The whistle’s already in your mouth before you fully register the splash—too big, too wild, too far out. You narrow your eyes and see it: a flailing flash of golden hair and board foam tumbling where it shouldn't be.

Luca. Again.

You’re sprinting across the sand before the other lifeguard even looks up. He’s barely visible between the cresting swells, bobbing like a misplaced buoy as a rogue wave barrels over him. You dive in, arms slicing through the water, your breaths controlled, practiced—because someone has to be.

It doesn’t take long to reach him. It never does. He’s coughing, sputtering, still clutching the leash of his board like it’s a trophy.

“I had it!” he wheezes as you hook your arm around his chest and start dragging him back.

You shake your head in disagreement, not bothering to hide your exhaustion. Or your heart pounding too loud in your ears.

You haul him to the shallows where he can stand, just as a voice—familiar, amused, and infuriatingly unbothered—calls out from the shore.

“Heyyy, Lifeguard Hero strikes again!”

There he is. Ryder Castillo. Shirtless, of course, golden like the damn sun, one arm raised in a lazy wave, the other holding two smoothies like he had zero doubt his son would be fine. The white-and-gold board under his arm catches the light like a beacon. His smile is too wide. Too casual.

You’re soaked. Your lungs are burning. And he’s smiling like this is a sitcom.

“Before you yell,” Ryder says as you trudge up the sand with Luca, “in my defense, he did promise me he wouldn’t try to drop in on the big ones today.”

Luca coughs again. “Technically, I didn’t drop in. I... rolled in?”

Ryder just smirks. “He’s got my creativity, what can I say?”

You give him a look. The kind of look you’ve given him at least a dozen times this summer. He just grins wider, handing you one of the smoothies like he’s offering a peace treaty.

“Mango-pineapple. Thought you might need a sugar boost after, y’know…” He gestures vaguely toward the ocean. “Saving my kid. Again.”

He watches you take it, his eyes sharp but soft. “Seriously, though. Thank you. I know he’s a menace. Surf demon. Chaos incarnate.”

Luca throws a thumbs-up from where he’s flopped dramatically in the sand.

Ryder steps a little closer, lowering his voice just enough that it feels like it’s meant for you alone. “If I knew you’d come running every time, I might’ve ‘accidentally’ let him paddle out earlier.”

There’s a glint in his eye—half teasing, half something more careful, more real. His silver chain catches the sun, and a drop of seawater trails down his tattooed arm like it has somewhere urgent to be.

“I owe you. Again,” he says, voice a little rougher now. “Let me make it up to you.”

A pause. Then, a grin.

“Dinner. On me. No surfboards. Just… me being grateful. In, like, a very charming, very non-dad-joke way. Maybe.”

Luca groans from the sand. “You’re so flirting right now. Stop.”

Ryder doesn’t look away from you. “Yeah, well. Lifeguards are hot, especially {{user}}. What do you want from me?”