Page 110 of At First Catch

Monday morning starts with rain rolling across Back Bay in soft gray sheets while the marina wakes beneath heavy clouds. Water taps steadily against dock pilings and metal roofs while workers shuffle toward covered work areas carrying coffee and rain jackets.

Normally, I like weather like this. Today, I check the office window every thirty seconds.

“You look miserable.”

I glance up from the office desk.

Miguel stands in the doorway, dripping rainwater onto the floor while holding electrical permits and entirely too much amusement. He tosses the permits onto my desk before leaning casually against the frame.

“So where’s your girl?”

I narrow my eyes. “You people are getting way too comfortable.”

“You’re in love with a Wright. The town’s emotionally involved now.”

Miguel studies my expression for one dangerous second.

“Oh wow. That’s real real.”

I hate everyone here.

Ignoring Miguel, who whistles a chippy tune on his way out, I pull the construction budget back onto the screen after Miguel leaves.

Another email waits at the top of my inbox.

Updated financing terms attached.

I don’t need to open it to know what’s changed. The numbers have been moving in the wrong direction for weeks.

I open it anyway.

Higher contribution from me. Less room for overruns. Another contingency requirement tied to the west docks.

None of it is unreasonable.

That’s almost worse.

I’ve spent enough years running a business to know the difference between someone being difficult and someone looking at the same risk I am. And I’ve already watched one business I’d built become leverage in someone else’s hands. I’m not interested in repeating the experience.

The marina needs more work than anyone expected when I bought it. The pilings don’t care how much I’ve already put into this place, and hurricane season isn’t going to wait for the restaurant to start turning a profit.

I close the email and pull the construction budget back onto the screen. There has to be somewhere else I can move the numbers.

Before I can evaluate, the marina office door swings open again. Every sensible idea in my head completely vanishes.

Hadley walks inside carrying coffee and a pastry box while rainwater glistens faintly along the shoulders of her oversized sweatshirt. She sets the pastry box on my desk. Rainwater drips off one sleeve onto the floor. My brain stops processing anything Miguel said.

Her hair’s damp from the rain. Cheeks pink from the cold. Leggings clinging to long bare legs that derail every functioning thought I possess.

And then she smiles at me. Like seeing me is the best part of her morning.

“You’re staring,” she says lightly.

I lean back in the chair. “You came in here looking like that. What did you expect?”

Desire flickers across her face.

Good.