I hadn’t thought about Rafe Cameron in years. The last time I’d seen him, I was eight and he was ten — the awkward kid down the street who always had grass stains on his jeans, glasses sliding down his nose, braces flashing every time he smiled. He’d been sweet, if a little annoying, with a mess of spots on his forehead and a tendency to trip over his own shoelaces.

Back then, he was just “Rafe,” the boy I’d play tag with until the streetlights flickered on.

So when I walked into the shop that afternoon, basket in hand, I wasn’t prepared for the tall figure leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone.

At first, I didn’t recognize him. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw. The kind of face that made every girl glance twice. His skin was clear, sun-kissed, and his dirty-blond hair had grown out just enough to look perfectly careless. When he glanced up, his eyes — sharp, blue, piercing — locked onto mine.

And my brain short-circuited.

No way.

“Rafe?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

He froze for a second, then that smirk curved his lips. “Wow. Didn’t think you’d remember me.” His voice was deeper now, smoother, but still carried that hint of mischief I vaguely recalled.

“I—uh—of course I remember you,” I stammered, suddenly very aware of my messy ponytail and the grocery basket digging into my arm. “Last time I saw you, you had… braces. And… glasses. And—”

“Spots?” he supplied, his grin widening.

I winced. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

He chuckled, and the sound was unfairly nice. “Yeah, I remember. I was a total mess.” He tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle. “Didn’t expect to run into you here, though. What, ten years later?”

“Almost exactly,” I said softly, still reeling from the transformation. This wasn’t the kid I used to race bikes with. This was… something else entirely.

Before I could get my thoughts straight, the girl at the counter giggled when Rafe handed over his cash, twirling her hair and biting her lip in a way that made it obvious she wasn’t just being polite. He didn’t even glance at her twice, though. His attention was still fixed on me, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You’re staring,” he teased.

I blinked, cheeks heating. “I am not.”

“Yeah, you are,” he said smoothly, leaning a little closer. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first to be surprised. I guess I… grew into myself.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I muttered, trying not to smile.

He laughed again, then shoved his hands in his pockets, casual as ever. “So, you want to catch up sometime? You know — see how many other embarrassing memories you’ve got of me?”

I met his gaze, that same old glint of trouble still hidden behind those impossibly blue eyes, and realized I’d never really forgotten Rafe Cameron.

But now? He was unforgettable.