Page 43 of At First Catch

Nolan’s gaze moves out across the water. A less guarded, less careful look comes over his face at once. As if he forgot for a second that people might see him feeling something.

“Yeah,” he admits.

There’s so much quiet honesty packed into one word that my chest aches unexpectedly.

He stops near the edge of the dock, hands resting against the weathered railing while the bay stretches endlessly beyond him.

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, eyes still fixed on the bay.

“It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I spent years building something everyone said I should be proud of.”

He lets out a quiet breath.

“I sold it...” His shoulders lift in a small shrug. “And this is the first thing that’s felt like mine.”

I don’t answer right away. I don’t think he realizes how much he just gave me.

“I know everyone thinks I’m insane for buying it.”

“I don’t.”

His gaze flicks toward me.

I shrug lightly. “It makes sense.”

“How?”

I look around. The weathered docks. The old buildings. The storm scars. The stubborn beauty underneath all of it. Then back at him.

“Because you don’t strike me as someone who gives up on things just because they’re damaged.”

Nolan doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifts back toward the weathered docks.

“Most people look at this place and see a bad investment.” His voice is quieter now. “You looked at it”—he glances back at me—“and somehow saw me.”

The words fade between us.

His jaw shifts like he already regrets saying them, then one corner of his mouth lifts.

“That’s a little terrifying.”

I force a chuckle that comes out softer than intended. “Occupational hazard. Tourism requires emotional observation.”

“Is that what this is?”

”No,” I blurt out before I can help it.

Nolan’s eyes darken, and suddenly, the air between us feels entirely too warm for the spring morning.

He steps closer. Not touching. Just close enough that every nerve ending in my body lights up anyway.

“You know what the problem is?” he asks.

My pulse pounds harder. “What?”