The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the wooden floors and the distant hum of the ocean. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago, but you’d woken up parched and couldn’t fall back asleep. Slipping out of Sarah’s room as quietly as possible, you padded barefoot to the kitchen, the cool tiles under your feet a stark contrast to the humid Outer Banks air.

The dim light from the fridge spilled across the kitchen as you poured yourself a glass of water, savoring the cool liquid as it eased your thirst. That’s when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind you.

Turning quickly, your heart jumped when you saw Rafe standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and that infuriating smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips. He was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

“You always raid my kitchen at night, or is this a special occasion?” he asked, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let him see the way your pulse quickened. “It’s Sarah’s kitchen too,” you replied, setting the glass down on the counter.

Rafe chuckled, stepping closer until there was only a couple of feet between you. “True. But somehow, I don’t see Sarah sneaking around like a little thief.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” you shot back, meeting his gaze defiantly. “Just getting water. You don’t own the tap, Rafe.”

He tilted his head, his smirk turning a bit more wicked. “Relax, princess. I’m just teasing. But you’re really wound up for someone staying as a guest.”

“I’m wound up because you’re unbearable,” you snapped, crossing your arms.

His eyes flicked downward, just briefly, and you cursed yourself for not wearing something more modest than the tank top and shorts you’d thrown on for bed. His gaze was intense, like he was soaking in every detail.

“Unbearable?” he repeated, taking another step closer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you secretly like having me around.”

Your breath caught, and you hated that he could affect you like this.