15. Hadley
Chapter Fifteen
HADLEY
Three days after the storm trapped us inside the marina office, Nolan Pierce has started showing up in pieces of my life even when he isn’t actually here.
I notice the evidence everywhere.
Coffee waits for him in my kitchen before I consciously decide to make it.
Marina blueprints are spread across my cottage table beside the library books I keep meaning to finish.
And the sweatshirt he left here after stopping by last night is still draped over the back of my couch even though the rain dried hours ago and I’ve had more than enough opportunities to return it.
I tell myself I keep forgetting.
The lie would be more convincing if I did not occasionally pause beside the couch just to breathe him in.
“You’re smiling at the sweatshirt again.”
I nearly launch out of my skin.
Bailey sits cross-legged at the far end of the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap, watching me with the unsettling patience of someone gathering evidence.
“How long have you been staring at me?”
“Long enough to know you’re gone.”
“I’m standing in my own living room.”
“Physically, yes.” She tosses a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Emotionally, you’re cuddling a piece of abandoned clothing.”
“That is both dramatic and untrue.”
Her gaze slides toward the sweatshirt.
I glance at it too, which does not help my argument.
Outside the cottage windows, the late afternoon sunlight stretches across Otter Creek Farm in soft gold ribbons.
Spring wind moves through the trees, carrying the scent of honeysuckle through the cracked kitchen window.
Somewhere near the barn, Holt and Rowan are arguing about a section of fence, while Rook sleeps across the porch as though manual labor is a rumor that does not concern him.
Everything feels peaceful. Familiar. Safe.
Nolan has become tangled in all of it.
The thought still startles me when I let myself look at it too closely. Three days should not be enough time for someone to become part of my routine. It should not feel natural to plan dinner around whether he will be at the marina late or to leave space beside me on the couch without thinking.
Bailey studies my face for another second. “When are you going to admit you’re in love with him?”
I choke on air.
“Excuse me?”
She only stares.
I stare back, prepared to deny everything with the conviction of a woman who has successfully avoided emotional honesty for most of her adult life.
Then the denial catches somewhere behind my ribs.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Bailey points at me with one triumphant finger. “There it is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I am not in love with Nolan.”
“You just looked at his sweatshirt like it rescued a kitten from a burning building.”
“That description makes no sense.”
“It does in your heart.”
I grab the empty coffee mugs from the table and carry them into the kitchen, mostly because pacing feels safer than sitting still while my best friend dismantles my emotional defenses with snack food.
“This is moving fast,” I say.
Bailey’s teasing fades. “Fast doesn’t mean wrong.”
The words follow me to the sink, where I set the mugs down and brace my hands against the counter.
“That’s not even the part that scares me.”
“What part does?”
I glance over my shoulder. Bailey is still curled into the corner of my couch, but the popcorn has been forgotten in her lap.
“How easy it is.”
The tension in her face eases, replaced by a gentler look.
“Nolan just…” I search for the words. “Fits. He doesn’t push his way into anything. He just shows up. Notices what needs doing. Makes room for me without making a big deal about it.”
“Sounds terrible.”
I give her a look.
“Absolutely horrifying,” she agrees.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Her smile fades. “That’s why I’m not making fun of you.”
“You were literally making fun of me five seconds ago.”
“Different issue. The sweatshirt thing remains deeply embarrassing.”
I grab the dish towel and throw it at her.
She catches it against her chest, laughing. “I’m just saying, maybe easy doesn’t have to mean temporary.”
And there it is.
The part I’m still not quite ready to believe. The speed does not scare me nearly as much as the ease of it. Nolan fits into my life without forcing himself into any part of it. He shows up, notices what needs doing, and makes room for me to do the same.
There is no performance with him. No pressure to keep every conversation light or smooth over every difficult moment before anyone else has to feel uncomfortable. When he asks whether I am okay, he waits long enough to hear the real answer.
I have spent years making myself useful to everyone I love. Nolan is the first person who seems determined to make sure I am cared for too.
“Does he make you happy?” Bailey asks.
The answer arrives before fear can interfere.
“Yes.”
The word comes out quieter than I expect, but it fills the kitchen anyway.
I brace my hands against the counter and look through the window toward the narrow road that eventually leads to the marina.
Bailey doesn’t answer right away. She watches me with that quiet look she gets when she’s trying to decide whether to tease me or tell me something I probably don’t want to hear.
“You’ve been taking care of everybody for as long as I’ve known you,” she says.
I blink.
“That’s dramatic.”
“Is it?”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
Bailey shrugs one shoulder. “Your parents need help? You’re already there.
One of your brothers calls? You drop everything.
Somebody forgets a birthday, a casserole, a permission slip, a volunteer signup...
” She smiles. “Half the time you’ve already fixed it before anyone realizes there was a problem. ”
“That’s just what families do.”
A warm tenderness spread across Bailey’s features.
“Maybe.”
She reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand.
“But who’s doing that for you, Had?”
“He makes me feel like I can stop being the easy one for a while. Like I don’t have to keep everything moving just so no one notices when I’m tired.”
Bailey does not interrupt.
“He sees me,” I continue, my throat tightening around the admission. “And when he does, I don’t feel exposed. I feel…” I search for a word large enough to hold everything Nolan has become in such a short time. “Chosen.”
The quiet behind me dissolves.
“He feels permanent,” I admit.
Saying it aloud terrifies me, mostly because I want it so much that the wanting has already begun to ache.
Bailey’s voice turns gentle. “He might be.”
Before I can decide whether that thought is comforting or catastrophic, headlights sweep across the front windows.
My pulse reacts before I see the truck.
Bailey’s smile returns. “This is embarrassing for you.”
“I hate everyone.”
“Sure you do.”
A door closes outside. Nolan appears through the front window carrying two take-out bags, the lowering sun catching along his shoulders and the dark edges of his hair.
A wave of warmth spreads through my limbs, easing every muscle.
It happens so quickly that I cannot hide it, not even from myself.
Bailey watches my face, then gives one decisive nod. “Yep. Love.”
I throw a kitchen towel at her. She ducks, laughing, as the front door opens.
Nolan steps inside while ending a voicemail, his mouth still curved from whatever he has just heard. As soon as his gaze lands on mine, his face transforms.
It is subtle enough that someone who does not know him might miss it. His shoulders loosen. The line between his brows eases. Something warm moves into his gaze as though seeing me is the first easy thing that has happened all day.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
The cottage feels different with him inside it. The shift is not dramatic, and it is not entirely about attraction. It is quieter than that. More intimate. As though the room has begun to recognize him too.
He lifts the take-out bags. “I brought seafood bribery.”
“You know, when the marina’s restaurant was open, Dad insisted every first Friday of summer belonged there.”
Nolan looks up.
“Really?”
“Nobody made plans. You just went.” I shrug. “Half the town did. Old Bill used to stand at the register pretending he didn’t know everybody’s order already.”
“I hope somebody gets to do that again.”
Nolan’s mouth twitches as he crosses into the kitchen and places the bags on the counter beside me.
He is close enough now that I can feel the warmth of him along my arm.
My body sharpens with awareness, every nerve remembering the rain, the dark office, and the way his hands held me as though restraint cost him something.
“You okay?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard, even though it should not anymore.
He always asks. More importantly, he always means it.
“I’m good.”
Nolan studies me, taking in the mugs beside the sink, the color probably still lingering in my cheeks, and whatever I have failed to hide from him.
“You sure?”
His soft-spoken care is almost too much for me to bear.
Before I have to answer, Bailey rises and grabs her purse. “I’ve suddenly remembered that I respect sexual-tension boundaries.”
“Bailey.”
She ignores me on her way to the door, pausing beside Nolan long enough to give him a solemn look. “If you hurt her, I’ll ruin your life creatively.”
He does not laugh or dismiss her. “Fair.”
Apparently satisfied, she nods and leaves.
Coward.
The door closes behind her, taking the noise with it.
Silence settles through the cottage, warm and private. Nolan turns back to me, but his gaze catches on the sweatshirt draped over the couch.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “You kept it.”
“It was raining.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It needed to dry.”
“For three days?”
“I have a very cautious drying process.”
His smile grows, and I narrow my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
He steps closer, enough that I feel every inch of the distance disappear.
“The idea of my things belonging here feels better than it should,” he says.
The humor leaves me.