The day felt like something out of a dream the kind you didn’t want to wake up from. The sun beamed down from a cloudless sky, warm and golden, painting the ocean in streaks of light. A breeze moved lazily through the air, brushing over your skin like a whisper. It smelled like salt and summer and something sweet you couldn’t name.

The yacht rocked gently beneath you, lulled by the calm tide. The only sounds were the soft chirr of distant bugs and your playlist humming low from a speaker nearby mellow, sun-drenched melodies that matched the mood perfectly.

You were stretched out on a sunbed, your skin warm beneath your swimsuit, eyes closed, completely at ease. The world had faded to nothing but the heat, the breeze, and the rhythmic motion of the sea.

Rafe sat nearby, sunk into a cushioned seat with a bottle sweating in his hand. But he wasn’t drinking. He was watching.

His eyes traced the lines of your body, the ink on your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He didn’t know why he kept staring maybe because it was rare to see you like this, completely unguarded. Or maybe because you made it impossible not to look.

If you’d opened your eyes, he would’ve turned away. Pretended like he hadn’t been watching at all. He was too proud to admit that something about you your presence, your silence, your ease made him feel… off center. Not in a bad way. In a way he didn’t quite understand.

Yeah, you were gorgeous. Anyone with eyes could see that. But it wasn’t just your body, or the way your hair caught the sun, or how your laugh sometimes lingered in his head long after it ended. It was something quieter. Something softer. Something that made him feel like if he looked at you too long, he might give something away.

The silence stretched, easy and unbothered, until he broke it his voice unexpectedly low and gentle, like he was afraid to disturb the stillness between you.

“You never told me what your tattoos mean.”

You stirred slightly, turning your head toward him, blinking the sun from your eyes. “Sorry, what?”

He nodded at you, his gaze steady. “Your tattoos,” he said again. “You never told me what they mean.”

And there was something in his voice something that made your breath hitch just slightly. Like he genuinely wanted to know. Like this wasn’t just small talk. Like this moment mattered more than either of you wanted to admit.