Page 192 of At First Catch

Outside, dock machinery hums faintly across the marina while gulls cry overhead and storm cleanup continues below.

But between us? Stillness. Heavy enough to crack.

Nolan looks at me carefully as if he’s trying to solve this instead of feeling it.

“I was trying not to scare you.”

I’m almost overcome by the tenderness in his voice.

“I’m already scared,” I admit.

Nolan’s face goes blank, his eyes wide and unseeing as a wave of panic washes over him. Emotion flickers openly across his eyes.

“What are you scared of?” he asks.

I look toward the marina outside the windows.

“That one day you’re going to carry everything alone for so long that there won’t be room left for me beside you anymore.”

The silence afterward physically hurts. I spare a glance at Nolan’s face, and it tells me he never realized that possibility existed.

The conversation lingers between us all day afterward. Like humidity before another storm.

Nolan leaves for the docks around eight thirty after finally drinking the cold coffee anyway, which honestly hurts me more than if he’d dumped it out. Because it feels symbolic. Him taking whatever exhaustion and disappointment the world hands him without complaint.

I stand at the kitchen window watching him cross the marina below. Workers stop him every few feet. Before disappearing into the office, he pauses long enough to answer another phone call. His shoulders straighten. He paces once along the dock while listening, free hand rubbing the back of his neck in that absent way he does whenever he’s trying to solve three problems at once.

I wonder if it’s another contractor.

The conversation lasts nearly fifteen minutes before he hangs up and heads right back to work.

Whatever’s waiting on the other end of those calls, he never mentions it to me.

By noon, I’m sitting cross-legged at the bookstore café pretending to help Bailey organize inventory while actually replaying every conversation Nolan and I have had over the past month.

Bailey slides a stack of paperbacks toward me.

“You’ve alphabetized the same romance section twice.”

“I’m thriving.”

“Concerning.”

I sigh and lean back in the chair while sunlight spills through the lighthouse windows overlooking Back Bay.

“You love him a gross amount,” Bailey says casually beside me.

I glance sideways.

“Excuse you.”

“Tell me otherwise,” she prompts.

Unwilling to argue, I stare back out the windows.

“I just don’t know how to reach him when he gets like this.”

Bailey’s shoulders sag, a wave of relief washing over her features.