Page 119 of At First Catch

He does not laugh or dismiss her. “Fair.”

Apparently satisfied, she nods and leaves.

Coward.

The door closes behind her, taking the noise with it.

Silence settles through the cottage, warm and private. Nolan turns back to me, but his gaze catches on the sweatshirt draped over the couch.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “You kept it.”

“It was raining.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It needed to dry.”

“For three days?”

“I have a very cautious drying process.”

His smile grows, and I narrow my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

He steps closer, enough that I feel every inch of the distance disappear.

“The idea of my things belonging here feels better than it should,” he says.

The humor leaves me.

Nothing about this should feel so natural already. Yet Nolan standing in my kitchen with takeout on the counter and his sweatshirt in my living room carries the strange inevitability of something I have been moving toward long before I understood it.

“I know,” I whisper.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

The kiss begins softly, without the desperate edge that usually takes hold when we stop pretending we do not want each other. His hands settle at my waist, steady and warm, while mine slide over his shoulders.

There is still electricity between us. There always is. But this kiss is not driven by restraint finally breaking.

It is honest.

That difference changes everything.

I move closer, and Nolan notices. His hands tighten at my waist before his forehead rests against mine.

“You do that every time,” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Come closer when I touch you.”

A fiery blush creeps up my neck, yet my feet remain rooted to the spot. “Maybe I like being close to you.”

His gaze rises to mine, and the look in them steals the teasing response from my mouth.

Nolan never seems prepared for tenderness. It reaches him in stages: surprise first, then disbelief, followed by a careful stillness as though moving too quickly might frighten it away.