She looked around. He was gone, but he was coming back. He’d said he would be right back. She had no idea what he’d do then, but she was quite sur... it would embarrass her. Why had he told her not to worry and then bragged about what a great time she’d have when he got back? She didn’t understand men, or how to act around them. She wanted to cry, but she was determined not to cry in front of him.Suddenly he was back. She looked at him fearfully, and backed against the counter. He was so tall,. She loved him, but she hated pixies and fly rods and those fucking feathers that littered her kitchen table all summer so that he could be the all-mighty fisherman. After all, he had patiently explained time after time, REAL fishermen tied their own flies. REAL fisherman knew what the fish really wanted better than any mass-production factory.She hated fish.However, as much as she hated fish, she loved her husband. She'd entertained passing thoughts of illicit summer affairs and hot, passionate. More

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