He wasn't gonna do it.

Wade had been telling himself that all day long. In fact, he'd talked himself out of the idea about 7 different times over the course of his shift at the Rammer Jammer. And yet despite that, here he was, with some big ole plan forming in his mind that was going to involve a trip to the all night grocery store in Mobile and definitely not much sleep.

Zoe Hart didn't need any more of his help, she'd made that perfectly clear in those exact words as she stomped out of Lavon's kitchen that morning, in a huff because she had about 23 hours to figure out how to make a pot of gumbo that would beat Brick Breeland's.

If George Tucker had offered to help, I bet she wouldn't have said no, he thought with no tiny amount of resentment.

"And why the hell do I even care anyway," he said outloud. I must be losing it, he thought as he turned his Camaro down the path towards Earl's cabin, the headlights bouncing off the woods that grew up thick on both sides of the road. I'm this close to people calling me Crazy Wade.

"Hey, Earl?" he pulled open the rickety door to the cabin. "You up?"

It was almost midnight, so his dad was passed out in his usual spot on the faded couch with a bottle of cheap whiskey next to him.

"Hey," Wade thwacked him on the back of the head and Earl's bloodshot eyes flew open.

Earl struggled to sit up, his hair standing out in all directions, surprised to see Wade any day that wasn't the last one of the month. "Somethin' the matter, son?" In his mind he knew it was wrong to hope for that, but there did come those moments far and in between where Wade would show up all mad, spouting off about something, and Earl couldn't do much for his boy, but he could listen.

"Nope." Wade drawled, rifling through the kitchen drawers. "You remember that box you used to have with all ma's old recipes in it? You got that around somewhere?"

Earl rubbed his eyes and it took him a few minutes to collect his thoughts, but he rose unsteadily to his feet, shuffled to a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a faded yellow tin box stuffed with recipes on little cards. "You taking up cooking? Must be trying to impress a girl, huh?"

'Uhhhh no. Just looking for that recipe from Uncle Mo she had." Wade fanned through the cards. It brought back a pain of nostalgia. He hadn't looked through these in years. His mom's chocolate peanut butter cake recipe was still in there. Another card was titled at the top "My boys favorite casserole."

He swallowed hard and shoved that one back into the box as a familiar streak of guilt ran through him. She'd made this place a home once. It hadn't always been such a run down shack. He should be taking better care of it. But between working every possible shift at the bar and the maintenance work Lavon paid him to do, Earl was pretty low on his priority list the last couple years. Keep him off the roof, keep him fed, keep him out of traffic. That was enough work as it was.

"You making gumbo?" Earl asked now, his voice a little hopeful. "Maybe you could bring me some. "

"Just helping out a friend," he said shortly. "I'll have Frank bring you out some groceries if you need food."

"I got enough," Earl waved him off. "Haven't seen you around much lately."

"Been busy," Wade said, scanning the stack. "Lavon's got me working on remodeling the carriage house for Zoe Hart."

"Ahhh, the new doctor. Harley's daughter."

"Yeah," Wade looked up briefly, his face void of expression. "I'm surprised you even remember that."

"Harley was a good man. Real good to you. Made sure you didn't go down the same road as me, that's for sure." Earl's voice got solemn. "He came out here to see me a bunch. When you got….busy."

"Busy," Wade echoed. He held his tongue, thinking of his 12-year-old self picking up bottles and sweeping floors at the Rammer Jammer to 'work off' Earl's bar tab.

"Yeah, well. Someone had to pay for your bad habits."

"She pretty?"

"I guess." He shrugged, like it was no big deal, even though his mind automatically went to Zoe's legs in those damn shorts, and the way her hair swung behind her when she stomped off. "She's a pain in the ass. Keeps blowing out the electricity at my place," he scowled.

Earl got that goofy half ass grin on his face. "You like her."

"You're drunk."

"I'm drunk but I'm not dumb. You bring her around sometime, I'd like to meet her."

"Yeah that's not gonna happen," Wade said without hesitation. He held up the recipe card he'd unearthed from the pile. "I gotta run. Take a shower and eat a decent meal. You look like shit."

Earl watched as Wade slammed out the backdoor just as abruptly as he had come in. Always putting his foot in his mouth with that boy of his. He never seemed to be able to say the right thing. Wade was a good son. He'd always been a good son. Certainly hadn't taken off like Jesse had. He just could never seem to find the right words to tell him that.

Earl chuckled to himself as he laid back down on the couch and closed his eyes, humming the words to Frank Sinatra's "Moon River" softly. He forgot a lot of things, being a drunk and all, but he'd never forget what Harley Wilkes had told him.

I have a daughter, Earl. You just wait. She's going to come here to Bluebell some day and that boy of yours won't know what hit him…..

.

###################

"Gooooood morning," Zoe breezed into the kitchen looking cheerier than she had in days, dressed up like the cover of a fashion magazine as usual, and ready for work. "What a great day to be alive."

"Who put a quarter in you?" Wade asked as he poured coffee in a travel mug and screwed on the top.

"Just happy, I guess," she slid onto a stool as Lavon flipped some pancakes onto a plate and handed it to her. "Probably the happiest I've been since I got here."

"Thought you'd be kinda bummed you didn't win gumbo queen of Alabama." Wade remarked as he leaned against the back counter and took a sip of his coffee. The contest had taken place yesterday afternoon, and like he did every year, Brick Breeland had once again claimed the trophy. But the look on Zoey's face when Dash Dewitt put that medal around her neck was priceless.

"Kinda funny I got second place though," she said, tilting her head at both Wade and Lavon, and raising her eyebrows. "Considering Burt Reynolds ate my gumbo for breakfast."

"Don't look at me," Lavon held up his hands in defense. "Lavon Hayes is an honorable mayor who does not cheat for his friends. In fact, I'm going to pretend I didn't even hear any of this."

"Oh Lavon, I know it wasn't you," Zoe said with a contented sigh, taking another bite of her pancakes.

Lavon raised his eyebrows. "Uhhhh…okay. Clue us in."

"I think George made my gumbo," she confided.

Wade's easy-going grin faded a little. Maybe Zoe didn't see it, but Lavon did.

If George Tucker had actually made that gumbo, Lavon Hayes would eat his hat.

"Now, Z, I wouldn't be saying that too loud," Lavon said uneasily. "Cuz you know technically I'm the mayor and I'd have to disqualify you. Not to mention, you know how fast rumors get around, and that's not something Lemon would be liking too much."

"I think George Tucker has a lot better things to do with his time than help you cheat at a gumbo making contest," Wade said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like plan a wedding? In case you forgot that part."

Zoe stuck her chin out. "it's a nice thing to do for a friend. Some people actually do nice things for a friend without requiring sex as a payment in return, Wade."

"Well now, what would be the fun in that?" He said with a smirk.

"You could learn a lot from George," Zoe added as she finished off her pancakes.

"Yeah I bet," Wade shook his head in disgust, gathered up his crap, and slammed out the door.

"What's his problem anyway?" Zoe asked, stuffing her mouth with more pancakes. "Sheesh, what did I ever do to make him President of the Bluebell hates Zoe fanclub? He always has to go and rain on my parade."

Lavon sighed and stood up. "I need to get to a meeting. And Wade doesn't hate you, Z. That's the problem. That is a very large part of the problem. He's a good guy. You two stop going at each other's throats for a minute, you might figure that out."

##########################################

Zoe sat on the front porch of the carriage house with a bottle of wine and a hardcover novel, but she wasn't really reading it, and she hadn't even touched the wine for once.

She bit her lip, impatiently watching the gatehouse across the pond. She could see Wade moving around in there, doing…whatever Wade-like things it was he did.

Probably playing stupid video games. Or getting ready for an orgy.

How was she supposed to know it was him of all people who had made her gumbo for the contest? It hadn't even occurred to her until Lavon had set that red pot down in front of her this morning. The red pot that had sat among the others in the contest. The red pot from Lavon's kitchen. Only then had she realized that it was Wade.

You share a kitchen. And a fuse box, Lavon had said this morning in no uncertain terms. And neither of you is going anywhere. Work out your crap. And apologize.

She knew one way to get him to come over here. She could turn on the bug zapper and blow the fuse, and he'd be over within five minutes to give her a lecture about plugging in her 'girl' stuff.

But nope, the lights went off in his place, and he walked out on the porch.

Finally. Zoe stood up.

"Hey," she called tentatively. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Got somewhere to be," Wade didn't even look up in her direction, just started grabbing fishing gear off the porch.

Lavon's words came back to her. I know he acts like a hard-ass, but it's just how he is.

"Going fishing?" she tried again.

"What do you think."

Fishing poles. Right. Duh. Really smooth.

"You fish at night?"

"Yup. That's when the catfish and the bass bite."

"Ew," she made a face.

Wade's laughter rang out across the water. "You wanna go? Or too afraid to get your hands dirty?"

"Ummmm…." Her voice trailed off.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged and walked over to the truck, ready and waiting with a boat already hooked up and dropped his poles in the back.

"But I'm in my pajamas," she called, looking down at the skimpy tank top and yoga pants she was sporting.

"I don't think the fish are gonna care."

Zoe bit her lip, then slowly closed her book and rose to her feet. "Okay."

The skepticism on Wade's face showed as she walked around the pond to where he leaned against the truck.

"Have you ever been fishing?"

"No," she said determined. "But Lavon says I should take more chances. And mix it in with the locals. You're a local. I'm….mixing. Sort of."

"Holding a fishing pole isn't exactly the biggest risk in the world."

No, she thought, but being alone in a boat at midnight with the biggest womanizer in all of southern Alabama probably was. She held her tongue at the thought of that.

"If I'm going to be a… Bluebellian…I guess I better learn, right?"

"I guess. But if you fall in the river, I'm not jumping in after you."

"What are you afraid of, man eating fish?" She said sarcastically.

"Nope. Gators." He climbed into the truck.

She gulped and looked at the boat a second longer before hesitantly yanking open the door.

"You can't scare me off, Wade Kinsella. Now let's get this…fishing show on the…river," she declared.

Wade just shook his head and started up the truck.

30 minutes later Zoe found herself sitting on the river. In a boat. Nervously scanning the top of the water for beady yellow eyes.

This is ridiculous, she scolded herself silently, trying to calm herself. He wouldn't let me get eaten.

She snuck a peak at Wade, who definitely looked annoyed that his nice peaceful fishing trip had been female hijacked. Well…maybe he would.

"Nice boat," she commented lamely. Hey, conversation had to start somewhere, right?

"Thanks, I guess. A friend…left it to me. It's kinda special."

He should tell her, Wade thought. But something about it felt kinda right to keep it to himself.

There was a breeze on her face as they slowly drifted downstream via the trolling motor attached to the back and a floodlight on the front leading the way. Zoe wished she would have brought a sweater, and she shivered a little in the night air. It was nice though, after the unforgiving heat of the day.

"Here," Wade unearthed a red hoodie and tossed it in her direction.

She held it up by one hand and wrinkled her nose. "Do I want to know where this has been?"

"I'm a guy. What do you think?"

Zoe put it on anyway, and dared to bury her face in the collar. It smelled like campfire and cologne and spilled beer. Something about the combination made her smile. So Wade.

She talked, rambled really, while he went about dropping the anchor and climbing around her to set up the gear. But she couldn't seem to get back around to asking him what she really wanted to know.

"You nervous or somethin?"

"About what?" she jerked her head up.

"You tell me." Wade settled on the bench next to her and grabbed up a fishing pole.

She gagged as she watched him pull a massively long nightcrawler out of the bait container and stab it with a hook. "I'm not touching those."

"You're not going to catch anything with an empty hook," he said, amused.

"Waaaaade….." she whined.

With sigh, he baited her hook and handed her the pole, and then grabbed up another one.

Zoe examined it carefully. Well damn. I mean this couldn't be that hard. Just press…something… and throw it, right? She'd seen fishing on tv. Once.

Exasperated, Wade took the pole from her again. "Press the button. Hold it while you cast. Then reel it in a little." He tossed out her line, and handed it back to her.

"Now what?"

"We wait for them to bite. Quietly," he emphasized as he sat down as far as possible from her as he could get and still be in the boat.

"Um…okay," Zoe eyed him up. He was still mad about this morning. Maybe a little less mad, but yup definitely still mad. She glanced ruefully down at the book and the bottle of wine she'd dropped by her feet, guessing he'd not be happy if she confessed she hadn't actually expected to have to fish.

She literally went 47 seconds without talking. Wade knew because he timed her in his head.

"So how about those Belles, huh? Pretty sure Lemon Breeland wants my head on a platter in town square right about now."

Wade sighed. "You just can't stop, can you?"

"Stop what?"

"Talking."

Suddenly the pole in Zoe's hands jerked hard, and she jumped half a mile and almost dropped it overboard. She gave a high pitched scream.

"Dammit." Wade muttered, scrambling over all the other crap in the boat and nearly ending up in the river in the process. "Don't let go!"

Easier said than done.

He wrapped his arms around Zoe from behind and put his hands above hers on the rod. "crank the reel!"

Oh boy, she thought. Oh no. Too close. Too. close. He was yelling at her to reel in this fish and all she could concentrate on was the fact that he was plastered against her hips in a way that was getting her way more hot and bothered than it should have. I mean it was Wade, for gods sake.

By the time a floppy black thing with long whiskers landed in the bottom of the boat a few minutes later with the help of a net, gasping for air, Zoe's arms ached so bad she thought they would fall off, but she was damn proud of herself for reeling in well…whatever it was.

"Yeah, baby!" Wade whooped. "That's a big one."

"Oh my god, what is that?" Zoe said, aghast. "Is it supposed to look like that? Are we fishing in polluted waters?"

He gave her a skeptical look. "It's a catfish."

"Aww, it's kinda cute I guess." Zoe watched it flailing around, slowly flopping less and less. "I feel bad for him. His life just snuffed out because he bit the wrong hook…."

"Yeah well, that's nature." Wade took the fish off the line, still with life left in it, and made a move to throw it in the cooler.

"Can't we…put him back?" She asked tentatively.

He looked at her increduously. "I know you're new at this, but that's not how fishing works."

"Pleeeeease," she weedled. "I'll be extra extra nice to you for the next three days if you throw it back. I won't even plug my hair dryer in, I swear," she crossed her fingers over her heart in an x.

Wade rolled his eyes and reluctantly dropped the fish back over the side of the boat into the water. "You know, that coulda been my dinner tomorrow."

Zoe sighed with relief.

"Never again," he muttered. "Never. Again."

"You're the best," Zoe said happily, leaning over to punch him playfully on the shoulder. "Thanks, Wade. This is so much fun! I can't believe I'm actually fishing. I feel like such a local."

Wade held his tongue on that one, which for him was really hard. Actually fishing. That was a stretch.

They sat on the river a little while longer, with not much luck.

Zoe finally fell asleep in the bottom of the boat with her head on a pile of life jackets and when she woke up, the sky was lighter around them, but the sun not quite up yet. It took her a second to remember where she was. There was a fine mist of fog on top of the river. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her toes.

Wade was sitting across from her in the boat, slumped over and cross legged with his feet up on the edge, his forehead furrowed and her battered hardcover copy of The Notebook in his hands.

She snickered. "Imagine that. You know how to read?"

"It's not as good as the "articles" in Playboy, but it'll do," he said, uprighting himself.

"It's romantic. You want to know how it ends? It's so sad…."

"It's chic lit," he said wryly. "So I can guess. Tansy used to check that kind of crap out from the library all the time."

"Whose Tansy?"

He completely ignored that question and tossed the book at her, then went to work pulling up the anchor.

"It doesn't make any sense anyway. All that romance and crap gives me hives."

"I bet telling all the girls that really impresses them," she said dryly.

"Good thing I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Definitely a good thing. If you were you'd get an F for sure," she joked lightly.

It was a quiet ride back to the plantation, but there was something peaceful about it. They spent so much time bickering and throwing jabs at each other otherwise, it was just….nice. Zoe leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, and once in awhile he snuck a peak over at her. She looked tired, but content.

Wade stopped the truck in front of the carriage house and waited for her to climb out. The sun was coming up now, but his ass was dead tired. It had been a hell of a couple days.

"Well, this was quite the adventure," she said as she gathered up her stuff and pushed open the passenger door.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm, and she looked up at him in surprise.

"Can I ask you something?" He said hesitantly.

"Ummm…sure." Here we go, Zoe thought. Same old Wade. He's going to ruin the moment by cracking some dumb sex joke or trying to get in my pants.

"Was it the 2nd place that made you happy, or that you thought George Tucker did it?" He dragged out each word as if it was painful.

She stared at him, completely caught off-guard.

"Nevermind," he muttered, his hands flexing on the steering wheel.

Zoe took a deep breath "It was the fact that someone here, someone in Bluebell, went out of their way to do it for me," she said quietly. "Kinda made me feel… like someone cares. I guess it doesn't really matter who it was. It was the first time that anyone has made me feel like I could belong here. It's kinda finally starting to feel like home."

Their eyes met across the console, and for a second he felt that thing between them again, like a weird energy he didn't quite know what to do with. An understanding.

He more than anyone knew what it was like to feel like you were always on the outside.

"You belong here," Wade said quietly. "Don't doubt that. And don't let Lemon or Brick or anyone else tell you otherwise."

Zoe leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thanks for teaching me how to fish. I am so ready for bed, though. Thank god Brick is on call today."

He looked surprised, and a cheeky smile worked itself up the edges of his mouth. "You want me to come and tuck you in?"

Zoe laughed out loud. And there he is. Typical Wade. "You wish. See you around, Wade."

"See ya around, Doc."

She stood on the front steps of the carriage house, still wearing his red sweatshirt and watched as he pulled away, the boat bumping along behind the truck on the trailer. And she noticed what she hadn't the night before in the darkness.

H. Wilkes was painted across the hull in black letters.

Wade had taken her out in her father's boat, and never said a word about it.

It meant more to her than she could even find the words to describe.

Stunned, she tried to absorb this as she walked into the carriage house and closed the door behind her. She sank down on her bed and picked up the framed picture of Harley.

"I don't know what you're up to up there," she whispered. "But Thanks. Dad."