6. Hadley #2
God. This is bad. Because suddenly I’m imagining impossible things: Nolan here every morning, coffee in his hand, Rook following him around the marina when he escapes from Lark, me standing beside him while the docks wake up around us.
Domestic thoughts are dangerous thoughts.
I clear my throat and reach desperately for professionalism. “You said you needed help with the event permits I suggested?”
Nolan stands, one hand still resting absently on Rook’s head, until he pulls up to his full height.
“I do.”
“You also said this was mostly professional.”
His eyes hold mine.
“Mostly. I’m trying very hard to maintain my professional reputation.”
I fold my arms.
“Do you have one?”
“I had one.” His mouth twitches. “Then you showed up.”
The way he says it makes my pulse stumble. I look away first because I’m weak.
“Okay,” I say brightly, already emotionally spiraling. “Great. Wonderful. Let’s discuss bureaucracy.”
Nolan’s mouth twitches.
“Very sexy sentence, Hadley.”
“You should hear me talk about zoning restrictions.”
“Careful. We’re in public.”
Ruddiness floods my cheeks.
Nolan notices, and the smugness that briefly flickers across his face should annoy me.
Instead, it makes me want to kiss him a little.
This is going terribly already.
He gestures toward the docks. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
The marina wakes around us as we walk.
Morning sunlight glitters across the water while workers move steadily through repair projects near the western slips. Someone has started repainting sections of railing near the fuel dock. The old bait shop windows are propped open now, letting in warm salt air mixed with coffee and sawdust.
Everything still needs work, but now there’s movement everywhere.
Hope.
“You’ve done all this in less than twenty-four hours?” I ask.
Nolan glances around like he’s seeing the place for the first time.
“Looks impressive if you don’t inspect it too closely.”
“Should I?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“I’ve built an entire business model around optimism.”
He glances toward the docks. “People wanted to help.”
He shakes his head almost to himself.
“I’m still getting used to that.”
That melts something inside me unexpectedly, because he sounds genuinely surprised by it.
Mrs. Donnelly walks past carrying two coffees. She hands one to a carpenter I’ve never met. Doesn’t ask if he wants it. Just smiles and keeps walking.
Twenty feet later, Walter flags down another volunteer to help unload lumber.
Nobody keeps score around here. They just show up. I guess they always have.
A worker waves as we pass.
“Morning, boss.”
Nolan visibly winces at the word, and I bite back a smile.
“You hate that.”
“It’s weird.”
“You own the marina.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re literally their boss.”
“Still doesn’t sit right after selling my business.”
The breeze pushes harder across the docks, lifting the edge of my shirt while sunlight flashes across the bay in bright fractured ribbons. Nolan walks beside me for several moments, close enough that I can feel warmth radiating from him every time our arms almost brush.
“You really love this place already,” I say.
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?”
“You say things like that.” His voice drops lower. Rougher. “Then look surprised when I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Everything else disappears. The gulls. The hammers. The tide. Until the truck horn brings it all crashing back.
“Nolan.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth.
And God help me, I think he’s going to kiss me, and I want him to. Badly enough that every rational thought leaves my body entirely. Then a truck horn blasts somewhere near the lot.
We both jump, and reality crashes back.
A worker waves toward Nolan from farther down the dock. “Hey, boss, you got a second?”
The moment shatters, and Nolan closes his eyes briefly like he’s annoyed by the interruption too.
Nolan looks back at me one last time before turning toward the worker.
My knees choose that exact moment to remember they’re attached to the rest of me.