Jake pulled on the line reeling out. “I got one!”
“I see that.” I placed my pole in the holder and moved over toward him. He gets so excited, no matter how old we get. The kids are all grown and having kids of their own, but Jake still acts like a kid at Christmas every time he hooks a fish. I love going fishing with this man.
He grabbed the fish, a decent size, not one I could name. It was a color and shape I couldn’t quite place.
“What is it, Jake?”
He held it up and looked closer, the fish inexplicably still in his hands.
And then it spoke, “I will give you three wishes if you throw me back.”
We froze, gawping at it.
Finally, I took a breath and whispered, “Did you hear that?”
We looked at each other and frowned.
Jake stated firmly, “I wish this fish to be gone.”
I swear the fish grinned before it replied, “You cannot wish me out of exi—Aaaaaaaah!”
Jake threw it as far as possible.
I hugged my man hard and whispered, “Thank you,” into his ear.
He sighed and retorted, “That shit never works out well.”