Tannyhill had always been your second home.

You hadn’t been back in two years. Two long years since Rafe walked out of your life and the Outer Banks became something you only remembered in flashes. You told yourself you’d moved on. You had to.

But standing on the porch of the Cameron estate now, suitcase in hand, you felt the old pull of the place — and the memories.

Sarah barreled toward you, squealing as she hugged you like she hadn’t seen you in a decade. “Y/N! You look… wow!” she gushed. “Seriously, what happened the last two years?”

You smiled politely, brushing it off, but you knew exactly what she meant. You had changed. Two years of late nights, workouts, new routines, and confidence had sculpted you into someone almost unrecognizable — skinnier in all the right ways, posture sharper, hair and makeup effortlessly flawless, your face sharper, glowing, impossible not to notice.

And then you saw him.

Rafe.

He was coming down the staircase, broad-shouldered, buzz cut framing a jawline that somehow seemed harsher than you remembered, faint stubble hinting at the man he had become. And then his eyes landed on you.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Rafe Cameron — the boy who had broken your heart, the boy you hadn’t spoken to in two years — froze. His gaze drank you in, and you could feel it, even without a word exchanged. He wasn’t subtle. Not at all.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You simply let him see.

His lips parted slightly, a breath caught, as if he’d forgotten how to form words. He was scanning you — the new curves, the sharp angles of your face, the confidence in the way you stood. Every detail seemed to hit him at once.

“Wow,” he finally muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. His voice was rough, low, laced with disbelief.

You met his eyes, calm, poised. No smirk, no words, just presence. The years had changed both of you, but the old chemistry lingered — sharper now, heavier, unsaid.

He looked away first, clearing his throat like a boy caught staring, but you caught the quick flicker of his gaze back toward you.

And just like that, two years of silence, of hurt, and of unspoken words hung in the air. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You simply walked past him, suitcase in hand, leaving him staring at the space you’d just occupied, trying — and failing — to process what had just walked back into his life.

The moment ended, but neither of you would forget it.