Page 67 of At First Catch

“You what?”

“It wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“That sentence usually means the opposite.”

I point at him. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“Holt dared me.”

“Ah.” He nods solemnly. “Criminal influence.”

“Exactly.”

“And the bait tanks?”

“Destroyed.”

Nolan stares at me for one suspended second, then he laughs. Really laughs. Head tipping back while the sound rolls warm and low across the table between us.

My chest physically tightens. God. That sound is becoming my favorite thing. And every time I pull it out of him, it feels strangely intimate.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I inform him weakly.

“You drove a golf cart into live fish.”

“I was fourteen.”

“You were chaos.”

“I contain multitudes.”

His eyes stay on me longer than necessary after that, warm enough to make my pulse stumble unevenly.

“I know,” he says.

I look down at my drink because suddenly eye contact feels dangerous again.

“You know,” I say carefully, “you’re a lot different here.”

Nolan stills across from me.

“How?”

I glance toward the marina behind him where sunlight glitters across the slips. “Less…”

“Grumpy?”

A laugh grows and whispers from my chest. “Still grumpy.”

“Good.”

“But lighter, maybe.”

Something unreadable moves briefly across his face, then he leans back again, gaze shifting toward the water.

“This place is different.”