Page 7 of At First Catch

Holt is staring at me like he just realized there’s a fire somewhere, and he can smell smoke but hasn’t figured out where it’s coming from yet.

That is more terrifying than if he already knew.

I snap a lid onto his coffee and slide it across the counter.

“Try not to look so disappointed.”

Nolan takes the cup, his fingers brushing mine just long enough to make my pulse misbehave.

“About the coffee?”

“About leaving.”

His eyes hold mine for one dangerous second.

“Who says I am?”

Before I can come up with an answer that won’t embarrass me, someone at the family table calls his name. Nolan lifts the cup slightly in my direction before heading toward the door.

I absolutely do not watch him leave.

Mostly.

The café almost swallows me again—orders, dishes, Mrs. Pace asking where we keep the extra napkins.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my apron. I pull it out, expecting a reminder from the town office or a text from Mrs. Pace about inventory.

Instead, an unknown number lights the screen.

For one irrational second, my heart knows before my brain catches up.

Unknown

Need the town’s event permit forms for the marina. Heard you’re the person to ask.

I glance instinctively toward the door he disappeared through less than five minutes ago. He could’ve asked me that while he was standing here. It seems Nolan Pierce is braver about municipal paperwork when a phone screen is involved.

No name. No greeting. Very Nolan.

I stare at the message until Holt leans over my shoulder.

I shove him away with one hand. “Stop reading my texts.”

“You held it at eye level.”

“You’re six foot two. Everything is eye level to you.”

He grins.

I look back at the screen. There are a dozen professional responses I could send.

Polite.

Neutral.

Safe.

I type none of them.