close he suddenly is. "First, put your thumb here, on the reel, like this." He takes my hand and moves it where it needs to be. "Good. Now, turn your body this way, and shift your weight like I'm doing."
I glance back over my shoulder to check out his positioning and try to copy him.
"Like this?"
He reaches out and adjusts my hips a fraction of an inch, and I'm sure I would've been fine even if he'd left my stance alone.
"Now you've got it," he tells me. "We're gonna cast you out sidearm, the same way I did." He steps away from me and shows me the motion, and I nod. It looks simple enough. "Okay, Rach, go for it."
I'm still thinking about the feeling of him so close to me when I bring my right arm back without much consideration and let the rod fly.
The pole flies right out of my hand and hits the water with a splash.
Neither one of us moves for a second until Walker looks down at himself and realizes the thick silver hook is attached neatly to his shirt.
I clap my hand over my mouth. "Omigod! Walker, I'm -- "
But he's laughing as he reaches down and calmly pulls the hook out of his shirt, leaving a decent-sized hole in its place.
He pulls the shirt over his head, and, wearing nothing but his swimsuit, dives into the water to grab the fishing pole.
Meanwhile, all I can think about is how his tan covers his whole body, and his solid chest, and whoa .
It takes him less than two minutes to secure the rod and swim back over to the boat. I take the pole from him and he hoists himself up the ladder, shaking the water from his short hair.
It does nothing to get rid of the droplets clinging to his chest.
I swallow hard.
"I'm so sorry," I blurt out. "I've never done that before. I didn't mean -- "
He holds up his hand to stop me. "Rachel, relax. I got the rod back. I put a floater on yours just in case. And you didn't even put the hook through my skin so we're already doing better than I thought we would."
I smile, relieved he's handling this so well.
"You wanna try again?" he asks, getting the pole back in working order for me.
"Only if you stand on the other side of the boat."
He hands the rod over. "Deal."
From maybe ten feet away, Walker coaches me one more time on how to cast the line, and I make sure not to look at him and get distracted and only focus on what he's telling me.
Miraculously, I manage to get the line out to sea and rest the rod in the holder next to his.
"There!" he says happily, walking back over to me. "Not so bad, right?"
"How will we know if I got a fish?"
"See how the line is loose out there?" he asks. "Keep an eye on it. It'll get tight if you hooked something."
"Now what?"
Walker shrugs and drops down on the bench near his rod. "Now we wait."
And so we do.
Fifteen minutes pass -- it feels like fifteen hours -- where we watch the water and I keep a sharp eye trained on my line, sure I'll catch a fish any second now.
But I don't, and when I start to get fidgety, I glance over at Walker, who has his eyes closed and his head tilted back to soak in the sun, and it's hard to keep the smile off my face.
"What's under the tarp?" I ask when my eyes land on the big covered pile in the corner for the second time.
He sits up immediately. "Huh? What'd you say?"
"That pile over there," I say, nodding in the direction of the mess. "What is it?"
"Oh. Ah, not much. Nothing interesting."
I raise my eyebrow, surprised at his quick, somewhat flustered reaction. I hadn't been expecting it.
"Sorry I asked."
He shakes his head. "No, no, it's not you. I meant to get that stuff off here last night, but didn't get to it." Walker sighs, then gets to his feet.
"You really don't have to -- "
"Rach. I want to."
I shut up.
He walks slowly over to the pile, and I realize I'm holding my breath after his strong response to my question.
"So, you know how I work for my uncle's painting company, right?" he asks. "It's nice paying the bills and all, and yeah, I love
I glance back over my shoulder to check out his positioning and try to copy him.
"Like this?"
He reaches out and adjusts my hips a fraction of an inch, and I'm sure I would've been fine even if he'd left my stance alone.
"Now you've got it," he tells me. "We're gonna cast you out sidearm, the same way I did." He steps away from me and shows me the motion, and I nod. It looks simple enough. "Okay, Rach, go for it."
I'm still thinking about the feeling of him so close to me when I bring my right arm back without much consideration and let the rod fly.
The pole flies right out of my hand and hits the water with a splash.
Neither one of us moves for a second until Walker looks down at himself and realizes the thick silver hook is attached neatly to his shirt.
I clap my hand over my mouth. "Omigod! Walker, I'm -- "
But he's laughing as he reaches down and calmly pulls the hook out of his shirt, leaving a decent-sized hole in its place.
He pulls the shirt over his head, and, wearing nothing but his swimsuit, dives into the water to grab the fishing pole.
Meanwhile, all I can think about is how his tan covers his whole body, and his solid chest, and whoa .
It takes him less than two minutes to secure the rod and swim back over to the boat. I take the pole from him and he hoists himself up the ladder, shaking the water from his short hair.
It does nothing to get rid of the droplets clinging to his chest.
I swallow hard.
"I'm so sorry," I blurt out. "I've never done that before. I didn't mean -- "
He holds up his hand to stop me. "Rachel, relax. I got the rod back. I put a floater on yours just in case. And you didn't even put the hook through my skin so we're already doing better than I thought we would."
I smile, relieved he's handling this so well.
"You wanna try again?" he asks, getting the pole back in working order for me.
"Only if you stand on the other side of the boat."
He hands the rod over. "Deal."
From maybe ten feet away, Walker coaches me one more time on how to cast the line, and I make sure not to look at him and get distracted and only focus on what he's telling me.
Miraculously, I manage to get the line out to sea and rest the rod in the holder next to his.
"There!" he says happily, walking back over to me. "Not so bad, right?"
"How will we know if I got a fish?"
"See how the line is loose out there?" he asks. "Keep an eye on it. It'll get tight if you hooked something."
"Now what?"
Walker shrugs and drops down on the bench near his rod. "Now we wait."
And so we do.
Fifteen minutes pass -- it feels like fifteen hours -- where we watch the water and I keep a sharp eye trained on my line, sure I'll catch a fish any second now.
But I don't, and when I start to get fidgety, I glance over at Walker, who has his eyes closed and his head tilted back to soak in the sun, and it's hard to keep the smile off my face.
"What's under the tarp?" I ask when my eyes land on the big covered pile in the corner for the second time.
He sits up immediately. "Huh? What'd you say?"
"That pile over there," I say, nodding in the direction of the mess. "What is it?"
"Oh. Ah, not much. Nothing interesting."
I raise my eyebrow, surprised at his quick, somewhat flustered reaction. I hadn't been expecting it.
"Sorry I asked."
He shakes his head. "No, no, it's not you. I meant to get that stuff off here last night, but didn't get to it." Walker sighs, then gets to his feet.
"You really don't have to -- "
"Rach. I want to."
I shut up.
He walks slowly over to the pile, and I realize I'm holding my breath after his strong response to my question.
"So, you know how I work for my uncle's painting company, right?" he asks. "It's nice paying the bills and all, and yeah, I love
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