You didn’t mean to fall for him. You really didn’t.

Rafe Cameron was your sister’s boyfriend—untouchable, off-limits, the guy who sat at your kitchen table with a lazy smile and his hand wrapped around hers like he was already part of the family.

He wasn’t perfect. Everyone knew that. He had that sharp edge, that unpredictable temper, that quiet intensity when he got too still—but when he laughed, really laughed, you swore the whole house listened.

It started small. A shared look across the dinner table. A moment too long in the hallway. That night when your sister forgot her jacket and he waited with you by the porch steps, the air cold, your knees brushing.

“You’re nothing like her,” he said quietly. You blinked. “That’s… a good thing?” He nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

You didn’t speak of it again. But things changed.

He noticed when you were quiet. He asked if you were okay, even when no one else did. And when you smiled, he smiled back like it meant something.