You weren’t supposed to be at Figure Eight. You came because your cousin begged you to tag along to a beach bonfire — “just for an hour, please.” You agreed, on one condition: no introductions, no flirting, no nonsense.

You found the least social spot you could — sitting on a cooler, hoodie on, eating chips, staring at the fire like it was a documentary.

You didn’t even notice the tall blond guy walking up until his shadow covered the bag in your hands.

“You planning on sharing those, or…?”

You jumped so hard you dropped a chip.

Smooth. Very smooth.

“Oh—uh—I didn’t know this was someone’s food. I can put it back. Actually wait, that’s gross. Sorry. Do you want the bag? No. That’s also weird. I’m just— I’ll stop talking.”

You clamped your mouth shut.

The guy just stared… and then — laughed.

Not mocking — surprised.

“You’re funny.”

You blinked. “No I’m not. I just panic.”

His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.

“I’m Rafe.”

You nodded. “Right. And I’m—” You said your name a little too fast. “Sorry. That sounded like I rehearsed it.”

He laughed again — like he couldn’t help it.

Nobody laughed at you like that. Usually you just got blank looks.

“You always like this?” he asked, but not like it was bad — like it was interesting.

“Like… a mess?”

He shook his head immediately.

“Like real.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did — escaped. “Well. Nice meeting you. I’m gonna… go stand somewhere else. Over there. Away from humans.”

You pointed to a random empty patch of sand and walked toward it.

Most guys would’ve let you.

Rafe didn’t.

He followed, hands in pockets, expression unreadable.

“You don’t like crowds?”

You kicked your shoe against the sand. “They like me even less.”

He tilted his head.

“They don’t.”

It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged. “I’m not good at… talking. People either think I’m ignoring them or being rude. Or they get bored.”

Rafe stood right in front of you, close enough you had to look up.

“I’m not bored.”

Your stomach flipped — you weren’t used to someone saying that.

You tried to deflect. “You just want the chips.”

“No,” he said simply. “I want to figure you out.”

You froze, brain short-circuiting.

“…Why?”

His eyes softened — barely — just enough to make your pulse skip.

“Because you’re the first person here who isn’t pretending.”

You finally met his gaze. And his expression — curious, focused, almost gentle — scared you more than any crowd.

You stepped back. “That’s… too much attention for someone who can’t even hold a normal conversation.”

He didn’t step forward, didn’t trap you — just said, quiet but confident:

“You’re talking to me just fine.”

Someone called his name across the beach. He didn’t look away from you.

“I’m coming,” he yelled back.

Then, lower — just for you:

“I’ll find you later.”

Not a question. Not a threat. A promise.

And you stood there clutching a chip bag, heart pounding, wondering why the guy every girl watched…

was watching you.