?!” Mom turned to grab the nearest item at hand, and threw a bottle of lotion at him, which he caught easily as if it were a football and that made her even more mad. Her eyes widened, cracking the goop on her face. I snorted and quickly hid underneath a window by the door, then peeked through the open window.        

            Dad slid the lotion onto the side table by the entryway. “Yes. Relax.”

            “Ohhh,” she growled, “you’re lucky I’m not cooking dinner otherwise it be something else being thrown at you.”

            I remembered not too many months ago when I was five, she was making stew for supper and they got into an argument. She threw the head of cabbage instead of the knife.

            “What a cab-” He stopped at Mom’s glare and tried a different route.  “Kai’s been on the water since she was two.”

            Mom advanced towards Dad, a look of pure outrage emanating from her eyes, coming from her stance. “Oh so that means she knows everything there is to know about kayaking.”

            Dad stood his ground but conceded to her point. “No but she’s had enough experience in a tandem that she’s ready for a single, youth kayak.”

            “She’s six!” She yelled this while shaking her hands in the air.

            Dad closed his eyes and I knew he was praying. There was no way anyone could be that calm around Mama when she was like this without God‘s intervention. When he spoke his tenor voice was steady. “You’re being over protective, baby. Now just calm down. The water’s waist deep for the lone mile I’m going to take her.”

            Mom’s shoulders dropped a little and her eyes lost their fire. 

            “She can swim just fine; better than most ten year olds,” Dad reassured her and stepped closer.

            Mom sighed. “You’re right about that.”

            Dad stepped even closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, tipping her face up to him. “She’ll wear a lifejacket too.”

            Mom smiled, her green eyes twinkling. “And her Mom and Dad will be right with her.”

            Dad smiled back. “That’s right.” And then they kissed. Just once but I still pretended to gag until they stopped.

            After that, we went down the few hundred yards south of the house to the Illinois River. I pulled my kayak with all my might, downhill of course, to the river and hopped in before Mom and Dad could catch up. Calls for me to slow down and wait up weren’t acknowledged as I was on a mission. A mission to prove to my mom that I knew exactly what I was doing on a kayak.

            That day, that one time down the river was all it took for Mom to see that I was going to be just fine in my own kayak. Provided Dad was beside me in a kayak. I avoided swift currents that led to large rocks, trees that had fallen into the water, and sand barges that would make me bottom out. At the time, I thought Mom had simply seen my abilities. A couple years ago she told me what she really saw was my confidence, my bravery.

            This unfortunately, because it wasn’t tempered or directed, led to my extreme arrogance, which led to more complicated things.

            But I’m getting ahead of myself.

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two (One year ago)

 

            “Mom! Mom! I’m home,” I yell, letting my dirty blue gym bag hit the shiny, freshly mopped, deep brown wooden floor, not even caring that it took Mom most of the afternoon to clean. I would know because that was my usual punishment for missing curfew in high school. Now as a freshman at Northeastern Oklahoma University, the only punishment I get is from teachers who think it’s fun to give out more homework than necessary.

            Slamming the door shut, I can feel myself getting frustrated for no reason. Well that wasn’t quite true. I had a good reason to be upset. Justin Thompson set the curve for our last test in bio. I was the one who was supposed to be setting the curve. I’m a 4.0 student for crying out loud. I always set the curve. Except this time.

            Word on the street was, he had a little cheat card set up. Hah. What a moron.

            “Mom!”

            The light cadence of Mom’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. “What? What’s the matter? Where’s the fire?” Mom made a show of looking around me to see if there was anything wrong with me. “Don’t see anything wrong so what’s with the yelling?”
            “Nothing,” I snap. Mom looks at me and raises an eyebrow. I know better than to talk to my mom in that manner. “Sorry.”

            She looks at me a little closer. “What happened honey?”

            Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, because it really wasn’t, I shrugged. “Oh nothing, really. I’ll get over it.”

            I try to make my way upstairs to my room but Mom’s hand on my shoulder stops me. “You give any more thought to helping your Dad interview people?”

            “I’m still thinking about it.” Though I knew I would end up helping Dad out. “I’m going to head down to the river for a bit.”

            “Supper’s at seven,” Mom hollers at me as I raced up the stairs. I mumble an acknowledgement. I quickly put on a faded navy blue swimsuit and was about to rush back downstairs when I remembered it was getting cooler at night, being late September. I grab a hoodie and some shorts, pulling them on as I fly down the stairs.

            “Slow down before you break your neck!” Mom yells from the kitchen.

            I do as told as she says to herself, “Don’t know why that girl’s always in a hurry to get to that ol’ river.”

            I smile, yell goodbye, and take care to close the door quietly. I figure by now Mom would know, and she probably does know, how much I love the river. The short bursts of adrenaline I get when the river is up high like it is now, creating rushing currents over tree stumps and rocks that were previously in plain sight, are like a drug to me. I just can’t get enough.

            Especially since Dad opened up “Stryker Outdoors” a few years ago. Now I get to test out every kind of kayak or canoe he gets. I have the most awesome summer job; I get to be out on the water, meet all kinds of people, work in the shop, and just be outside. In the fall I get to hike.I could do the fishing part of the Dad’s business but I’m not much of a fisherwoman. I know the basics but nothing more. Though Dad wants me to interview prospective fishing guides when he can’t be there to do it. He says he trusts my judgment.

            When I get to the shop, I see one of Dad’s managers, who happens to be my Uncle Billy, going over work schedules by the desk. I make my way through the lines of fishing poles, bait, racks of tee shirts and hats, sunscreen, and basically anything someone would need while they were outside, to see how things were going. “Hey, Uncle, figure out where everyone’s going to be next week?”

            Uncle Billy, who had dark grey hair that stuck out at all angles, not unlike a popular hairstyle among teenage boys, and brown eyes to compliment his tan skin, much like my dad, nods his head. “Getting there. You going on the river?”

            I smile widely. “Naturally. Need any help before you take me up to the starting point?”

            He chuckles, shakes his head and bends back down over the schedule. “Nope. Give me a minute and I’ll take you up.”

I go behind the shop to get my kayak. It’s a pretty pink, all scratched up, and beautified with matching duct tape. I’ve had it for three years and it was by far my favorite. It was a sit on top kayak, not enclosed so I felt more stable in it. Not that I worried about it too much. My ability to handle a kayak was excellent. I load the kayak into his old beat-up Ford and wait. Before long, he’s dropped me off at the three mile starting point. I launch my kayak in the water and push off with my paddle, excitement coursing through me.

“Be safe!” Uncle Billy yells.

            “Always,” I yell back and wave my paddle in the air.

            I take in a deep breath of fresh air. I feel good. I’m out on the river. My second home. Something about being outside with God’s creation just fills me with good vibes. I feel the cares of the day melt away. The breeze massages my scalp and the tension evaporates. A chill creeps up my arms however. All at once, the air is still and getting cooler by the minute as the sun lowers. I glance at my watch. I had about an hour of light left. Plenty of time on the river.

            The rushing river puts up a good fight at trying to flip me over in a couple places but in the end, it didn’t win. I took all of my frustration from the day and put it into my paddling. This section of the river wasn’t entirely made of rapids, like I make it sound like. No, it had more still parts than rapids. God must’ve known that I would be out here tonight though because it had a little more tricky parts than usual. The extra rain we’ve had helped with that, I’m sure. I make my way over the final obstacle, a row of rocks followed by a two foot drop, and I reach my stopping point faster than I realize. The stopping point was a strip of sand about a quarter of a mile long and it had a place for a fire, complete with a fallen tree trunk for sitting on.

            I pull my kayak up on the red sand, and starting to feel the adrenaline leave my body, I put up my hood and lay down in the kayak. The light was fading, making all the colors of the trees, water, and sky softer. As the adrenaline continues to dissipate, relaxation takes it place and I feel mellow and happy. The feelings I like best.  

            A sound of metal scraping against plastic makes me sit up instantly. I look around and see nothing but trees in the dim light. I feel a very, very slight tug on my kayak. That is when I notice a fishing line, what I call catfish line because it’s much thicker than regular stuff, and with a bright, yellow lure stuck to a bungee cord at the top of my kayak.

            I couldn’t help but laugh. Whoever it was that was fishing on the other side of the river had caught me. Must be a rookie or maybe they overshot their cast a little and didn’t realize it.

            “Hey,” I yell out. The light is fading faster but I see someone across the river, about a hundred yards away from shore to shore. Man, he or she, was tall. A little over six feet maybe. The person had to be a guy because he had broad shoulders that narrowed to a taught, muscular stomach and waist. I only knew that because the water had plastered his shirt to him. He was athletic too judging by the way he forded the river; he wasn’t awkward in the water, trying to cross its currents the way some people are. His steps were certain.

            “Did I catch something?” A deep, smooth as honey, southern accented voice asks.

            “Uh, yeah!” I dig through a storage compartment for a headlamp. Finding it, I pull it on and turn around. The man is a few feet away from me, placing his pole on the ground. He stands up, and I realize that I can’t see anything but outlines. I want to see if he has looks to match his body. Reaching up to the light, I switch it on at the same time the man does his headlamp, effectively blinding us both.

            “Sorry,” I say with a slight grin, adjusting the beam from high to low.

            “It’s alright,” he says, and though I avoid looking at his face so I don’t blind him, I can hear the smile in his voice. “So I take it, I didn’t catch you, right?”

            “Yeah, you caught my kayak instead.” I move over to the kayak and point out his hook ensnared on the cord. “For a second, I thought you were going to try to reel me in.”

            He laughs. “Well when I start to reel it in, I thought that maybe I had hooked a prize fish.”

            “Hey now,” I giggle. Like I was in high school. I still haven’t bothered to look at his face as I was greatly worried about his hook on my bungee cord. I didn‘t want to have to replace it. Those things were expensive.

            Oh who was I kidding? Around him my being seemed to buzz. Maybe it was just leftover adrenaline from the ride.

            From my peripheral vision, I saw his light move from me to the kayak. I allow myself to look at him but avoid looking at his face. These stupid headlamps were annoying when you wanted to look at someone’s face without blinding them.

            “Sorry,” he said as he bent to free his hook. “I just might have reeled you in too if you hadn’t yelled out.”

            “Oh I’m not so sure about that,” I tease. “I weigh, um, a lot more than a catfish and when you add that to my kayak’s weight…”

            “True, but when you add in the fact that you would’ve hit the water thus removing the friction between the ground and the kayak, it wouldn’t have been that hard to reel you in.”

            A fisherman that had some brains…Not that I’m saying anglers don’t have brains but this one was different somehow. Different than the ones I’ve met at least.

            I concede to his point. He stands up and both of our headlamps focus on my lovely, rugged kayak. It probably looked funny to someone who just happened to drive by and look over where we are; one beam of light a good foot higher than the other light, focusing on a single pink kayak.

            “That looks like its seen better days. What kind of kayak is that anyway?” He begins to reel in his line.

            “Oh it’s a sea-kayak. Sit on top.”

            The OU school fight song starts to play and he pulls his cell from his jean pocket. Was that thing waterproof? I walk over to my kayak to give him some privacy but apparently he wasn’t getting much of a signal. He hangs up and breaths out a sigh of frustration.

            I glance over my shoulder too see him picking up his gear. It’s totally dark and I figure Mom’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long. With a practiced move, I turn my kayak over and balance it on head. It’s not heavy but then again it’s not light so at least it gives me a little bit of an extra workout.

            “Do you want me to carry that for you?” The guy asks in a gentlemanly sort of way. His voice still has a tremor of frustration in it. “It’s the least I can do after snagging your kayak.”

            Not wanting to keep him from going somewhere else to find a signal, I reply, “No thanks, I can manage.”

            I take a step to show him how easy I can manage it.

The bad thing about headlamps sometimes is that they don’t reveal everything that’s hidden in the dark. Like rocks. Ones that are barely a foot in front of you that like to trip you.

            I end up losing my balance and lose my grip on the kayak. It topples to the ground with a hollow thud and rocks back and forth. My ankle sends a slight twinge of pain up my leg when I move to pick it up again and I bite my lip to keep from grimacing. Before I can get to the blasted kayak though, the man picks it up like it’s nothing more than a feather and places it on top of one shoulder. It looks like my old red junior kayak when he holds it like that.

            “I think I’ll carry it just to prove that I can be a gentleman,” I can hear the smile again in his voice. “Besides, I’m sure your ankle isn’t feeling all that great at the moment.”  

            I wasn’t about to admit that my ankle hurt a little. I despised whiners and I was never or at least tried not to be one of them.

“It’s really not that far. You see that building up there with the shed behind it?” I point up the hill where Dad’s shop is.

He nods.

“That’s where I’m heading.”

He grunts. “I insist.”

“Well, if it’ll make you feel better,” I reply, secretly happy.  

            Thankfully the path up to the shop is well lit. Though the path isn’t comprised of grass, it’s just dirt, not steps, making it a little difficult to traverse on a slightly injured ankle. He follows me up the gently sloping hill to the shed behind the shop and places the kayak in the spot I point to. I think I should offer him a drink or something. It’s the least I could do after him carrying my kayak up the slope. Normally I would’ve left it and gotten it in the morning when I had more energy.

            Maybe now I’d get to see his face and figure out what his name is. I just had to get him up to the shop.

            “U-um,” I stammer, “will you follow me to the shop?” Well that was smooth.

            “Ankle bothering you?”

            I nod my head once. “Something like that.”

            “Sure thing,” he says. “Lead on.”

            Something about his voice makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter all over.

            I have to unlock the door and I was thankful that Uncle Billy had gone home. I flip on the lights and step inside, leaving the door open behind me as an invitation for him to come in.

            “Cool place,” the man says, closing the door behind him.  

            I make a show of finding a bottle of water and some aspirin. “Thanks,” I respond and pop the pills. I’m totally unprepared for what I see when I turn around. Not that he’s doing anything out of the ordinary. He is just standing there.

            It was him. He is gorgeous. He has reddish-brown hair trimmed short on the sides and a little bit longer on top, which is in casual disarray. His dark eyebrows are in perfect complement to his bright blue eyes, which are framed with thick dark lashes. He has a straight nose and below is a well formed mouth. His jaw is strong, hinting at the fact that he could be a little stubborn, competitive too. That isn’t all that was appealing about him. He radiates masculine confidence and awareness. Oh and now he’s smiling at me. So help me he has dimples.

            “Are you okay?” I hear him ask but I can’t respond for the life of me.

            Instead I nod my head.

            “I just realized I never told you my name,” he says and steps a little closer to me, and for a split second I wonder what he’s going to do but then he holds his hand out.

            I shakily clasp his hand, hoping that he doesn’t notice. Instead he smiles. “I’m Beau.”

            This time instead of his smile holding me hostage, it makes me relax; relaxed enough, at least, for me to speak. “I’m Kai. Thanks for hauling my kayak for me.”

            “It’s the least I could do,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, what kind of man would I be if I let a little bitty thing like you carry a kayak all the way up the hill? Especially with your injured ankle.”

            Little bitty thing. Hah. This time it was my turn to smile. “I would’ve been fine. Thanks all the same though.”

            “Glad to do it,” he says and his blue eyes twinkle. We stood there for a time. I knew he would probably leave soon but I didn’t quite want him to go. Something about him… “So are you from around here?”

            He sits on a stool by the front desk. “Yeah kind of. I’m from Broken Arrow. My grandparents live around here though.”

            “That’s cool,” I say, thinking of another question to ask.

            “What about you?”

            “Oh I’ve lived here my entire life.”

            “Sweet. What do you do?” He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his legs, totally relaxed and looking at me like he’s actually interested in what I have to say.

            “I’m a student at NSU and when I’m not at school, I work here for my dad.”

            “And you kayak.”

            “Yeah. I’ve been doing that since I was a baby with my dad.”

            “Really?” He seems almost surprised.

            “Yes. When I was six Dad bought me a junior kayak so I could be on my own.”

            “So I bet you’re pretty skilled at navigating the river then.”

            I smile and shake my head. “It’s not that hard. It’d be more fun if there were some actual rapids.”

            His phone makes a beep and he takes it out to check it. “Sorry, I gotta go. My mom is freaking out because,” he pauses, “Well she doesn’t really need a reason.” He chuckles and stands. “It was nice to meet you Kai.”

            “Nice meeting you to.”

            He winks and leaves and I resist sighing. Loudly sighing. I still sigh a little. I am fairly certain I’ll never see another gorgeous man like him again. Maybe I’ll see him again.

            You never know.

Chapter Three

 

            Hitting the alarm off for the third time, with great exaggeration, I stretch and sigh. I must interview people today. About fishing. I really didn’t know much about fishing. All I knew was how to tie a knot in the line, how to put on a worm, and how to cast. Not much right? It was enough though, in my dad’s estimation, for me to be able to figure out and suggest which ones he should hire. That and he said I was a good judge of character. Hah. At least he gave me questions to ask the people I would be interviewing.

            Thirty minutes later, bright pink coffee traveling mug in hand, I walk the two and half miles to the shop. The morning is chilly, maybe sixty degrees; my favorite kind of weather. Not that many people would guess that. One would think that I’d prefer it to be warm, hot even, but no, I like fall and everything that goes with it: the crisp air, sweatshirts and jeans, pumpkin lattes, bonfires…I could go on and on. Whereas in the summer I felt the need to keep busy and be on the go constantly in the fall I feel like I can breath and just relax. It was a nice change of pace.

            As I walk through the door, the caffeine has had its intended effect on me and I’m in a great mood. The shop smells the same as it always does no matter what Mom tries to do. She’d tried the scented plug-ins, candles, incense burners, the things that spray fragrance in the air all to no avail. The smell of bait, dirt, plastic, and wintergreen always prevailed. I didn’t mind so much. It was part of the ambience of the shop. Sunlight is streaming through the windows, making the planks on the floor shine with a golden hue. Making my way to the front desk, I note that all the merchandise is set just so and everything is in place, whereas it is normally in slight disarray. Not that the shop was every sloppy but it wasn’t as, how shall I say it…neat as it is now.

            “Hey, Kai?” Dad yells out from the office, which is in a room behind the front desk.

            “What’s up, pops?” I ask as I walk in and sit cross legged on the tattered, faded blue couch across from his desk.

            He looks excited about something. His dark gray and black hair is standing up at all angles and his eyes are lit up. He folds his weathered, scarred hands from years of being and working outdoors on top of the desk. “We’re going to have a big competition,” he says as if letting me in on a major, top secret, secret.

            “Who is ‘we’? The shop?” I ask before taking a sip of coffee in order to prepare myself for whatever scheme Dad’s came up with now.

            He abruptly stands up and starts to pace behind his desk, the excitement building. “Yes, silly girl! We’re going to have it two weeks from today.” He starts to mumble here working something out to himself. I wait patiently for him to continue. “We’re going to get the word out with flyers, in the paper, on the internet, radio, and on tv.” He sits back down with a big grin on his face. “Best of all we’re giving the proceeds to a local youth group. The employees here are all going to be in it and be in teams.”

            I nod at his idea. It sounded great, it was good to give back to the community. Though I rarely went to church anymore, it was good to give back to the church Mom and Dad practically dragged me to until I was seventeen. I knew God existed, it’s just that, well, I left Him and alone and vice versa. That’s how I liked it to be.

            “…you’re going to be teamed up with a mystery outdoor pro.”

            That brought me back to the present. It was always fun getting to meet the outdoor pros that would stop by the shop every now and then. They were great people. Most of them, at least.

“Well that should be fun,” I say. I hope I get teamed up with a woman who knows how to fish a lot better than I do.

“Good. Alright, now here,” Dad hands me a stack of papers, “are the applications for the interviewees and your list of questions. I made it pretty easy for you. Thanks for doing this for me.”

I’m already reading through the stack of papers, devouring their words so I can get a head start before the interviewees arrive. The questions are basic, and honestly, most of them I wouldn’t have even thought to ask. Such as how long have they been fishing? Do you prefer a spincast (closed face) reel or a spinning (open face) reel? Ever been fly fishing? What qualifications do you have for the job? Questions like that. Easy enough.

            I interview the first person and he’s proves himself to be a good interviewer and has great qualifications but he doesn’t know the area around here very well. I place his application on the top left side of the desk, the designated ‘possible’ stack.

            The second and third are much the same but the third was too young and a little mouthy. The second went into the ‘quite possible’ slot and the third got thrown in the trash. I missed when I threw the crumbled up paper into the wastebasket in the corner of the room. Quickly, I got up and grabbed the wadded ball when I hear a chuckle.

            Immediately I stand up and turn around, face burning, knowing it’s not Dad because I’d recognize his laugh. It did sound familiar though. I took my time looking at him. I started with his shoes. Black Chuck Taylor’s, worn blue jeans, a Kelly green Henley shirt, complete with aviator frames adorning that handsome face. Not exactly fisher-man attire. It was attractive to me however, for whatever reason. In the sunlight, his hair has a more noticeable reddish tint to it.

          

“H-hi, Beau,” I stammer.

            He grins, a boyish grin that I’m sure got him out of any kind of situation, and says, “Hi there, Kai. You play basketball in high school?”

            I shake my head no.

            “Good because you’re a little out of practice.”

            I smile, feel my face flush. “Can I help you with something?” To avoid letting him see my blush, I sit down and fiddle with the stacks of papers on the desk.

            Out of my peripheral vision, I see him sit down, elbows resting on his thighs, much like he was last night. “I’m here for an interview.”

            “An interview?”

            “Yes,” he smiles, this time a different one. One that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, one that makes me feel very lucky to have that smile bestowed on me.

            “Yes?” Oh goodness, why am I repeating what he says? I need to actually form a good question.

            “So you are here for an interview at Stryker Outdoors, am I correct?”

            He chuckles. “I think we have already established that.”

            So much for a good question. Let’s try that again. “Did you submit an application?”

            More importantly, why didn’t I see it?

            “Ah, that’s the thing. I was told to bring it with me.”

            I nod once. “Alright, let me see it.”

            He pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it to me. I unfold it and look over it, starting with where he went to school. He went to high school in Broken Arrow and graduated with honors. Graduated this past spring from OSU.

            “You went to OSU?” I ask. I was confused. Didn’t I hear his phone play the OU fight song?

            A side of his mouth pulls up. “Thinking about my ringtone?”

            “Actually yes.”

            “My mom’s ringtone. So I know it’s her. My parents went to OU. My older brother goes to OU. I wanted to go to OU but OSU had a better fire science program,” he says with a slight shrug.

            I nodded. “Friendly family rivalry going on, huh?”

            “Yes it gets quite interesting around the holidays or whenever there’s a football game on.”  

I laugh and glance down at his app for his name. “Beau Brooks?” I look right into his blue eyes. My stomach fills with butterflies.

He winks and my face flushes. I clear my throat, gaining my focus. He has worked at a paint and body shop for the past seven years, along with working at a sporting goods store. Fishing and hunting department, specifically.

“May I ask why you want to work here?”

 My question seems to have taken Beau by surprise. He rubs his hands together slowly, taking his time to respond, as if choosing his words carefully. “I need to be close to my grandparents right now,” he spreads his hands apart, “and this will occupy my time.”

Tempted as I was to ask why he needed to be close to his grandparents, I didn’t. It wasn’t my business. I tap his application on the table. “How long are you planning on sticking around?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “As long as you need me. I’m not planning on applying for a firefighting job just yet.”

“How long have you been hunting and fishing?”

“Since I was a kid, I suppose. Mom said that Dad bought me a bb gun when I was six and a rod before I turned two. It’s in my blood.”

I had a good feeling about Beau. Not because he was handsome, what with his blue eyes and great hair and amazing smile, but because he seemed like a he would be a good fit here.

“Alright, well. Let me make a quick phone call to my dad to make sure, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re hired.”

“Really?”

I smile at how surprised he looks. “Yes but no promises. I’ll be right back.”

He nods once, giving me a grin. I quickly exit, go around back outside, and call Dad. “I think I found someone.”

“Who?” The signal was kind of fuzzy and I hear rushing water in the background or was that an engine?

“Where are you at?”

The sound cuts out and his voice comes in crystal clear. “Oh Billy and I are out on the water, checking out the fish.”

Figures. I smile to myself. “Well you’ll never believe who applied.”

I hear him chuckle. “Oh yeah? Who?”

“Beau Brooks.” I hold in an excited breath, waiting for him to be ecstatic. I smile widely again, though no one can see me, happy to be telling Dad one of the quarterbacks from his alma mater was applying for a job at his shop.

He just chuckles again. Why wasn’t he screaming for joy? “Did he bring that app in?”

“Y-es.” I draw out the word. “Why didn’t you tell me he was applying? Give me some warning? I mean you know what he does, why not hire him on the spot?”

“He didn’t even have to bring that app in,” he pauses and I start to pace, dragging a heel through the soft dirt on the ground. “I promised his granddaddy I’d give him an interview, not just hand him the job. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be in the day Beau could come in. I told his granddad I’d have you interview Beau however.”

“O-kay.” I drag the word out again. So Dad knew Beau Brooks’ grandpa. That was actually pretty cool.

“Now treat him like you would any other applicant. Ask him questions. Take him fishing. Do what you usually do when questioning employees and their character. I trust your judgment, Kai.”

Suddenly, I hear Uncle Billy yell for help, something about a net. “Gotta go kid, talk to ya later.” He hangs up.

Swirls of questions run through my mind. Dad trusts me to interview Beau Brooks just like I would any other future employee. I let out a big sigh.

I walk back into the shop and head to the office where Beau is bouncing one leg up and down, which immediately stops once he sees me. I smile. I get jittery when I’ve been sitting for a few minutes. I can’t stand sitting still for very long.

“Getting nervous?” I tease as I lean a hip against the desk.

“Maybe a little,” he says with a boyish grin. “So do I have the job?”

“Yes, but I have to take you fishing first,” I state with more confidence than I feel. I arch a brow at him. “You up for the challenge?”

He arches a brow back at me. “Can you handle a loss well?”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to out fish you,” he grins wickedly and my heart skips a beat.

I lean closer to him and say, “You are so going to lose.”

He laughs, a deep, masculine chuckle that is vibrant and full. It makes me laugh with him. He stands up and says, “You’re on.”

He follows me out to the shed and I tell him to pick out a pole. There are all kinds of poles to choose from. Old and new. Open reel and closed. He assesses them all, and then picks out an Ugly Stik. I grab the same kind and I grab the gray tackle box, which was awkward to carry because it was so big. It has everything one would need though which is why I chose it.

“I’ll carry those for you princess,” he says gallantly, blue eyes twinkling, and takes the pole and tackle box from me.

“Thank you.” I have to tilt my head up to look into eyes. I smile and start to walk to the truck, proceed to open the driver side door while he puts the gear in the truck bed. He hops in on the passenger side then makes a face, eyebrows drawn in, a corner of his mouth pulled to one side.  

“Ah, Kai?” He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out how to word what he was about to say.

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Can I drive?” He says finally, as if it were hard for him to spit it out.

I burst out laughing. “Was it hard for you to ask?”

“I didn’t want to offend you or make you think that I didn’t believe you were a good driver.” He gives me a sideways grin. “I’m just used to driving, especially when there is a female involved.”

“By all means then.” I grin inwardly and slide over to the passenger seat while he gets out and moves around the truck to the driver’s side. My daddy always drives whenever he and Mom go anywhere. The only time I think she drives is when she’s riding solo. I guess she drove me around when I was younger though. That counts.

Twenty minutes later, we are out on the water. I look over at Beau through my sunglasses. With a dark green Bass Pro Shops hat on with a rod in his hand like it was an extension of his arm, he looks the part of a fisherman. He casts out a line perfectly, like poetry. The clear line slices through the air in a perfect arc before the bait plops into the water. He sets the drag. Beau’s a natural. Granted, he’s been fishing his whole life.

“You gonna fish or sit there all day staring at me?” he says without taking an eye off the bait. I can hear the smugness in his voice when he adds, “Not that I blame you for wanting to stare at this fine specimen of manhood.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Really? You are quite the character Mr. Brooks.”