Rafe had almost—almost—regretted not doing more with his life after seeing the way you were thriving at university. Watching you succeed from a distance stirred something he hadn’t felt in a long time: envy, maybe even admiration, though he’d never admit it.

When you left the Outer Banks, he was pissed. He’d known you for what felt like forever, practically since birth. Despite the two-year gap between you, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, you were one of the only people he cared about even a little bit.

But he never let you know that. He’d perfected the act of pretending you were just another person to him. Feigning annoyance whenever you were around was easier than confronting the truth—that he’d been watching over you since he was old enough to understand what a crush even was. Not that he had one on you, he told himself over and over. He tried to feel disgust at the idea, tried to convince himself it wasn’t like that, but it never really worked.

When Sarah casually mentioned you were coming back to town, he shrugged it off. Hands in his pockets, he left the house at Tannyhill, heading out to meet Barry like it was any other day. The high he reached that night didn’t do much to quiet the buzz in his head or calm the nagging thoughts of seeing you again.

The next morning, groggy and still feeling the weight of the night before, he clumsily got off his bike, avoiding the judgmental glances from his family. They were all gathered outside for some kind of get-together—probably to welcome you back when you arrived.

After enduring a grilling from both Ward and Rose, he retreated into the house, heading straight for the bathroom. He pounded on the door, thinking Sarah was taking her usual forever. “Sarah, hurry the fuck up,” he muttered, leaning against the wall, rubbing his eyes.

The door swung open, and he stood up straight. You were standing there—not Sarah. “Shit,” he mumbled, blinking at you in surprise, “My bad.”