“So let me get this straight, you broke up with the bland banana? That’s fantastic news!” Honey’s excitement radiated through her as she flipped a pancake. It smelled sweet, with a hint of vanilla, and my mouth watered. As she stirred the fresh blueberry topping, I dipped my finger in for a taste.
“First of all, Travis broke up with me . . .” I licked the tart blueberries off my finger.
“Irrelevant. You were never going to end up with him anyway,” she breathed. She brushed the thought away with the flick of her hand.
For Honey, it was just that easy—turn the page, relationship over, you’re dead to me. She poured another circle of batter onto the griddle. Honey worked at a successful PR firm in Butte, and we shared an apartment downtown. It started off as her apartment and in between guide jobs, I would crash at her place. Most times I slept on the couch. But after nearly a year of that, she said she couldn’t stand the thought of a “homeless sister” and claimed the apartment as ours.
I paid rent and we split the bills, but the truth was that I didn’t spend most nights there, but rather camping along rivers and in small-town hotels, scouting new locations. One of the biggest perks of living with Honey, however, was that she was an amazing baker.
Whenever I was home and she wasn’t rushing off to work, she’d make the most amazing baked treats—scones, cinnamon buns, pancakes, crullers—all from scratch. When I’d asked her once why she never followed her dream to open a shop, she’d dismissed it with, “I gotta make bread, not just bread, ya know?”
I laughed because she was sort of right. If she was going to support her expensive lifestyle, the fancy job at the PR firm definitely made more money than a baker probably would.
“Well, you can always cook for me. These are amazing,” I said.
“I know” She winked. I swear, that girl never ran out of confidence. “So tell me,” she continued, “did you give that dipshit a piece of your mind? God, I’m so pissed I didn’t get to see that!”
I snuck another lick of blueberries and replied, “Well, I didn’t let him walk away without an explanation. But I don’t know, it is what it is . . . Maybe he’s got a point.”
Honey looked at me with a stare only a sister could do. Part of me hated that she knew everything about me, so she knew this was total bullshit.
“Do you think he’s right, though?” I asked, unable to look at her. “Is it time for me to change and give up the guide stuff? Find something different?”
“Don’t even.” She pointed her spatula at me. “I’ve had to hear about your dream resort since we were kids. You’re not giving that shit up. If he can’t get with the program, then fuck him. He’s a cheating asshole. I swear, if I ever see him downtown, I’ll tear his balls off.” The sparkling gleam in her eye was slightly terrifying. Honey always seemed ready to raise hell in the name of loyalty.
She smiled sweetly, and her intensity flipped off instantly. “Pancakes?” And we both grinned.
Later that day, Honey invited me shopping with some of her friends, but I was still tending to my sour mood. Instead, I drove to the edge of the county to check out a piece of public land that offered access to a bend in the river.
I couldn’t shake my crabbiness, and seeing the crowd didn’t help matters. Right now, all I wanted was a little quiet. I hiked deeper into the trail, trying to find some space from the six or so anglers I’d passed on my way in. Most of them knew me, and we offered a nod in greeting, but some were newer faces. Not a girl among them, and at that, I smiled a little to myself. I may be different, but Honey was right. I was never one to back down, and a little thing like a breakup wasn’t going to be enough to shake me.
My mood lifted as I got into the easy rhythm of casting, walking, and feeling the early summer sunshine on my face. Hours passed and it wasn’t until I heard the familiar ding of my phone that I looked around to see the sun starting to dip below the tree line. I glanced down, surprised I still had service.
A wide smile took over my face when I saw that one of my favorite people, Finn Scott, had texted me.
Finn: Joanna Banana!! How was the hot date??
Me: Change of plans. You can be my hot date.
Finn: Sorry gorgeous, you’re not my type.
Me: Dick.
Finn: I kid, I kid! Lincoln and I are at The Pidge if you want us to save you a seat—the band’s supposed to be good tonight.
A sharp pang splintered my chest at the mention of Finn’s brother, Lincoln—desire mixed with a hint of sadness.
Me: I’m ass deep in the Wise River right now. Fish are biting. Raincheck?
Finn: For you, always. And hey—save some fish for the rest of the poor sacks of shit out there.
Me: Never.
Finn: Atta girl. Also, call me tomorrow. Linc and I need your help filling in for a guide this week. I’ll shoot you the details. Pretty please?
Me: Kinda busy this season but send me the details and I’ll let you know.
Frowning at my phone, I felt the tug of guilt at my lie. I loved Finn from the moment we met in college—he was hilarious, a great guy, and one of my best friends. I hated lying to him that I was busy, but until I knew the details of what he was asking, I couldn’t just say yes.
For the past three years, I’d successfully avoided his brother, Lincoln.
