The midday heat shimmers off the marina as you rinse the salt from the Camerons’ yacht, hose in one hand, rag in the other. You barely notice Ward approaching until his shadow falls across the deck.

“Looking good,” he says. “You met my son yet?”

You shake your head, and then you hear it — the slow, measured steps on the dock.

Rafe appears beside his dad, squinting against the sun. The moment his eyes land on you, his entire expression changes. It’s subtle at first — the way his jaw slackens just slightly, how his gaze sharpens and refuses to move.

Ward’s voice fades as Rafe steps forward, one hand gripping the railing. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away, like you’re the only thing worth seeing in the whole damn marina.

“So… you’re the one keeping our boat this clean.” The words are casual, but his tone isn’t. It’s weighted, deliberate.

You nod, wiping your hands on a rag. He smirks faintly, but his eyes are hungry, already memorizing every detail.

“Guess I’ll be around more often,” he says quietly, almost like a promise.

Ward turns to check something on the deck, but Rafe stays there, watching you with a focus so sharp it makes your pulse quicken.

In his head, he’s already decided — meeting you wasn’t chance. It was the start of something he isn’t going to let go of.