Page 118 of At First Catch

Bailey’s smile returns. “This is embarrassing for you.”

“I hate everyone.”

“Sure you do.”

A door closes outside. Nolan appears through the front window carrying two take-out bags, the lowering sun catching along his shoulders and the dark edges of his hair.

A wave of warmth spreads through my limbs, easing every muscle.

It happens so quickly that I cannot hide it, not even from myself.

Bailey watches my face, then gives one decisive nod. “Yep. Love.”

I throw a kitchen towel at her. She ducks, laughing, as the front door opens.

Nolan steps inside while ending a voicemail, his mouth still curved from whatever he has just heard. As soon as his gaze lands on mine, his face transforms.

It is subtle enough that someone who does not know him might miss it. His shoulders loosen. The line between his brows eases. Something warm moves into his gaze as though seeing me is the first easy thing that has happened all day.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

The cottage feels different with him inside it. The shift is not dramatic, and it is not entirely about attraction. It is quieter than that. More intimate. As though the room has begun to recognize him too.

He lifts the take-out bags. “I brought seafood bribery.”

“You know, when the marina’s restaurant was open, Dad insisted every first Friday of summer belonged there.”

Nolan looks up.

“Really?”

“Nobody made plans. You just went.” I shrug. “Half the town did. Old Bill used to stand at the register pretending he didn’t know everybody’s order already.”

“I hope somebody gets to do that again.”

Nolan’s mouth twitches as he crosses into the kitchen and places the bags on the counter beside me. He is close enough now that I can feel the warmth of him along my arm. My body sharpens with awareness, every nerve remembering the rain, the dark office, and the way his hands held me as though restraint cost him something.

“You okay?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard, even though it should not anymore.

He always asks. More importantly, he always means it.

“I’m good.”

Nolan studies me, taking in the mugs beside the sink, the color probably still lingering in my cheeks, and whatever I have failed to hide from him.

“You sure?”

His soft-spoken care is almost too much for me to bear.

Before I have to answer, Bailey rises and grabs her purse. “I’ve suddenly remembered that I respect sexual-tension boundaries.”

“Bailey.”

She ignores me on her way to the door, pausing beside Nolan long enough to give him a solemn look. “If you hurt her, I’ll ruin your life creatively.”