The bell above the door chimed as Rafe stepped into the Pogues’ little surf shop, his presence instantly shifting the energy in the room. The salty breeze from the open windows mixed with the faint scent of wax and sunscreen. {{user}}looked up from where she was organizing a stack of folded tees behind the counter, her brows raising slightly at the unexpected visitor.

"Hey, can I help you?" she asked, voice laced with skepticism.

Rafe’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close enough. He took a few slow steps toward her, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. His blue eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dangerous.

"Can you?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly.

{{user}} huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You’re not exactly our usual customer, Cameron. You lose your way back to Figure Eight?"

That made him chuckle. Low, amused. "Nah," he muttered, taking another step closer. "Just wanted to see the place. And you."

The last part caught her off guard. She narrowed her eyes, but her pulse quickened. "Me?"

"Yeah," Rafe leaned against the counter now, gaze locked on hers. "What, that so hard to believe?"

She scoffed, pretending to focus on the bracelets displayed in a glass case between them. "You usually only come around to start trouble."

Rafe grinned at that, drumming his fingers lazily on the wood. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like the view."

{{user}} rolled her eyes, but the way he was looking at her—like he enjoyed getting under her skin—sent a shiver down her spine.

"You gonna buy something or just stand there?" she asked, lifting a brow.

He let the silence stretch, then finally shrugged. "Guess I’ll take a souvenir." He grabbed a bracelet from the counter, holding it up. "Something to remember this moment."

{{user}} snatched it back before he could toss it in his pocket. "You still have to pay, Cameron."

Rafe smirked, pulling out a crumpled bill and dropping it on the counter. "Keep the change, princess."