Page 95 of At First Catch

Beside me, Nolan rests his forearms against the dock beside mine.

“You think?”

“He didn’t hit you.”

“That was our benchmark?”

“With Wright men? Absolutely.”

A chuckle escapes him. The sound slides warm and low through my chest the way it always does now.

The marina hums steadily around us while morning sunlight flashes bright across Back Bay. Tourists drift between slips carrying coffee cups while workers continue repairs farther down the western dock.

Despite the chaos around us, the space beside Nolan still feels strangely private.

“You okay?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard as concern laces through his words.

I glance toward him.

“You just got interrogated by my brother, and you’re checking on me?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re the one who looked panicked.”

I stare out across the water because eye contact feels catastrophic at this moment.

“You don’t have to worry about Holt,” I say carefully.

Nolan stays quiet beside me long enough that I glance back over. He’s already watching me with that same focused warmth that keeps unraveling me one layer at a time.

“I’m not worried about Holt,” he says.

I forget whatever I was about to say. Completely. Nobody has ever answered that question with me instead of themselves.

“Then what are you worried about?”

“You getting scared.”

I laugh weakly. “That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

The breeze lifts strands of hair across my cheek, and before I can move them, Nolan reaches over. His fingers brush along my temple while he tucks the strands behind my ear again. The contact melts every nerve ending in my body. He does it so naturally now. No hesitation. No uncertainty. As if reaching for me has already become instinct.

My heart physically aches.

“Nolan,” I whisper.

His hand lingers briefly against my jaw, then drops.

“I know this is a lot,” he says.

The understatement nearly makes me laugh.

A lot?

I kissed him yesterday, and now my entire future suddenly feels unstable in the best possible way.