Fish. Babe.
I had no nicknames for Fisher. At least none that I could use in front of anyone else. Just like I couldn’t kiss him or hold his hand in front of anyone else. Five years changed everything … and nothing. We were both in a better place, but the timing was still wrong. I wanted to close my eyes and nod my head like a genie and skip ahead a year so I would know.
I would know if he fell in love and married Angie. If his memory returned. If my heart survived all the ifs.
Fisher nodded. “I have a lot of camping gear between the basement and what’s at my parents’ house.”
Happy birthday to me, I thought, while putting on a brave face. For my special day, I would get to freeze my butt off in a tent, probably by myself, while the lovers snuggled in for the night in their tents after a romantic evening by the campfire.
“Say yes, sweetie. Take a chance. I think you’ll love camping. You said you love the mountains. What could be better than spending the weekend there with good friends and family?”
Jabbing my eyeballs out with an ice pick. Removing my fingernails with pliers. Eating cockroaches. Wiping my butt with sandpaper. So many things would be better than Rory’s group camping idea.
I wasn’t on call that weekend, but I considered lying. With my luck, Rory would have seen Holly at the salon. Poof! Outed!
“Sounds amazing.” I shoved nearly half a piece of pizza into my mouth. It was time to eat my frustrations. “Oh!”
It happened. Of course it happened.
I spilled my wine all over me and his amazing chair.
“Shit. Er … shoot. I’m … I’m so very sorry.”
And embarrassed. I couldn’t look at anyone, least of all Fisher, as I scrambled to get out of the chair and blot the red wine with a wad of napkins.
“It was an accident. No worries, Reese. We’ll take care of it if you want to go get yourself cleaned up.” Angie jumped to the rescue as everyone else tossed their napkins onto the pile to save the chair from as much wine soaking through to the filling as possible.
I pulled the wet fabric of my T-shirt away from my skin as I ducked my head and sped my way to the guest bathroom, shutting the door behind me before staring at myself in the mirror. After a good two minutes of internally scolding myself for being so clumsy in my flustered state following the camping topic, I took off my shirt and ran the stained part under water.
Two soft knocks tapped the door.
“I’m good. Just give me a minute.”
The door opened because I hadn’t lock it—because who opens a closed bathroom door uninvited?
Snatching the hand towel from the counter, I held it to my chest as Fisher peered through the crack he made with the door.
“What?” I tipped up my chin, fighting the urge to have a mini-emotional breakdown.
If he looked too long into my eyes, he would have seen me teetering on the edge of losing it.
“Shirt for you.” Opening the door just enough to squeeze his hand through, he handed me a T-shirt.
“It will be huge on you, but it might also cover the stain on your pants.”
I nodded slowly as my gaze dropped to the T-shirt in my hand. “I’m really sorry about your chair. I’ll pay for any damage or a new chair.” Turning my back to the door, I dropped the hand towel and slipped on his shirt.
“Angie is drinking too much wine tonight. I can’t let her drive home. So she’ll stay here.”
I turned. “I wasn’t talking about Angie’s level of sobriety. I was talking about your chair.”
“Well, I don’t give a fuck about the chair.”