Page 137 of At First Catch

She loves me.

Even after hearing it last night, I’m not sure my brain has fully accepted the truth.

My arm tightens around her waist before I’m entirely awake, pulling her closer on instinct.

Hadley stills briefly against me, then she melts into the hold. That tiny response does something dangerous to my chest. Because apparently saying I love you once has turned me into the kind of man who clings to a woman in his sleep.

Outside the windows, Back Bay glows gray-blue beneath lingering storm clouds while the marina lights flicker faintly against the water.

The apartment smells like rain, old coffee grounds, and the faint floral scent of Hadley’s shampoo.

Home.

The thought arrives so naturally it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. Somewhere along the way, Hadley stopped feeling like someone I was dating.

She became the place where everything inside me finally goes quiet.

Her fingers brush lightly against my side. I glance down to find she’s awake, staring toward the windows with that small crease between her brows that means she’s halfway through dismantling some complicated thought.

“You’re thinking,” I murmur.

Her head tips back.

“You’re awake?”

“Unfortunately.”

Her mouth curves. “You sound devastated.”

“I am.”

She narrows her eyes.

“That’s dramatic.”

“You stole approximately ninety percent of the blankets.”

“That is completely untrue.”

“I have no evidence,” I admit. “But I feel strongly about it.”

I open mine fully then.

Morning light catches in her dark hair, pulling warm chestnut highlights through the strands where they spill across my chest. She looks soft. Sleepy. Mine, some dangerous part of my brain supplies.

I stare anyway.

“You’re staring,” she whispers.

“You said you love me last night.” My voice comes out rough with sleep. “I think I’ve earned staring privileges.”

“There isn’t a rulebook for this, is there?”

She blinks.

“For what?”

“For how long I’m allowed to look at the woman who admitted she loves me before it becomes awkward