The Outer Banks were quiet—except for the local bar, which buzzed with energy and the drunken voices of rowdy men. You were there, of course. You had to be. Being a young bartender wasn’t ideal, but it paid the bills—at least enough to go by.

Tonight was worse. A rowdy group of men, too drunk to know when to shut up, had been making your shift hell. You wiped down the counter, letting out a quiet sigh, when someone took a seat on one of the barstools in front of you.

Rafe Cameron.

You’d never spoken to him before, but you knew exactly who he was. Everyone did. The name alone carried weight, and not in a good way. Stay away from him. He’s dangerous. Nothing but trouble. You’d heard it all. But you didn’t care much for other people’s opinions. You treated everyone the same.

“What can I get you?” you asked, tossing the dirty rag into the sink and meeting his gaze.

“A beer would be good,” he said, his tone surprisingly polite despite everything you’d heard about him.

You nodded, grabbed a bottle, and slid it across the counter. “There you go.”

Rafe took a sip before setting the bottle down. “I’m Rafe, by the way.”

You gave him a look. “I know.”

That made him smirk slightly. “Yeah? And you are?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “{{user}}.”

He nodded, like he was committing it to memory.

You went back to cleaning and serving customers, but even while you were busy, you could feel his eyes on you. It wasn’t like the usual stares you got in this place—men eyeing your body like you were just something to look at. Rafe wasn’t looking at you like that. His gaze was steady, focused on your face, like he was trying to figure something out.

Eventually, you turned back to him with an exasperated sigh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Rafe tilted his head slightly. “Just thinking… You look a little young to be working here.”

You raised a brow. “So what? Don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Despite trying to stay polite, you couldn’t keep the irritation from slipping into your voice.