Page 54 of At First Catch

“Mom,” Rowan calls from the dining room. “That sounds threatening.”

“Eat more vegetables,” Claire yells back.

The room erupts into overlapping responses.

Crew lounges near the kitchen island, stealing cheese cubes from a tray while Bailey repeatedly slaps his hand away. Dean stands close by while Evelyn and Oliver race remote control vehicles across the floor near Holt’s boots.

And despite the noise, despite the chaos, despite the overwhelming closeness of all of it—everything feels easy here.

Hadley moves naturally through the kitchen beside her family, sliding into conversations without effort, while Claire starts directing me toward food, as if resistance is futile.

“Sit,” she orders.

“I can help.”

“You can eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Crew howls joyfully from across the room. “Oh, he learns fast.”

I side-eye him.

Crew grins. “Mom’s terrifying. Survival depends on adaptation.”

“Smart boy,” Claire says approvingly.

Bailey catches my eye over Crew’s shoulder, then very obviously looks toward Hadley, then back at me.

Oh no.

Hadley notices, and her eyes narrow. Bailey’s smile widens. I suddenly understand exactly where Hadley learned emotional warfare.

Dinner unfolds loudly after that. Plates are passed around the table while conversations overlap in every direction at once. Holt and Rowan argue about dock repairs. Ivy tells a story about a fan mailing homemade cookies to her publisher’s office. Evelyn insists I help color a paper placemat because she’s just another person I can’t say no to.

Through all of it, Hadley sits next to me, the corner of the table separating us. And every single time our eyes meet, something shifts beneath my ribs. Something impossible to ignore now.

At one point, she cackles so hard at something Bailey says that she reaches automatically for my arm beneath the table. Warm fingers wrap briefly around my forearm.

The contact lasts maybe two seconds. Still enough to send sparks shooting straight through me.

Hadley realizes what she’s done. Her eyes fly to mine, and neither of us moves.

The room continues around us in a blur of noise and warm light, while awareness stretches tight between our bodies.

Then Holt looks up from beside her and goes very still. Hadley releases my arm.

My pulse pounds once, hard, because the moment Holt Wright starts pulling on threads, this entire thing becomes infinitely more complicated.

And judging by the slight narrowing of his eyes as he glances between us—that process may have already started.

The rest of dinner passes with the clanking of silverware against plates, jokes and teasing tossed back and forth, and the dangerous realization that I could get used to this far too quickly.

Claire keeps refilling everyone’s plates whether they want more food or not. Mason tells the same fishing story three separate times. Bailey and Lila dissolve into helpless mirth over something involving a disastrous high school date while Crew pretends not to enjoy being the center of attention despite clearly thriving on it.

And through all of it, Hadley moves between everyone effortlessly.

Claire reaches for the serving spoon. Hadley already has it in her hand. Oliver’s juice runs low. She refills it without looking. Holt starts reaching for the rolls. She slides the basket toward him first. It happens over and over until I realize nobody’s asking her. She’s simply watching everyone else.