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smoke skywards. “To me this is the only explanation that makes sense.”
    Jade didn’t want to hear it. “Marigold, it was a chance meeting.”
    â€œOkay. But if there is something significant about your relationship, you can expect to meet up with him again soon.”
    â€œI’m telling you, Paul and I, we have no relationship.” Jade jumped to her feet, ready to go for a swim. Cool water would wash away the residue of her dreams. “And it had better stay that way.”
    In the distance, carried over and magnified by the water, came the rippling laugh of a loon.
    Her mom gave a small smile. “We’ll see, Dipity. We’ll see.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    The small, square clapboard building didn’t look any too prepossessing to Paul. However, Steve had assured him Hunter’s Fishing and Bait was the best place to get whatever he might need in that line.
    Steve had said he could borrow a rod or two. But he’d emphasized fresh bait was essential. If he was really going to try this fishing thing, Paul needed worms to lure the fish, a license to haul ’em out, plus a boat to waft him over the water.
    The bell dinged as he walked into the cool gloom. The rough, white-painted interior was sparse. Taking a quick scan, he decided the store could benefit from a more modern display design. An oblong ice cream freezer took up one corner, and next to it stood a small wicker table and two chairs. A couple of standing wire carousels, plenty of rough, wooden, open shelving, and that was it.
    Behind the counter sat a man, bearded, balding, and with graying, wispy hair hanging low on his neck. He was reading a fishing magazine, which he put aside. Unfolding himself from the chair, he stood up and greeted Paul.
    â€œSorry. Coffee shop’s closed. Muffins all sold out.”
    Obviously the guy didn’t think he looked like a fisherman any more than Serendipity had. Then and there, he decided to change that. Get some fisherman gear. Pity she’d disappeared, though. For some reason her erratic behavior intrigued him. Not to mention her looks. He would have liked to find out exactly where she was going, maybe get her phone number.
    â€œAre you the owner? Hunter?” he asked.
    â€œNo. I’d say, more like the gatherer these days.”
    Okay. Paul got it. Hunters and gatherers like in the old, old days.
    â€œI’m Frank,” the guy continued.
    What would he be frank about? Paul wondered idly, going with the riff.
    â€œLet me know if you need any help,” Frank added.
    Paul liked to browse, but it was a long time since he’d indulged the inclination. Soon he was examining small cardboard boxes, open to display their contents, and systematically perusing every inch of shelving.
    Almost imperceptibly, he slid into the spirit of things, began to slow down. Who’d have thought fishing would offer such great retail therapy possibilities — books, waders, trout rods, colorful, delicate flies, sinkers, lures, floats, hooks, reels? This was almost as much fun as shopping the Lee Valley catalogue. He couldn’t say why the stuff appealed to him so, he just knew it did. And hadn’t he promised to indulge himself this weekend? He wouldn’t go so far as to buy a boat, though. Maybe he could hire one from Frank. He went across to ask.
    The store assistant bent over, leaning his skinny forearms on the counter.
    â€œSorry, we don’t rent out boats.”
    This was a blow. Paul had imagined himself out on the lake, cap tilted low over his eyes, drifting around islands, stopping in this little cove or that sheltered bay.
    â€œIs there no way I can get out on the water today? Even two or three hours would be better than none.”
    â€œHmm. Tell you what.” Frank raised up on one arm, tapping his fingers on the wooden counter. “How about hiring my son? For fifty dollars, Adrian would take you out in our boat for a couple of hours. Show