Page 194 of At First Catch
I hold up the take-out bag.
“I know.”
He takes the food from me carefully, and the second our fingers brush, emotion flashes openly across his face.
Relief.
Like my showing up mattered more than the food itself.
“You should be home sleeping,” I say.
Nolan huffs under his breath.
“Hypocritical statement from the woman delivering dockside support noodles.”
A startled laugh escapes me. The sound feels strange after the heaviness of the last few days.
Nolan studies my face carefully.
“You still mad at me?”
The vulnerability in the question catches me off guard because he sounds genuinely uncertain.
I lean lightly against the railing beside him.
“I’m not mad,” I admit honestly.
Nolan looks unconvinced.
“I’m scared,” I whisper instead.
Silence settles around us. The marina creaks beneath the evening wind while lights shimmer across Back Bay.
Nolan stares out over the docks for several long seconds before speaking.
“I don’t know how to do this right yet.”
“You know,” I say, “you don’t have to hide the paperwork from me.”
His brows knit together.
“What paperwork?”
“The budgets. The estimates. Whatever keeps you awake until three in the morning.” Taking a deep breath, I add, “I’ve been doing numbers too.”
His brows pull together.
“What?”
“Not contractor numbers.”
I glance toward the dark water beyond the docks.
“I’ve been pulling tourism reports.”
He studies me, confused.
“For what?”
