Page 52 of At First Catch

Cars already crowd the gravel drive when I climb out of the truck. Dean’s black SUV sits near the barn beside Rowan’s dusty pickup, and Crew’s excessively expensive sports car that looks wildly out of place is parked beside tractors.

A screen door slams somewhere behind the house, then Hadley appears around the side yard carrying a bowl covered in foil. She’s wearing soft denim shorts and an oversized cream sweater slipping off one shoulder, exposing sun-kissed skin my hands suddenly remember in dangerous detail. Her hair falls loose tonight, wind-tossed and brilliant in the porch light.

She stops when she sees me standing beside the truck. A softness spreads across her face. As if she’s relieved I came.

“You’ll survive dinner,” she promises as she walks closer.

“That feels overly confident.”

“You haven’t met enough Wright women yet.”

“I’ve met your mother.”

“Exactly.”

The porch light catches her eyes as she smiles up at me, warm and teasing and entirely too beautiful for my peace of mind, then her gaze drifts over me.

Not subtle. Not accidental either.

Desire pools in my stomach.

Quietly, she says, “You changed.”

“So did you.”

The air shifts again with awareness. Hadley’s fingers tighten around the bowl in her hands.

“You clean up nice for a marina owner.”

I glance down at the dark Henley and jeans I threw on after showering back at the cottage rental near the marina. “That's what I am now?”

“Apparently.”

“And what exactly does a marina owner look like?”

“Tall,” she says.

My pulse stumbles once.

“Grumpy.”

“That feels rude.”

“Emotionally repressed.”

“Definitely rude.”

Hadley steps closer then, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“But unexpectedly attractive when holding power tools.”

I stare at her.

She blinks innocently.

Jesus Christ.

I murmur, “You can’t say things like that.”