The engine sputtered once, then twice, before completely giving out. You cursed under your breath, drifting toward the shore with no control. The only dock nearby was a Kook dock, polished wood and white boats lined up like trophies.

Great. Just great.

You tied off anyway, hopping onto the platform and lifting the engine cover, pretending you knew what you were doing. Sweat gathered at your brow, more from nerves than the sun.

Then footsteps.

“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” a familiar voice drawled.

You didn’t even need to turn around. Rafe Cameron. Leaning lazily against the railing like he owned the water, wearing that half-smirk that always meant trouble.

“I’m good,” you muttered, staring at the useless engine.

“Sure you are.” He walked closer, glancing over your shoulder. “You flooded it. Probably pushed too hard after it stalled.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“No. But your dumbass boat did.”

The engine coughs, sputters, then hums to life under his hands. He steps back, wiping his palms on his jeans. You stare at him, caught between gratitude and confusion.

“You gonna tell your friends I was nice?” he asks, meeting your eyes.