He’d had feelings for you for a while now—longer than he cared to admit, longer than he even understood himself. Rafe Cameron, usually so effortlessly confident, felt like he was walking a tightrope whenever you were around. You made his palms sweat, made words stick to the roof of his mouth until they tumbled out wrong.

That day was perfect: the sun hung lazily in the sky, and the world felt softer out on the water. His yacht felt less like a show of wealth and more like a safe little island just for the two of you. You laughed at his dumb jokes, teasing him the way only you could, and he laughed back—more free than he’d felt in years.

When the breeze picked up, you slipped into one of his hoodies, the sleeves comically long on you. Rafe couldn’t help but smile; seeing you in his clothes made something tighten in his chest.

You settled down on the lounge, the hum of the boat and the gentle sway of the ocean lulling everything into a calm, almost dreamlike quiet. It wasn’t awkward—it never was with you. The silence felt warm, like shared understanding.

He turned toward you then, hesitation shadowing his usually sure features. His heart pounded so hard he wondered if you could hear it over the waves. Now or never, he thought, voice catching in his throat as he finally spoke.

“Hey… can I tell you something?”

You opened your eyes, blinking the sun from your lashes. “Of course. What’s up?”

His mouth went dry. For a second, he almost chickened out, almost let the moment pass. But something about the way you were looking at him, soft and unguarded, gave him courage.

“I, uh… I’ve liked you. For a long time. More than liked, actually. I just—God, you make me so nervous. And that usually never happens.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t look away. The wind played with your hair, and Rafe thought he might lose his mind if you didn’t say something soon.