"Fishing for a Date"
by Jody
Lebel
Good looking men don't
show up on your lawn every day. And to
find one poking around at a yard sale?
Even more rare. That alone made
him interesting, but his dark eyes and nice smile would have made most women
look twice. The tackle box with its worn
edges and trays of fishing gear had caught his eye. She watched amused as he pushed the hooks around
with a cautious finger. Karen would have pegged him more of a reader than a
sportsman. He seemed familiar but she couldn't place him.
Karen loved tag sales
and thought having her own would be fun but as the late autumn sun baked
everyone and everything, and strangers pawed through her possessions demanding
price cuts, she vowed to never do it again. At least the garage clutter was gone.
The man picked up the
box and strode directly to her. "You have this marked at five dollars?" His voice was deep and pleasant.
"Yes," she replied, steeling
herself for the inevitable haggling.
He handed her a
five-dollar bill. "I can work with
that."
Pleased, Karen thanked
him, then pointed to the box. "You
like to fish?"
"Oh, no, this is
for my nephew. He'll love going through all this – um – stuff." He wrinkled his nose and made a little
face. "I don’t even know the names
of the things in here," he admitted.
He didn't seem in any
hurry to leave even after Karen bagged up his purchase. His attempt to engage her in small talk warmed
her heart and she was enjoying herself until he was nudged aside by a woman who
wanted to check the plug on a toaster. By the time Karen finished helping her, he was
gone. She hadn't even gotten his name. Too
bad. It had been a long time since she
had been in the company of a nice man.
She closed the sale
early and went inside to cool down and put up her feet. When her husband had died last year after a
long illness, she hadn't had the heart or the strength to get rid of his
things. Now that she was ready, she
wished she had just called the Salvation Army.
A sharp knock on her
door startled her. When she saw the man who bought the tackle box on her steps
she was pleased until she realized he had it tucked under his arm. Her smile faded. Oh, no,
now people were returning things? Just great. Reluctant to let a stranger inside her house
she invited him to sit on the porch, and a moment later she brought out a pitcher
of iced tea.
"I'm Dan
Wright," he said, extending his hand.
"I'm the new pharmacist in town."
That's where she had seen him.
"And I wanted to ask
about this fishing box and the contents."
"My late husband spotted
it on top of a trash can on the side of the road and couldn't resist bringing
it home. He used to do that a lot."
She gestured to her yard sale with a wry
smile. "That's how I ended up with
all this."
Karen shook her head. "That's
not mine." She loved that he had
returned the ring. Most people would
have kept it.
"The year is on
the side there."
She took a better look. "And there are some initials inside,
see?"
He held it up to the
light and turned it this way and that. He rubbed the band with the edge of his shirt.
"It looks like I.S.W." He tipped the ring towards her. "You know with that bit of information I
bet we could find the owner."
She considered the
possibility. "I suppose we could look at old yearbooks, try to match the
initials."
"Yes," he
brightened. "Tomorrow, if you're
free, would you care to take a drive to the main library over in Brighton? I hear they have all kinds of reference books
there."
"All right." His enthusiasm was catching and she found
herself intrigued. By the ring and by him.
"This afternoon I
was fishing for a way to ask you out, maybe for coffee or something." He hesitated then stammered out quickly, "It's
been a while since I've dated. I may be
a little rusty."
She passed the pitcher
of iced tea and settled back in the wicker chair. The setting sun made the orange and yellow
leaves on her trees glow. A late
hummingbird visited her feeder.
"I can work with that," she smiled.
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