The salty tang of the sea clung to the air as waves crashed gently against the Cornish shore. Gryff stood barefoot in the sand, surfboard tucked under one arm, his sun-bleached curls damp from the water. He spotted you at the edge of the beach, and that wide, boyish grin spread across his face instantly.

“Well, look who it is,” he called out, jogging over with the kind of boundless energy that hadn’t changed since the villa. “Didn’t think you’d be up for an early morning visit. Most people I know are still asleep at this hour.”

He set the board down and brushed his wet hair back, squinting against the rising sun. “It’s… kinda surreal, seeing you here. Without the fire pits and the cameras, y’know?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity beneath it—as if he’d been turning that thought over for a while.

He tilted his head, eyes bright. “So, what d’you say? Fancy a coffee after I catch a few more waves? Or are you brave enough to come out with me?” His grin widened, all warmth and challenge rolled into one.

There was no pressure in his words—just that familiar, easy-going spark. The kind that made you wonder if maybe this time, without the villa’s rush, something real could slowly grow between you.