The sun beats down as you sit on the edge of your beach towel, toes buried in the warm sand. You’re laughing, brushing stray grains off your legs, when a sudden, uneasy sensation spreads through your stomach. Panic flickers in your chest as you glance down, realizing the red stain seeping through your light-colored shorts.

You quickly tug your towel over your lap, cheeks heating in embarrassment. All around, people are laughing, running into the waves, and no one seems to notice—except for Rafe Cameron.

He’s lounging a few feet away, shirtless, sunglasses perched on his head. His usual cocky smirk falters as his sharp blue eyes land on you. You can tell he’s noticed, and your heart drops. For a moment, you expect him to laugh, maybe even make a snide comment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands up, brushing the sand off his board shorts, and strides over with a purpose.

“Hey,” he says, voice low enough that only you can hear. He crouches beside you, blocking anyone else’s view. “You, uh, need to take a walk? I’ll cover you.” His tone is uncharacteristically soft, almost careful, and his hand hovers as if he’s not sure whether to help you up.

You nod, unable to meet his gaze, and he grabs a beach towel from his chair, draping it over your shoulders like a shield. Without a word, he walks with you toward the parking lot, keeping close but not pushing too much. It’s unexpected, this quiet kindness from Rafe Cameron, and as your embarrassment fades just a little, you glance over at him. For once, there’s no smugness—just a flicker of understanding, and you think maybe he’s not as terrible as everyone says.