Page 40 of At First Catch

Like seeing me matters.

Which is deeply dangerous information for my emotional stability.

One of the dockhands calls something over his shoulder I can’t quite make out. Nolan doesn’t even look over.

“If it’s on fire, tell Walter.”

A wave of laughter sweeps across the dock, and Walter points his hammer at the person.

“You’re buying lunch.”

Nolan grins without missing a beat.

“Only if you stop supervising from the shade.”

I climb out of the SUV, smoothing nervous hands down the linen shirt layered over my sundress.

Nolan reaches me just as the wind lifts loose strands of hair across my cheek.

“Morning,” he says.

His voice does unfair things to me at an hour when I should still have better judgment.

“Morning.”

His gaze flicks briefly over me—not lingering exactly, but enough that warmth crawls up my neck anyway.

“You came.”

The words sound flirtier to my ears than he probably intended.

I lift one brow. “You invited me.”

“Professionally.”

“Sure.”

That almost smile appears again. The dangerous one. Which is enough to feel like victory.

“Right,” he says.

For one suspended second, neither of us moves.

The marina hums around us—dock boards creaking beneath footsteps, gulls calling overhead, distant hammering somewhere near the western slips—but the space between us feels strangely still.

Each time we make eye contact, the world feels like it’s getting smaller.

Rook chooses that exact moment to shove his enormous head out the passenger window.

Nolan blinks.

“You brought the dog?”

“I didn’t bring him. He invited himself.”

Rook barks once like he’s contributing meaningfully to the conversation. Nolan laughs fully this time, low and surprised enough that my chest physically tightens.

Oh. That sound.