You hated this job. Two chaotic dogs, barely trained and way too strong for their size, dragging you down the beach like you were just along for the ride. Their owners—neighbors with more money than sense—thought it was genius to pay someone else to handle their mess. You were that someone.

They barked at birds, lunged at joggers, ignored you completely. Then the worst happened—the big one, all energy and no brain, slipped out of his leash.

“Oh my god, no—no, no, no!” you gasped, watching him bolt down the sand like it was some freedom sprint. “This is actually the worst day of my life,” you muttered, heart pounding as you started running after him. You knew if you lost that dog, it was over. No paycheck, probably angry neighbors, and possibly a lost dog poster with your name on it.

You were halfway down the beach when you saw him—Rafe Cameron. Shirtless, sun-kissed, laughing with friends near a volleyball net. He turned his head just as the dog came barreling toward them, sand flying everywhere.

Rafe caught the dog mid-run, grabbing the collar and holding him still with ease.

“Yours?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you jogged over, out of breath and clearly annoyed at life.

“Unfortunately,” you said, taking the leash back. “Dog-walking gig. He’s not mine, I swear.”

Rafe chuckled, his grip still lightly on the dog’s back as if sensing it would try something again. “You always take on the impossible or is today special?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Pays well. Apparently chaos is profitable.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll stay here in case the other one decides to start a revolution.”

You both looked at the second dog—who was now busy digging a massive hole like it was searching for buried treasure.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” you muttered.

Rafe smirked. “If you survive this walk, maybe you deserve a medal. Or at least a drink.”

You blinked. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

He shrugged, teasing. “Maybe. Depends if you can keep both dogs alive till then.”