Page 68 of At First Catch

“How?”

He’s quiet long enough that I almost think he won’t answer.

“Nobody here expects me to leave.”

He says the words casually as if staying somewhere long enough to matter still surprises him.

My chest aches.

“Nolan.”

His mouth curves faintly, but there’s no humor in it this time. “Most places I lived growing up were temporary, Hadley.”

The breeze moves between us and a distant gull cries. My heart cracks open in the middle of a marina seafood shack.

I already know parts of Nolan’s history. Lark told me enough after the inn fire for me to understand the broad strokes.

Orphaned young. Foster homes. But hearing him say it himself feels different. More vulnerable. More real.

“I think this town would chain you to a dock before letting you leave now,” I say softly.

That finally pulls another real smile from him.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. My mom alone would organize a search party.”

His gaze lingers on me afterward. And there it is again—that warmth, that pull. Like every conversation between us is becoming something impossible to walk back from.

The server reappears, then carries extra hush puppies “on the house,” effectively saving me from spontaneously confessing my feelings in public. Small towns are emotionally exhausting.

We spend another hour there anyway. Nolan tells me about growing up moving between placements in three different states. About learning early how to read rooms quickly. About becoming useful because useful kids got kept longer. The words devastate me because suddenly so many things about him make sense.

“You know what’s funny?” I ask.

“What?”

“You fit here better than half the people actually born in Coral Bell Cove.”

Nolan studies me carefully over the edge of his drink.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Why?”

I pore over the way he’d stopped to straighten a crooked dock sign. About him thanking every contractor by name. About Walter already treating him like he’d always belonged there.

“Because everybody already trusts you.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle first. Then the smile follows. I’m beginning to think I like making that happen more than I should.

That thought follows me all the way back toward the marina afterward. The walk feels slower this time.

At one point, Nolan’s hand settles briefly against my lower back while guiding me around stacked lumber near the dock entrance.

Tiny contact. Still enough to completely derail my nervous system. His hand lingers one second too long before dropping away.