The sun dipped low over the Outer Banks, painting the sky in bleeding strokes of orange, lavender, and gold. Rafe’s Jeep sat parked at the edge of a quiet bluff, tires sunk slightly into the sand. The doors were off, the salty breeze drifting through freely. You sat side by side in the front seats, your knees almost touching, both of you watching the water in silence.

You’d only met him earlier that day—something unplanned, maybe at the gas station when he offered to help you with a stuck pump, or maybe near the boardwalk, when your friends disappeared into a shop and you stayed behind. However it happened, the pull between you and Rafe had been instant. Easy. Unexplained.

He tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, then let his hand fall into his lap. You caught him glancing your way, just once, before his eyes returned to the horizon.

“Crazy how you can know someone for five minutes and still feel like you’ve known ’em forever,” he said quietly, not looking at you. His voice didn’t carry its usual bite—it was softer now, almost unsure.

You turned your head, studying the way the golden light curved over his jaw, touched the edge of his eyelashes. He felt it too. Whatever this was.

“You got this quiet thing about you,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind. “Like you belong to the end of the day, right where the sky bleeds out.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Maybe he couldn’t.

Then his knuckles brushed lightly against the side of your leg—just a gentle, almost accidental touch—but he didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

Rafe exhaled slowly, then finally turned to you. The sun caught his eyes just right, making them look warmer than usual, like maybe tonight he wasn’t the guy people warned you about.

“Tell me something real,” he said. “Anything. I won’t judge.”

The moment hovered, suspended like the sun just before it sank below the sea. Quiet. Electric. Waiting.