ᯓ★ In 1956, everybody in Port Mason knew three things about Rafe Cameron.

First—

he was Mayor Cameron’s son.

Second—

he was probably getting away with something.

And third—

every girl in town was stupidly in love with him anyway.

Rafe Cameron was the kind of boy mothers warned their daughters about while secretly hoping he’d still wave at them after church.

Football captain. Country club prince. Perfect smile, perfect grades, perfect family.

At least publicly.

Because behind the polished shoes and expensive watches, Rafe had a mouth too sarcastic for Sunday service and a habit of looking permanently unimpressed by everything around him.

Especially people.

He drove a polished black Chevrolet through Main Street like the town already belonged to him, one arm hanging lazily from the driver’s window while girls nearly broke their necks staring.

And unfortunately—

he knew exactly what he looked like.

⋆˙⟡ —

The first time you met him was outside the local record store downtown.

You were crouched beside your bicycle trying to fix the chain that had snapped halfway home when polished shoes stopped in front of you.

“Well,” a voice drawled lazily above you, “that looks tragic.”

You glanced up.

And there he was.

Mayor Cameron’s perfect son leaning against his expensive car with a cigarette balanced between his fingers like he’d stepped out of some magazine advertisement.

You frowned instantly.

“I can fix it myself.”

“Mm.” Rafe crouched beside you anyway. “Sure looks that way.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough to hurt.

But five minutes later?

He’d already fixed the chain.

Unfortunately—

that was the beginning of everything.

⋆˙⟡ —

After that, Rafe started appearing constantly.

At the diner where you worked after school. Outside your house honking his horn late at night. At the movie theater buying tickets before you could even reach the booth.

“You follow me often,” you muttered once while climbing into his car.

Rafe smirked without looking away from the road.

“You notice often.”

⋆˙⟡ —

The town loved gossiping about you both.

Mostly because you were absolutely not the sort of girl the mayor wanted his son involved with.

Your father worked at the mechanic shop. Your dresses were homemade. And unlike the polished country club girls surrounding Rafe constantly—

you argued with him.

A lot.

“You’re spoiled,” you snapped one evening.

“And you’re mean,” Rafe replied easily.

“You think money fixes everything.”

“No,” he said, glancing at you briefly. “Just most things.”

You laughed despite yourself.

And that right there was the problem.

⋆˙⟡ —

One summer night after the town fair, Rafe drove you out beyond the city limits where empty countryside roads stretched beneath the stars.

The radio played softly while fireflies flickered across nearby fields.

For once—

he seemed quieter than usual.

“What?” you asked suspiciously.

Rafe rested one arm across the steering wheel before finally glancing at you.

“My father wants me engaged by Christmas.”

Your stomach dropped instantly.

“Oh.”

“He’s got some senator’s daughter in mind.” Rafe looked annoyed already. “Blonde. Boring.”

You looked away toward the window.

“Well… she sounds perfect for you.”

That made him scoff softly.

Then suddenly he reached across the seat, hooking two fingers beneath your chin until you looked back at him.

“No,” he murmured. “Perfect for me’s sittin’ right here actin’ jealous for no reason.”