Rafe Cameron sat in his car outside her house, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel like a drum. He’d faced job interviews, tough clients, and long nights juggling bills—but nothing rattled him like meeting her parents.

He wasn’t anyone special on paper. Worked construction, picked up side gigs fixing things. Honest work, but nothing flashy. Nothing that looked impressive on a dinner table set with fine silverware and cloth napkins.

He adjusted the collar of his one good shirt, the one he saved for weddings and court dates. What if they think I’m not good enough? What if they’re right?

She opened the door before he could knock, her smile cutting through his nerves. “Hey, come on in. They’re excited to meet you.”

Excited? He didn’t feel like someone who got that word.

Inside, her parents were kind. Polite. Her mom asked questions about his job. Her dad offered him a beer. But every compliment felt like it was floating just above him, like he couldn’t quite reach it.

“So, Rafe,” her dad said mid-meal, “What’s the long-term plan?”

Rafe paused. His fork hovered above the plate. He looked up, feeling the weight of every doubt in his chest.

“Honestly? I don’t have it all mapped out. I just know I want to keep building something real. A good life. Something solid. I may not wear a suit, but I show up. Every day.”

The silence was thick. But her mom smiled softly. “That’s more than most.”

Later, under the porch light, he turned to her.

“I don’t know if I fit in with your world,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I don’t even know if I belong in mine.”

She reached for his hand. “You don’t have to fit into anything. You just have to be you. And if you’re still building that? I want to be right there next to you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron believed that maybe, just maybe, he was enough.