Page 103 of At First Catch

The horrifying sincerity in her voice makes me laugh unexpectedly.

Like a flash of lightning, I realize that this is the easiest date I’ve ever been on. There’s no performance. No trying to impress each other. Just a comfort between two people who enjoy each other’s company.

At one point, she reaches across the table absentmindedly to steal one of my asparagus stems. Even though it’s casual, it’s still enough to send warmth through my chest so quickly it almost hurts.

The restaurant noise fades around the edges again while candlelight flickers between us, and warm ocean wind moves through the deck.

Everything narrows down to Hadley looking at me like I’ve just allowed her to handle something fragile.

Dessert arrives. Neither of us touches it for several minutes because we’re still talking. At some point, the restaurant starts stacking chairs inside. Neither of us notices until the server asks if we’d like another coffee.

It’s the conversation, the innocent flirting, the way she reaches for my food like it’s instinct now, the soft little smile she gives me every time she catches me staring.

All of it.

Forever starts feeling like a frighteningly reasonable idea somewhere between dessert and her telling me childhood stories about Holt accidentally setting a dock rope on fire with bottle rockets.

The restaurant empties around us as live music drifts more through the warm night air. Most of the tourists have disappeared toward the boardwalk now, leaving the deck quieter beneath glowing lanterns and moonlight reflecting across Back Bay.

Hadley leans against the railing beside me after we step outside. The breeze catches her dress, brushing it against her legs. The dangerous thing now is that the attraction no longer feels separate from everything else.

I catch myself wondering if she’d like this place in October. Then Christmas. Then next summer. It seems my brain has become alarmingly optimistic.

Moonlight catches against her hair while restaurant lights glow faintly in the distance behind her.

“What?” she asks.

I shake my head once, but the movement feels weak even to me.

“You ever realize something and wish your brain had kept it private for a little longer?” I ask.

Her brows lift.

“That sounds ominous.”

I lean back against the railing beside her and look out toward the bay before I say something reckless like I think I’m falling hopelessly in love with you after a couple of days of marina flirting and an emotionally devastating bookstore kiss.

The breeze moves between us, then Hadley nudges my shoulder lightly with hers.

“You know,” she says, “you don’t always have to carry every thought alone.”

Before I can brace myself properly, she reaches for my hand. Her fingers lace carefully through mine while moonlight spills silver across the water behind her.

“You know what I think?” she asks.

“What?”

“I think you’ve spent most of your life expecting people to leave.”

The breath leaves my lungs.

I stare at our joined hands for one suspended second.

“Usually they do.”

Hadley’s grip tightens, and the look in her eyes afterward nearly breaks something open inside me.

“I don’t think I want to,” she whispers.