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angered him. As he was about to catch me, rather than let him win the ball again, I kicked it into the lake. We both dived into the water, and instead of the ball, we accidentally grabbed each other and ended up kissing as the ball drifted away.
    After this wonderful, lazy afternoon, Paul decided that I needed to learn his favorite hobby. As the setting sun sprinkled sparks across the water, we fished off a nearby pier. He baited my hook and I sat patiently with my pole, just happy to be near Paul. Suddenly, my pole bent forward and a fish leaped from the water.
    I panicked and nearly dropped the pole.
    “Just reel it in slowly,” Paul instructed me. “Slowly. You’re doing fine.”
    I finally managed to get the fish out the water as it jerked and flopped, spraying us with water before Paul unhooked it and dropped it into a nearby pail. He baited my hook again, cast my line and then laid his head comfortably on my lap.
    “It’s days like this that I love it here,” he said. “If I was still on Wall Street, I’d be working until eight every night. But then again, I’d be in New York, which has a little more to offer than Oak Grove.”
    “Do you miss it?”
    “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Then again, I also miss singing rock ‘n’ roll.”
    “What?” I wasn’t sure that I had heard him right.
    “I had my own band. We were pretty good, too, but I got scared that we would never make it big.”
    “Ever regret not going for it?”
    He looked reflective and then said, “I think I miss Wall Street more. There’s something about toiling in secret for weeks on a deal. Then when it makes headlines around the world, I could say, ‘I worked on that.’” He looked up and said, “I’m bored with me. Tell me about your dreams.”
    My dream is to marry you, Paul, I thought , and to have lots of your kids. I didn’t have the courage to say that though, afraid that he would think I was too forward. Instead, I admitted, “I haven’t had that many.”
    “Come on. You have to have had some.”
    I thought about it for a second and then replied, “Well, when I was a little girl I wanted to be a fireman.
    “A fireman?”
    “Well, firewoman, I guess. I dreamed about climbing ladders and saving children from burning buildings and I figured that if I died, I’d be a dead hero.”
    He laughed. “That sounds reasonable.”
    I slapped his shoulder, a little embarrassed. “Hey, you asked. Then I wanted to be a school teacher. I figured that if I taught any kids who were really unhappy, I’d try to help them.” I thought for a second and then admitted, “I guess, maybe, I still have that dream.”
    “I think they’re sweet dreams.” He got up. “I think I had better take you back. I should really work tonight.”
    After such a wondrous day with Paul, I was afraid of what I might do if he left me alone. So I offered, “How about if I take you to dinner. At the cheapest place in town.”
    Paul smiled. “Sherry, we’ve caught the best dinner in the county. And all you have to do is make a salad.”
    Paul took me to the home that he had grown up in and where he still lived. It didn’t look like it had been redecorated since he was a boy and I half-expected his parents to walk in on us. Instead, Paul prepared our fish while I cut up vegetables and tossed a salad. Paul’s expertise in the kitchen was evident. “Where did you learn to cook?”
    “From cookbooks,” he said. “With my dad gone and my mom sick, someone had to put a meal on the table.” He glanced at my salad with an approving look, announcing, “Dinner is ready.”
    We enjoyed the lovely candlelit meal and a bottle of expensive wine. I only sipped my glass, knowing what I was capable of when I had drunk too much. Paul polished off one glass and then poured himself another, noticing my nearly full glass.
    “You don’t drink much,” he asked.
    “Sometimes.” Actually, I felt tipsy, intoxicated by our lovely time together.
    Gratefully, Paul