The sun is setting over the Outer Banks, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

Rafe’s got one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel, the other resting on your thigh as his truck speeds down the coastal highway. The windows are down, letting the salty breeze whip through your hair, and the bass of This Could Be Us vibrates through the speakers.

He smirks as he glances over at you, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world. “You know, we could have it all,” he says, his voice dripping with that signature Rafe confidence.

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, his grip on your leg tightening slightly. “You and me. No bullshit, no drama. Just us, living like we own the damn world.”

The music blares—This could be us, but you playin’—and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Rafe, you say that like you don’t cause half the drama yourself.”

He chuckles, pulling into a secluded spot by the water. “Maybe,” he admits, throwing the truck in park and turning to face you fully. “But you can’t lie… When it’s just us? No one does it better.”

The sun dips lower, casting a golden glow over his sharp features. He leans in, lips inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he dares, his voice low.

And honestly? You can’t.