The store was way too bright, and Timothée definitely wasn’t supposed to be this close.

You were flipping through a rack when he suddenly leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Okay, don’t freak out.”

That alone made you look up.

He was holding a bikini now—bold colors, confident energy—and he lifted it slightly, eyes flicking from the hanger to your face, gauging your reaction.

“This,” he said slowly, “is causing problems.”

You crossed your arms. “For who?”

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “For me. Because I saw it and immediately thought of you and now I can’t unsee that.”

Your face warmed. “Timothée.”

“I’m just being honest,” he said, pretending to study the fabric while absolutely not doing that. “It’s got… presence. Like you.”

You reached out and pushed the hanger down. “You can’t just ambush people with fashion opinions like that.”

“Oh, I absolutely can,” he replied, grin widening. “Especially when it makes you look at me like that.”

There was a beat—one of those moments that lingered a little too long—before he cleared his throat and stepped back.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, gesturing toward the exit, “I think I’ve done enough damage for one store.”

You laughed, still feeling that buzz in your chest as you followed him out.

He glanced over his shoulder. “But just saying,” he added, “summer main-character energy.”

you pause. “Timmy, do you want my to buy it?”

he stops and turns around.