Page 45 of At First Catch

I hadn’t even noticed the difference until after she drove away. She already started talking about this place like failure wasn’t an option.

I scrub one hand down my face and glance toward the parking lot again.

She left almost forty minutes ago. My brain has apparently decided that’s unacceptable.

“Boss.”

I look up. One of the dock workers—Miguel, mid-thirties, permanently amused look—leans against the stack of lumber beside me, holding a tape measure.

“You planning on marrying that invoice or actually signing it?”

I blink once.

Right.

Work.

“Sorry.”

Miguel smirks. “Distracted?”

“No.”

The look he gives me says liar in at least four languages. I sign the invoice anyway.

Miguel takes it without moving. “You and the pretty brunette always stare at each other like that?”

I go completely still.

“That’s not happening.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Sure.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’ve known me for less than two days.”

“Yet I already know when you’re full of shit.”

Fair. Yet still deeply annoying.

Miguel glances toward the marina entrance where Hadley’s SUV disappeared earlier. “Town girl?”

“Born and raised.”

“That explains it.”

“What does?”

“She looks at this place like it matters.”

The words catch unexpectedly low in my chest because he’s right. Hadley doesn’t walk through the marina like someone handling permits. She moves through it like someone carrying memories.

Every time she pointed something out this morning—the old festival setup area, the dock where fishing tournaments used to start, the best spot for sunset concerts—her whole face softened.

She loves this place too. Not the way I do. Not as a project. Not as something to rebuild. But as something already woven into her life.