The sun dipped low over the green as Rafe handed you a club, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.

“Grip it like this,” he said, his voice low and smooth. He positioned your hands, the touch lingering just enough to make your pulse quicken. “Now, swing through, but let your body follow the club. Just feel it.”

He stepped behind you, close enough for you to feel his breath on your neck. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, watching you line up your shot. His eyes didn’t leave you as you took the swing, a small smile tugging at his lips when the ball rolled perfectly toward the hole.

“You’re a natural,” he said, voice just shy of a whisper, his gaze meeting yours. “But with me here, you’ll be better.”