Page 159 of At First Catch

By noon, I’ve replayed Nolan saying “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you” approximately forty-seven times.

Possibly more.

In my defense, the man says emotionally devastating things with the casual confidence of someone unaware he’s actively rearranging my internal organs.

“You’re smiling at shelves again.”

I glance up from the romance section at A Page in Time. Between here, the coffee shop, and my actual job, it’s a wonder I have time to fit in a life with Nolan at all. I just have a hard time sitting still.

Bailey lingers, a stack of inventory sheets in her hands, her tired face reflecting the fatigue of a woman forced to witness too much happiness secondhand.

“I’m working.”

“You stacked the bookmarks.”

Late morning sunlight spills through the lighthouse windows while tourists drift lazily through the bookstore carrying iced coffees and beach bags. Outside, Back Bay sparkles beneath the bright spring skies while music from somewhere downtown drifts faintly through open windows.

Bailey watches me another moment before narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“What did he say this time?”

I look away. That reaction alone tells her everything.

“Oh no.” Bailey clutches the inventory sheets dramatically. “It was emotional.”

The bell over the bookstore door jingles before I can defend myself further.

Lila walks inside, carrying iced coffee trays, with Oliver clutching her sweater at her hip. Evelyn skips beside them, holding a pastry nearly the size of her face.

Warmth floods through me.

“Favorite aunt alert!” Evelyn announces dramatically the second she spots me.

Lila laughs while handing over coffee.

“You look suspiciously happy,” she tells me.

I narrow my eyes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because,” Bailey answers before Lila can, “you’ve been wandering around looking like a woman in a cheesy 1990s romantic comedy.”

I hate everyone here.

Truly.

Oliver reaches toward me from Lila’s side, and I take him, pressing a kiss against his hair while he curls into my shoulder.

The quiet domesticity of the moment settles warmly through me. Lila notices. Her face takes on that unsettling, familiar older-sister look that implies she’s already read my mind.

“Oh,” she says.

“No,” I answer.

Bailey looks between us, then gasps.

“Oh my God, it’s worse now.”

“Stop saying things,” I hiss.