“That was fun,” Grace said. “I haven’t been fishing for ages, not since I was a teenager, and Dad and my uncle would take us out on the boat.”
“You haven’t lost the knack,” Cullen said, nudging her shoulder with his as they wandered past the pub and toward the looming hill. He carried a bag of fish and another of supplies since they’d decided to cook at the lodge.
Grace raised her right hand and sniffed. “I smell like a fish.”
“A little,” Cullen agreed. “But I do too. We’ll have a shower.”
“We’ll look like fish soon with all the blue cod we’ve been eating.”
A seagull soared overhead and dive-bombed another bird that had found a tidbit on the beach. Gradually the incline increased, and Grace issued a gusty sigh.
“I’m exhausted. The only thing that’s keeping me moving is the thought of
