Page 66 of At First Catch

The slight contact is enough to ruin me.

“You gonna keep staring at me like that?” he asks.

I blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to decide whether kissing me would solve your problems or create worse ones.”

My whole body is overwhelmed with warmth. It’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.

“I hate you a little.”

“That’s fair.”

His mouth twitches, and I catch myself staring at him.

And suddenly it hits me again—that Nolan seldom smiles fully around most people. But around me? It happens more and more.

“Lunch,” he says again, more gently this time.

I should say no. I absolutely should.

“Okay.” The word leaves my mouth softly enough to feel dangerous.

Twenty minutes later, we end up seated outside at a weathered picnic table overlooking the marina, while gulls circle overhead and a warm wind moves steadily across the water.

The whole afternoon feels suspended.

Bright sunlight. Salt air. The distant sound of boats moving through Back Bay, and Nolan sitting across from me in sunglasses and rolled sleeves looking unfairly attractive while eating fries.

Neither of us checks our phones. At some point my sandwich disappears without me remembering eating it. The server refills our drinks twice before I notice the time.

“You’ve officially been here long enough for people to start assigning nicknames,” I inform him.

“That sounds threatening.”

“It is.”

He leans back, one arm hooked across the bench behind him, while sunlight flashes across dark lenses. “What’s yours?”

I narrow my eyes. “You think I have a nickname?”

“You grew up in a small coastal town surrounded by emotionally aggressive locals. So yes.”

Fair.

I steal one of his fries before answering. “Hurricane Hadley.”

His brows lift.

“That sounds fake.”

“I wish.”

“Why?”

I sigh dramatically. “When I was fourteen, I accidentally drove Dad’s golf cart into the marina bait tanks.”

Nolan goes completely still.