Your father called it a reality check.

You called it exile.

After one too many late nights, too many parties splashed across your Instagram story, and one very expensive sports car returned with a scratched bumper, your parents had finally decided they’d had enough.

“You need fresh air,” your father had said, sliding the plane ticket across the marble kitchen island. “Go spend the summer with your aunt in the Outer Banks. Maybe living somewhere that isn’t Beverly Hills will do you some good.”

So now, instead of shopping on Rodeo Drive or spending weekends at rooftop parties in Los Angeles, you were standing outside a tiny coastal airport with two oversized suitcases, an overpriced matching sweatsuit, designer sunglasses, and absolutely no desire to be here.

Salt hung in the air. Everything smelled like the ocean.

You already hated it.

You checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time.

Your Uber has been cancelled.

You actually laughed. Of course it had.

You’d already been standing there for almost forty minutes, and apparently your driver had been involved in a minor accident on the way.

Perfect.

You sighed dramatically, opening the app again, refreshing it over and over, hoping another driver would magically appear.

Nothing.

“Rough day?”

The voice came from your left.

You looked up.

A black Range Rover was parked a few spaces away, and leaning against it was a guy who looked like he’d been watching the whole thing unfold.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

A faded navy t-shirt stretched across his frame, sunglasses hooked into the collar, sandy blond hair slightly messy from the coastal humidity. One hand rested in his pocket while the other held the keys he’d been absentmindedly spinning around his finger.

He looked about mid-twenties. Definitely older than you.

You sighed.

“My Uber cancelled.”

He glanced at your phone before looking back at your two massive suitcases. “…I’m guessing you’re not from here.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve got enough luggage for six months.”

“I’m only staying for the summer.”

That earned a quiet grin. “Where you headed?”

“My aunt lives on Figure Eight Lane.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “I was just heading that way.”

There was a brief pause before he shrugged. “I can drive you.”

You hesitated.

“I just dropped my stepmom and little sister off for their flight,” he explained casually, nodding toward the terminal behind him. “I’d be driving back empty anyway.”

You studied him for another second.

Normally, your parents would’ve spent years telling you never to get into a stranger’s car.

Ironically…

…they were also the reason you were stranded here in the first place.

Your gaze flicked toward the empty pickup lane. Then back to him.

“You promise you’re not a serial killer?”

He laughed. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

For the first time since landing, the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile.

He stepped around the front of the Range Rover, reaching for one of your suitcases before you could stop him.

“I’m Rafe.”

He opened the trunk. “So… you coming, city girl?”