Joseph meandered over to a nearby tulip tree. Plucking something from beneath the shady branches, he started back toward her, two sticks in tow.
He offered one of the sticks to her. “Happy birthday, Rebekah. I carved these for us out of a couple of branches that got knocked off that tree.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Our tree.”
Freshly carved, the pole’s scent reminded Rebekah of fresh honey. Our tree? Heart pounding, she ran her hand down the smooth wood. “Danke, Joseph.”
“Oh, be careful.” Joseph quickly reached to dislodge a dainty wooden hook she hadn’t noticed before. It had been placed in a special notch in the wood. In his haste, Joseph’s skin brushed hers.
Rebekah froze, a rash of fire and ice trailed Joseph’s hand on her skin, like a shooting star. Surely our hands have touched over the years? It certainly never felt like that.
Ever mindful of his work, Joseph released the tiny hook from his fingertips. It was attached to the tip of the pole with a single strand of horsehair and swung down like a spider swinging on a strand of web.
“A fishing pole!” Rebekah laughed. “I thought it was just a good-smelling stick!”
“Your own fishing pole. Now all you have to do is find a worm and you can catch our lunch.” A full grin dimpled his cheeks.
Her shyness spent at the mention of worms, Rebekah eyed him warily. “I don’t know how to fish. Or catch a worm.”
Joseph’s face lit up. “Well then today’s your lucky day, because I am just the man to teach you.”
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Genre - Romantic Historical Fiction
Rating – PG
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