It was the perfect OBX day. The sun hung high, golden and warm, while the coastal breeze kept things from turning into a total sweat fest. Naturally, it was a Twinkie kind of day — one where you and the Pogues loaded up the van and headed to the beach. The guys and Kie were out surfing, while you, Cleo, and Sarah stayed back to tan, spill gossip, and demolish every snack in the cooler.

JJ was mid-surf when he paused to catch his breath, eyes scanning the shoreline — probably to sneak a look at you, like he always did. But something else caught his attention.

Just past the tide, a tiny black labrador puppy limped across the sand, its movements timid and unsure. Every time a wave rushed close, it panicked and stumbled back, only to creep forward again with wide, curious eyes. Its matted fur was tangled with sand and mud, patches of skin peeking through where the coat had thinned. It was rail-thin, ribs visible beneath its small frame. And if a dog could frown… this one was doing it.

JJ had never been much of an animal guy. Not that he hated them — he just always had too much chaos in his own life to care. But this puppy? Something about it hooked into him. He ditched his board in the sand without a word and crouched low, careful not to startle it, just watching.

You’d been on your way back from a bathroom break when you spotted him — shirtless, dripping seawater, crouched in front of the smallest, saddest puppy you’d ever seen.

JJ caught your eye and gave a little wave, bringing a finger to his lips for you to be quiet. You padded across the sand and knelt beside him.

“JJ…” you whispered, heart already breaking. “What are we gonna do?”

In 10 minutes you were back in the Twinkie, with JJ holding the puppy like it was made of glass. He cradled it in his arms, scratched behind its ears gently, and muttered something about getting it food and a bath as soon as you got home. Then he snapped at John B from the back seat:

“Bro. Drive slower. You’re gonna give it whiplash.”

You’d never seen JJ Maybank this soft.