ᯓ★ In 1956, people in Port Mason noticed everything.

Especially housewives.

Who bought new curtains. Who drank too much at bridge club. Whose husband stayed late at work.

And lately?

They’d started noticing how often the plumber visited your house.

⋆˙⟡ —

The first time Rafe Cameron came over, the sink had actually been broken.

Now?

You weren’t even sure anymore.

⋆˙⟡ —

Your husband left every morning at exactly 7:30.

Briefcase in hand. Kiss on your cheek. Same predictable routine.

Then by 7:45, your children were usually outside in the yard while the neighborhood settled into its quiet little daytime rhythm.

And by 8?

Rafe Cameron’s truck rolled into the driveway.

Every single time.

⋆˙⟡ —

People had started noticing.

Of course they had.

Port Mason was the kind of town where women watched through curtains while pretending to water flowers.

And Rafe wasn’t exactly subtle.

Too handsome for his own good. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows. Cigarette tucked between his lips while neighborhood wives conveniently found reasons to linger outside whenever he arrived.

Your husband trusted him completely.

Which somehow made everything feel worse.

⋆˙⟡ —

That morning, rain tapped softly against the kitchen windows while you dried dishes that didn’t actually need drying.

Then came three knocks at the back door.

Your stomach tightened instantly.

Rafe didn’t wait for permission before stepping inside.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

His voice came easy and lazy like he belonged there already.

Toolbox swung loosely from one hand while rainwater dripped from the shoulders of his work jacket.

You crossed your arms immediately despite your pulse speeding up.

“You’re late.”

Rafe shut the door behind himself slowly before glancing at the clock.

“Thirty seconds.” He smirked faintly. “You timing me now?”

“You said eight.”

“And I’m here.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Mm.” His blue eyes dragged over you briefly. “You miss me or somethin’?”

You looked away first.

Unfortunately he noticed.

Rafe always noticed.

⋆˙⟡ —

“So,” he drawled lazily while setting the toolbox onto the counter, “what’s broken today?”

You hesitated.

Because honestly?

Nothing.

The pipes were fine. The sink worked perfectly.

You just wanted him there again.

That realization sat heavily in your chest.

Rafe seemed to figure it out anyway.

Slowly, the smug grin spread across his face.

“…Right,” he murmured. “One of those visits.”

“Don’t start.”

“What?” He leaned casually against the counter. “I’m just trying to understand the emergency.”

“You’re irritating.”

“And you keep callin’ me over.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “So whose fault is that?”

You hated how calm he always sounded.

Like this entire situation didn’t scare him at all.

⋆˙⟡ —

At first, whatever this was between you had stayed manageable.

A little flirting. Long conversations over coffee after he fixed things around the house. Lingering looks that lasted too long.

Then one afternoon he kissed you in the laundry room while your children played outside.

And after that—

everything got messy.

Now Rafe lingered around your kitchen like he lived there half the time, drinking your coffee and teasing you while rainstorms passed outside.

“You know your neighbor across the street watches me every time I park here?” he said casually.

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Rafe looked amused.

“Relax. She already thinks I’m fixing your pipes.”