The level of effort he put in only cemented Max’s desire to shackle himself to Grady for all of eternity. But after his birthday celebrations, they were both more than ready for something low-key. Max sadly left his excellent new hat in the mudroom and picked up an ancient ballcap from his juniors days instead.
It wasn’t lost on him that Grady had planned a day for the two of them as Max’s birthday present, even though Grady was famously terrible at and hated planning dates. He’d put thought into this outing—something both of them would enjoy doing together, something they could have a little friendly competition over that wasn’t related to work. Grady wasn’t super outdoorsy except in the garden, so this was definitely more for Max’s benefit, but it was infinitely better than mini golf.
Weirdly, he was more excited to see Grady in the Trophy Boyfriend hat than he’d been to lose the American Ninja Warrior bet and have Grady pound him into the mattress, but Max put that down to character development.
Their fishing guide’s name was Bob. Grady had way too much fun pretending to be surprised when he and Max shook hands for the first time, as though it hadn’t occurred to him that they might not know each other.
“I will push you overboard,” Max threatened over the roar of the boat’s motor as they puttered out of the bay.
“That’s cheating,” Grady said immediately. “I’m not wearing the hat if you cheat.”
“Oh, now he’s changing the rules,” Max teased. Grady elbowed him. It was great.
The fishing was good too. Bob had obviously read the room and figured his presence was not really required, so he stuck to matter-of-fact talk on what fish they could expect to find and where, and what types of lures worked best for what, and then retreated to the cabin with a book and an instruction to call him if they got a bite. Max almost fell overboard in shock; all the fishermen he knew could talk the ear off an elephant.
The sun was shining, but the breeze kept the temperature a few degrees south of warm. Grady reminded Max to put on sunscreen for the second time that day, and Max responded by offering him his sweatshirt, because Grady’s body was not acclimatized to New Brunswick Atlantic summers.
For the first half an hour in their first fishing spot, nothing much happened. Max sat next to Grady and let himself lean into his solid weight, lolling with the movement of the waves, until suddenly Grady lurched and swore and grabbed at his rod.
It just figured that overachiever would get the first bite.
The rods didn’t require anyone to hold them—they were mounted to the back of the boat—but that didn’t mean they did all the work for you.
“Oh shit,” Grady said as whatever had taken the bait pulled the line out. “What do I do?”
“Well I can’thelpyou,” Max said innocently as Bob practically vaulted out of the cabin. “That would becheating.”
Grady shot him a look halfway between amused and exasperated and turned to Bob for advice instead.
The highlight of the day was Grady’s expression when he reeled in the fifty-pound halibut and said, “What the fuck kind of ugly fish is that?”
Bob laughed for a solid minute and a half.
Unfortunately, after that, Grady’s luck dried up. Max reeled in two big halibut and then tried for sea bass, which worked out even better. Grady caught a handful more fish, mostly mackerel, which they threw back because it was only good fresh. Max couldn’t quite decide if the impending grump face was because he was losing the bet or because he didn’t enjoy what happened to the fish they were keeping after they landed on the boat.
Based on the release of tension from his shoulders every time one of the mackerel swam off, Max somewhat suspected it was both. But he was only going to give him grief about one of those things. An hour ahead of schedule, he nudged Grady’s shoulder. “You want to call it? Or do you think you can catch up?”
Grady met Max’s eyes, then glanced behind him at the coolers. He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t think another hour’s going to make a difference.” He seemed really bummed about that, which was weird. If anything, Max expected annoyance or even anger.
“You don’t have to wear the hat if you don’t want to,” he offered cautiously.
But Grady straightened and set his jaw. “I’m not reneging on our bet,” he said, indignant. “I’m turning over a new leaf. Grady Armstrong, good sport.”
Max believed him—it wasn’t about the bet. Not exactly, anyway. He smiled. “I can get myself a hat that says Sore Winner if that makes it any better.”
Grady snorted. “You are not. It’s fine.”
So then Max thought maybe he was being weird because Grady was kind of a hippie and he and Max didn’t need three hundred pounds of fish. “None of it’s going to waste, you know,” he said with a gesture toward the coolers. “We’ll keep what we need for our cooking lesson and flash-freeze the rest. I’ve got a few cousins who’ll be happy to have it.” Not everyone in Max’s family was as fortunate as his parents. He’d stock the freezer in his garage and tell everyone at the Cup party to take what they wanted.
Grady kissed his cheek. He smelled like fish, or maybe Max did. “Thanks.”
Max got it—thanks for not teasing him for being soft, for calling off the hunt, for reassuring Grady that the fish hadn’t died for nothing. For offering him the out, maybe.
Grady didn’t have anything to prove to Max. Not anymore. Max smacked a kiss on his mouth—oh yeah, they both definitely smelled like fish—and then leaned over toward the cabin. “Hey, Bob, we’re all fished out. Think you can find us a whale?”
Bob gave him a thumbs-up and started the motor.
“A whale?” Grady asked a moment later.
