Page 210 of At First Catch

“I’ve spent nights digging through preservation grants, coastal resiliency funding, SBA programs...half the applications seem designed for people with full-time grant writers instead of people trying to rebuild a marina.”

I shake my head.

“I know those options exist.” I laugh once. “I just haven’t found one that actually fits.”

Apparently, I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

“You’re looking at this like a contractor and a traditional bank would.”

I glance toward him. “How else am I supposed to look at it?”

“As a preservation business with seasonal cash flow.” Dean takes another drink of coffee. “You’re looking in the right industry.” He nods toward the marina. “I just think you’re asking the wrong people. Certain lenders specialize in independent coastal properties—marinas, historic inns, family resorts. They understand hurricane reserves, grant timing, and uneven revenue.”

“You know one?”

“I know where to start looking.”

I look back toward the water. “That sounds expensive.”

“It sounds informed.” He lets the words settle. “If your numbers work, they’ll care more about the long-term health of the business than whether it has luxury condos attached to it.”

Hope stirs before I can stop it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Dean watches a father help his son untangle a fishing line farther down the dock before answering.

“Because somebody once reminded me that asking for guidance isn’t the same thing as asking to be rescued.” He finally looks at me. “I figured you might need that reminder too.”

With a solid pat on the back, Dean pivots and heads toward the ice cream shop down the street. Most likely to meet with his wife and their family.

My chest aches as I cut down toward the marina with my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets.

Tourists drift between storefronts around me, laughing over ice cream and souvenir bags while music spills faintly from restaurants preparing for the dinner rush.

Life. Simple, ordinary life. The exact thing I’ve been trying so hard to protect. Yet lately, every decision I make feels further away from it.

My phone buzzes twice in my pocket. I already know it’s Hadley before checking.

I stop beside the marina boardwalk before finally pulling the phone out.

Hadley

I’m sorry.

Hadley

I know you’re trying.

The breath leaves my lungs sharply.

I stare out across Back Bay while guilt presses like concrete against my ribs, then another message appears.

Hadley

I just don’t want fear making your decisions for you.

The truth of it physically stills me because that’s exactly what’s happening.