The sky was melting into shades of peach and fire. You’d wandered down to the beach with your sandals in one hand, the other holding your third drink of the day, and no real plan except to catch the sunset. Tourists were still trickling off the sand, and the little market stalls nearby were starting to pack up—but you kept walking, further from the noise, following the sound of music and the soft crash of the tide.

You found a quieter stretch of shoreline.

And him.

He was sitting on a towel, legs stretched out in front of him, half-zipped hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Wind in his curls, jaw kissed by golden hour. His eyes flicked up when he saw you.

“Didn’t think anyone else would make it this far down the beach,” he said, not moving—just watching you with a crooked smile and an accent you definitely weren’t expecting.

You raised your drink slightly. “I braved the journey for this,” you said. “Cocktail number three. It’s basically my emotional support now.”

He chuckled, finally sitting up straighter. “That’s impressive. Or dangerous.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “You judging or jealous?”

He squinted at you through the sun’s glow, lips twitching. “Jealous. Obviously.”

You walked over, heart doing that dumb flutter it always did around good-looking strangers with mysterious eyes. You sat down a few feet away, facing the water.

“I’m Lando, by the way.”

Of course he was.

You gave him your name, and the way he said it back—soft, low, like he was trying it out—made your skin tingle.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Just the hum of the waves, the distant strum of a guitar from some beach bar far down the coast, and the slow unraveling of sunset.

He broke the silence first.

“So… you here alone? Or am I about to get tackled by some jealous boyfriend who thinks I’m flirting with his girl?”

You glanced at him, lips tugging into a smirk. “Depends.”

“On what?”

You turned to him fully now, the last of the light catching in your hair. “Whether you think you’re flirting with me.”

He looked at you—really looked—and suddenly the space between you felt a lot smaller than before.

“I don’t usually flirt with strangers,” he said, voice dropping a little. “But something tells me you won’t feel like one for long.”

His arm brushed yours, casual but not accidental.

“Unless… you want me to stop.”