June

Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers.

From the moment he walked up to her in the sunlight and smiled at her, nothing else seemed to matter. Her frustration, as she struggled with the twine attached to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it . . . . All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.

"Need some help?" He squatted down next to her on the ground.

She nodded, a flush heating her cheeks. Stop staring at him, Annie. She couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs. Breathe, Annie . . .

After what seemed like an eternity of gawking at him, she cleared her dry throat. "I—my line got tangled, over in the reeds. I don’t think I can fix it. There’s not enough weight on the twine." Her pulse sped up when he leaned in for a better view of her mangled pole. There were glints of blue in his thick black hair and his eyelashes were longer than hers. He’s so cute. She barely kept from sighing in his face.

He carried a small oblong box, which he set on the ground as he reached for her pole and examined the knotty lumps of twine. "Did you make this? I’ve never seen a homemade fishing rod before."

"It’s not a very good pole," she admitted. "I’ve made better ones, really." For a few more seconds, she stared at him. "You live in that big, pretty house on the hill." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could have snatched them back because they sounded so dumb.

"Yeah. That’s where I live." He shrugged. "It’s just a house." He cocked his head as he looked at her. "What’s your name?"

She tried hard not to blush. "Annie Turner. And you’re Travis Quincy. I see your daddy in town once in a while." More dumb words. She wanted to kick herself.

But Travis nodded and replied, "Yeah. He’s got an office on Market Street." He gave up on the mangled pole, and tossed it down. "It’s too messed up to fix. You got any more twine? Maybe you could make another one."

"I only took one piece. I didn’t think it would tangle like that." If she’d been alone, she’d have stomped on the broken pole and tossed it into the pond. Now she’d have to give up trying to fish, and go back to the house. She’d been cooped up all week in the kitchen, helping her mama put up jam and chutney. Finally able to escape, Annie had run all the way to Bogg Pond, clutching her battered old beach bucket that she’d crammed with worms and wet leaves. She couldn’t wait to get her hook into the fattest night crawler, and catch her first bullhead of the morning.

She’d wasted too much time goofing with the knotted twine. And as soon as she returned to the house, Mama would grab her and drag her back into the hot kitchen to work. She’d miss out on a prime day of fishing . . . not to mention a chance to talk to the cutest boy in town.

Sighing, she got to her feet. "Thanks for trying to fix it. I’d better get on home."

"You can still fish if you want. Use my fishing rod." He reached for his oblong box and flipped back the lid. Inside, a rod, reel and some sinkers and hooks nestled in molded foam. He pulled out the sections and screwed them together, then threaded the line and attached the reel. He held it out to her and she reached for it, but changed her mind and pulled her hand away.

"I can’t. What if I break it? I break stuff all the time. My sister says I’m a klutz. I’ve never seen a rod like this, anyway. It looks like it cost a lot of money." Annie’s fingers itched to give it a try.

He shrugged again. "I guess. I got it for Christmas last year and this is the first time I’ve had it out of the box."

With the toe of his sneaker he rattled her dinged-up beach bucket. "Tell you what. I forgot to bring worms, and you need a rod. Why don’t we share? We’ll take turns. Maybe we could have a contest, too. See who gets the most fish. Winner takes all the fish, all the leftover worms and the fishing rod."

"That wouldn’t be right; you said it was a gift from somebody. Anyhow, I break things, I already told you."

"Who says you’re going to win, huh?" He gave her a challenging look as he dug in the bucket for a worm. "Maybe I’ll win it all. I’m a very good fisherman." He hooked the worm and stood, holding the baited rod out to her. "Besides, I have other rods I fish with. So even if you do win, I don’t mind giving this one away."

Annie rose as well and flashed him one more uncertain look, before her own competitive nature kicked in. She took the rod from him.

"I’m a better fisherman than you are." She stuck out her free hand to shake on the deal, and he grasped her fingers firmly. And smiled at her.

She swallowed another dreamy sigh as she swung her arm back to cast out, already anticipating a pile of bullheads so heavy, she’d need a wheelbarrow to carry them all home. An afternoon of fishing with a cute boy sure beat out anything else she could be doing on a hot summer day.