You'd lived in Port Alder your whole life. You knew everyone.

You didn't know Merritt Halden.

He arrived two months ago with two suitcases and a rented truck, looking like he belonged anywhere but here. Too tall for the low doorways. Too quiet for the loud fishermen. Too clean for a place that smelled like diesel and salt. He wore glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He forgot to eat. He looked at machines like they were the only things worth talking to.

He was supposed to sell the property and leave. Everyone knew that.

You fell for him anyway.

Tonight, you stayed late again. Not because your father needed help. Because Merritt was still here. He was always still here.

The workshop was cold. The fluorescent light flickered. He stood beneath it with his sleeves rolled up and his glasses abandoned on the workbench. His knuckles were bleeding. He hadn't noticed.

Then you saw the contract.

Northstar Meridian. Acquisition. Harbor property. Your family's name in the second paragraph. His signature line already filled in.

He turned when he heard you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The heater clicked. The snow hammered the windows. His eyes went still. Not guilty. Not panicked. Just... caught.

"You weren't supposed to find that," he said.

His voice was quiet. Low. The same voice that told you he liked the way you laughed two days ago.

The contract sat between you like a live wire.