Page 44 of At First Catch

“You say things like that.” His voice drops lower. Rougher. “Then look surprised when I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Everything else disappears. The gulls. The hammers. The tide. Until the truck horn brings it all crashing back.

“Nolan.”

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth.

And God help me, I think he’s going to kiss me, and I want him to. Badly enough that every rational thought leaves my body entirely. Then a truck horn blasts somewhere near the lot.

We both jump, and reality crashes back.

A worker waves toward Nolan from farther down the dock. “Hey, boss, you got a second?”

The moment shatters, and Nolan closes his eyes briefly like he’s annoyed by the interruption too.

Nolan looks back at me one last time before turning toward the worker.

My knees choose that exact moment to remember they’re attached to the rest of me.

Chapter Seven

NOLAN

By noon, I’ve accomplished almost nothing productive.

Objectively, work is happening all around me.

Crews are replacing sections of railing along the western slips. Two electricians are arguing over wiring diagrams near the fuel dock. Someone finally hauled the broken refrigeration unit out of the old restaurant building after three separate attempts and one deeply concerning amount of swearing.

The marina is moving.

I sign the same delivery receipt twice before Miguel slides the duplicate back across the clipboard.

“Try again, boss.”

I blink down at it.

Right.

Apparently, my brain has spent the better part of the morning somewhere around Hadley Wright’s smile instead of the marina.

So excellent leadership on my behalf.

I stand near the service shed pretending to study a materials invoice while workers move steadily across the docks around me. Sunlight flashes off the water in bright fractured ribbons, warm enough now that the whole marina smells like salt, sun-heated wood, diesel, and the faint sweetness of funnel cake drifting over from a food truck parked near the public beach access road.

Summer is creeping closer. You can feel it in Coral Bell Cove before you fully see it.

The town starts waking up differently this time of year. More boats in the slips. More traffic near Main Street. Music drifting from open restaurant patios at night. Locals pretending not to complain about tourists while secretly loving the energy they bring.

Hadley had walked me through all of it earlier while we moved between docks, with permit paperwork spread across a clipboard she barely looked at because she had the entire town memorized.

“This section here usually gets temporary vendors during peak weekends,” she said, pointing toward the eastern side of the marina while the breeze pushed loose strands of hair across her cheek. “Food trucks along the outer gravel lot. Local seafood booths near the restaurant building if you reopen it in time.”

“Reopen it in time,” she said.

Not if.

When.