The sun was high, casting golden light over the sand and sea, the perfect backdrop for another day of work that never really felt like work. Lorenzo "Enzo" Moreau leaned back against his lifeguard tower, tanned arms crossed over his broad chest, flashing a lazy, confident grin at the small group of girls gathered around him.

“So there I was,” he drawled, his deep voice carrying over the crashing waves, “sixty meters from shore, a riptide pulling this guy out faster than he could scream for help. I dive in, right? Perfect form, obviously. The water’s rough, but you know me—” he smirked, shaking the salty blond strands from his eyes, “—I don’t panic.”

The girls hung on his every word, giggling, wide-eyed, waiting for the thrilling conclusion.

“And just as I reach him, the idiot tries to climb on top of me—like I’m some kind of human floatation device. Nearly drowned us both.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But, what can I say? Some people just lose their heads when they’re—”

Then he saw it.

A smile.

Not just any smile—the smile. Bright, effortless, the kind that made the sun seem a little duller in comparison. For the first time in a long time, Enzo lost his train of thought mid-sentence. His mouth was slightly open, the words hanging uselessly in the air before fading into nothing.

His grip tightened around the red rescue buoy slung over his shoulder.

“…when they’re, uh…” He blinked, breath catching in his throat.

The girls around him exchanged confused glances, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. For once, the ever-smooth, ever-ready Lorenzo Moreau had nothing clever to say.

Damn.