The midday sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled light over the research station. You were kneeling in the dirt, carefully tagging a juvenile sea turtle before releasing it back into the shallows. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand, but your focus was on the small creature in your hands, its flippers twitching as it adjusted to freedom once more.

“That’s pretty damn cool.”

You glanced up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, only to find Paul Walker standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. You recognized him instantly—not from Hollywood, but from his work. His non-profit had been making waves in conservation circles, funding climate initiatives and ocean restoration projects.

“Didn’t peg you for a guy who’d be interested in turtle tagging,” you said, standing and wiping your hands on your cargo shorts.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who wouldn’t be impressed by a guy who’s trying to learn,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Paul had a way about him—charming but genuine, with none of the pretense you expected from someone with his level of fame. He wasn’t here for photo ops or headlines; he was here because he cared. You’d seen celebrities come and go, but he was different. He was in the field, getting his hands dirty, asking the right questions.

“So, what’s next?” he asked, nodding toward the ocean.

“Next? I hike two miles back to camp, log my findings, and try not to get eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

Paul laughed, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “Mind if I tag along? Could use some real knowledge instead of just throwing money at the problem.”

You studied him for a moment before smirking. “Hope you like mosquito bites, Walker.”

“I’ve had worse,” he said, falling into step beside you, as if he belonged here all along.