Page 235 of At First Catch

A little girl, maybe seven or eight, beams proudly as she holds up a fishing rod almost as tall as she is while her father crouches beside her, laughing.

Walter reaches up and gives the weathered brass bell another celebratory ring. Applause ripples along the dock. Someone whistles. Bailey cheers louder than everyone else, because of course she does.

Walter catches Nolan watching from the porch. He tips his chin toward the little girl. “First fish.”

Nolan smiles. “Seems like a pretty good reason to ring a bell.”

Walter nods. “Old Bill started it.”

He watches the family disappear down the dock before adding, “Figured it was worth keeping.”

Nolan looks back across the marina. String lights. Boats. Laughter. Families. Everything he’d imagined that first evening standing alone on these docks. Everything he’d hoped this place could become.

Life. Warm messy ordinary life. Exactly the kind Nolan once feared he had to control in order to keep.

The back door opens behind us, and I turn just as Nolan wraps one arm around my waist from behind while pressing a lingering kiss against the side of my neck.

One year on, and he still has the power to completely unravel me with such ease.

“You disappeared,” he murmurs against my skin.

I lean back into him automatically. “Bailey was stealing whipped cream.”

“Correct,” Bailey says unapologetically.

Nolan hums thoughtfully. “I support women’s rights and wrongs.”

“That’s why I like you,” Bailey announces before stealing another strawberry and escaping toward the porch.

Traitor.

The screen door swings shut behind her while laughter drifts faintly back into the kitchen from outside.

Then it’s just us again.

Nolan’s arms tighten around me while evening light spills gold across the kitchen counters and open windows.

“You okay?” he asks.

That instinct to check in emotionally rather than assume has grown over the year, and my chest warms with pride at the growth of my man.

I turn in his arms until I’m facing him fully.

He still looks like home to me.

“I’m happy,” I whisper.

Emotion flickers openly across his face. Nolan brushes his thumb lightly beneath my eye. “You’re crying.”

I blink once.

Huh.

Apparently, I am.

“I’m emotional,” I admit.

“You’re always emotional during marina parties.”