The sun dipped low over the Cut as you hung clothes on the line, the peaceful evening interrupted by the rumble of a black Silverado. You sighed, recognizing it immediately.

Rafe Cameron climbed out, his polished look clashing with the worn-down charm of your yard. “Barry home?” he asked, leaning against the truck with a smirk.

“Nope,” you replied, hands on your hips. “But I’m sure he’d love to know you’re trespassing, Country Club.”

Rafe chuckled. “Relax. Just picking something up.”

“Wrong side of the island for that,” you shot back, walking toward him. “This isn’t your Figure Eight playground.”

“And yet, here I am,” he countered, his grin widening. “Must mean I like the view.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm despite yourself. “Spare me.”

From inside the house, Barry yelled, “Who’s out there?”

“Your country club buddy!” you called back. “Come get him before I do.”

Rafe smirked as you turned away.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the small smile tugging at your lips.