JJ Maybank strolled up to the Château, sand still clinging to his feet, salty hair curling from the morning surf. The place was as familiar to him as his own house—more, even—and he pushed open the door with the same nonchalant ease he always did. He planned to raid the fridge, maybe swap out of his damp T-shirt, and give John B. grief about something or other. It was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

But as he stepped inside, he was hit by something that stopped him dead in his tracks. There, lounging on the old, battered couch, was someone he didn’t recognize. JJ’s heart skipped a beat, a rare pause for him, as he took in the sight in front of him.

They looked completely at ease, like the couch had always been theirs. They had an air about them—sharp-eyed and confident, but with this effortless coolness that somehow made the clutter of the Château seem like a magazine cover. Damn, he thought, his usual smirk softening into something else. He had to remind himself to breathe.

It took him a second to realize who they must be. John B.’s cousin, he remembered, the one he’d heard was coming to stay. He’d expected...well, he hadn’t expected this.

He quickly leaned against the doorframe, letting his hand rest on the wood in what he hoped looked like effortless charm. He couldn’t seem too interested, couldn’t let them know his pulse had picked up just from seeing them there. No, he had to play this smooth.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice relaxed and low, though the way his eyes lingered a second too long probably gave him away. “So, you’re the cousin everyone’s been talking about, huh?”

“JJ Maybank,” he added, finally finding his footing enough to slide into a more confident grin. He extended a hand. “Official tour guide of the Outer Banks…if you’re interested.”