I went to the pier both mornings and even though I hung around for hours and caught more fish than usual, she never showed up. I was still hopeful of ...eeing her again, but frustration was setting in. Why hadn’t I asked her name? Asked if we could hang out? Asked a million other questions? I knew nothing about her. I’d just grunted out two word answers to everything she said!“Matt, are you okay?” Melissa asked me on the afternoon after my second pier-girl no-show.“Yeah, I’m fine,” I shrugged. I. She was supposed to be the one getting up at this time and finding an inconspicuous hidey-place in the bar. From that vantage point, she could safely observe --okay, stalk, if you will-- the proceedings at the booth when Waylon arrived. If anything went awry, she could come to make the save. They hadn't even worked out the signal for that, though."Shit," she muttered, then immediately winced. It was a rarity these days, hearing herself swear. She'd been mindful of that for the last several. More

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