She didn’t think he’d actually come.

The message had been simple — “Maybe you should come over” — tossed into the silence like it didn’t mean everything. But when the familiar hum of his truck crawled up her driveway, her heart jumped before her body did.

Rafe was soaked from the rain, hoodie clinging to his skin, eyes sharp but tired. She stood in the doorway, barefoot and breathless. He didn’t speak right away.

“You weren’t sure,” he said, rain dripping from his jaw, “But I came anyway.”

Her voice was soft. “I hoped you would.”

The air between them was thick, charged with something too fragile to name. But she didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside and let him in, knowing exactly what she was opening the door to.

She wasn’t trying to play it cool. Not tonight.

She wanted him to feel it — what it meant to be wanted, desperately and deliberately. She wanted to make him fall, the way she did when she was just a girl with too many feelings and nowhere to put them except into him.

Her parents had always said she gave her heart too fast. That loving someone like Rafe would only leave her wrecked. But they didn’t see the boy beneath the sharp edges — the softness he tried to bury.

So when he kissed her, she kissed him back like she had nothing to lose.

And when his hand settled on her waist, she pulled him closer like she meant to keep him there.

Because if he let her — if he finally let her — she’d be the best he ever had.