daisy

The morning sun poured across the wide wooden deck, lighting up the long table where everyone was gathered for breakfast. The smell of pancakes, bacon, and coffee filled the air, mixed with the salty breeze coming off the ocean. Laughter and easy conversation bounced around the group, but you felt completely out of sync with it.

You were still flustered from waking up wrapped around Rafe like you belonged there. Your thighs ached in the best and most embarrassing way, and every time you shifted in your chair you were reminded of exactly what he’d done to you last night.

You tried to play it cool. You grabbed a plate and sat at the far end of the table, next to your best friend, putting as much distance between you and Rafe as possible.

It didn’t work.

Rafe strolled out a minute later, hair still messy from bed, wearing nothing but black swim trunks and a backwards cap. He scanned the table once, then walked straight over and dropped into the chair right beside you — the one you’d clearly left empty on purpose.

He didn’t say anything. Just reached over and casually dragged your chair a few inches closer to his with one hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Your heart jumped.

“Morning,” he said lowly, only for you to hear, as he piled food onto his plate.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just nodded and stabbed at a pancake, cheeks already warming.

Under the table, his hand found your bare thigh almost immediately. His palm was warm and heavy, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin just under the hem of your shorts. You nearly dropped your fork.

Across the table, Topper grinned as he chewed a piece of bacon. “Well damn. You two are actually sitting next to each other without arguing. Did hell freeze over last night or something?”

Your stomach flipped. You felt Rafe’s fingers squeeze your thigh in warning — or amusement.

Rafe leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual arrogance, and shrugged. “She’s tolerable in small doses,” he said, voice dry. “Especially when she keeps her mouth shut.”

One of the other brothers laughed. Your best friend shot you a curious look, but you kept your eyes glued to your plate, heart racing so hard you were scared everyone could hear it.

Rafe’s hand kept moving — higher now, thumb brushing dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. You pressed your legs together instinctively, but that only trapped his hand there. He squeezed again, clearly enjoying how tense you were.

You were so skittish you could barely eat. Every little touch made you jump. Every low chuckle from him sent heat rushing through you. You kept replaying flashes from last night — his hands pinning you down, the way he’d teased you until you were begging, how deep he’d felt inside you.

After a few more minutes of the group chatting, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m… gonna go grab more sunscreen from my room,” you mumbled, standing up so fast your chair scraped loudly against the deck.

You didn’t wait for anyone to respond. You practically fled back inside the house, heart pounding in your ears.

Behind you, you heard Rafe’s low chuckle.

He was going to be the death of you this week.

Second Morning at the Beach House

Rafe woke up with you wrapped around him like a damn koala.

Your leg was thrown over his hip, arm draped across his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck. Your soft breaths tickled his skin with every exhale. He was on his back, one arm loosely around you, staring at the ceiling in a state of mild shock.

What the fuck did we do?

Last night replayed in his head on a loop — the way you’d asked him to kiss you, the filthy sounds you made when he fingered you, how tight you felt around his cock, the way you whined his name when you came. He’d fucked you hard. Twice. And you’d been loud. Really loud.

He glanced toward the door. Thankfully, this was the only room on the top floor. Still… the house wasn’t that big.

Before he could spiral further, you stirred.

Like a lazy cat, you stretched against him, back arching, legs tightening around his waist for a second before you nuzzled deeper into his chest with a soft, sleepy hum. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and when they met his, a shy little smile tugged at your lips.

“Morning,” you mumbled, voice raspy.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He didn’t know how the hell to act. Were you still pissed at him? Was this a one-time thing? Did you expect him to be soft with you now?

“You’re clingy as hell when you sleep,” he said instead, voice rough with morning gravel. A teasing smirk played on his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You didn’t pull away. If anything, you pressed closer, your bare tits brushing against his chest under the sheet.

“You’re warm,” you replied simply, tracing a lazy finger down his abs. “And you didn’t seem to mind last night when I was riding—”

A loud knock on the door cut you off.

“Yo! Rafe! Breakfast is ready, man. Get your asses up!” Topper’s voice boomed from the hallway, way too cheerful. “We’re making pancakes. Don’t make us come drag you both out.”

Rafe cursed under his breath. You froze against him, eyes widening slightly as the reality of the group outside hit you.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Rafe’s hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively under the covers, even as he raised his voice just enough to answer. “We’ll be down in a minute!”

Topper laughed and walked away. The second his footsteps faded, Rafe looked back at you. The teasing from last night was still there, but now it was layered with something heavier.

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “Pretty sure half the house knows I fucked you stupid.”

Your face flushed instantly. You buried it in his neck again, embarrassed but clearly not regretting anything.

“I hate you,” you mumbled against his skin.

Rafe chuckled, low and dark, rolling you slightly so he was half on top of you. “Yeah? That’s why you came all over my cock twice?”

You smacked his chest lightly, but you were smiling. The moment felt strangely… comfortable. Dangerous.

He wanted to say more. Ask what the hell this was now. But Topper knocked again, louder this time.

“Seriously, guys! Food’s getting cold!”

Rafe sighed and pressed one last firm kiss to your lips before pulling back.

“C’mon. We should go before they get suspicious.”

You nodded, still flushed and a little dazed as you both got out of bed. But as you searched for your clothes, Rafe couldn’t stop watching you — messy hair, marks on your neck, the way you kept glancing at him.

It got dirty fast.

The second Rafe kissed you properly, the teasing flipped into something darker, hungrier. His mouth claimed yours, deep and demanding, and before you could catch your breath he rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him with one strong arm.

“Fuck, come here,” he growled against your lips.

You straddled his waist, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. The thin fabric of your sleep shorts and his sweatpants did almost nothing to hide how hard he already was. Rafe’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you down so you were grinding right against his cock. You whimpered at the friction.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Shit… you’re a whiner,” he murmured, almost amused. “Never would’ve guessed.”

You tried to glare at him but another roll of your hips had you moaning softly instead. Rafe smirked and sat up slightly, one hand sliding under your oversized t-shirt to grope your bare tits, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened.

He took his time.

Every time you got close to begging, he slowed down. He edged you mercilessly — fingers slipping into your shorts, stroking your soaked pussy, circling your clit until your thighs shook, only to pull back when you started panting his name. He sucked and bit at your nipples, alternating between soft licks and sharp little tugs that made you cry out.

“All those times you pissed me off,” he said roughly, two thick fingers buried deep inside you while his thumb worked your clit. “Spilling drinks on me. Arguing with me. Looking too fucking good in that bikini. This is payback, baby.”

“Rafe— please,” you whined, grinding down on his hand desperately. “I’m so close—”

“Not yet.”

He kept you right on the edge for what felt like forever, until you were trembling and dripping down his wrist. Only when you were nearly sobbing did he finally let you come, curling his fingers just right while sucking hard on your nipple. You shattered on top of him, moaning loudly into his neck as your pussy clenched around his fingers.

You barely had time to recover before he flipped you both again, shoving your shorts and panties down your legs. He pushed his own sweatpants off and you got your first real look at him.

He was hung. Thick, long, and rock hard.

“Condom?” he rasped, already lining himself up.

You shook your head, too needy to care. “I’m on birth control. Just fuck me.”

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice.

He pushed into you in one slow, deep thrust, stretching you open. You gasped at the fullness, nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he bottomed out.

“Fuck… so tight,” he muttered.

Then he started moving — hard, steady strokes that made the headboard hit the wall. Every thrust felt like it was punishing and rewarding you at the same time. He groped your tits, kissed you messily, and whispered filthy things in your ear about how long he’d wanted this.

You came again around his cock, whining and shaking.

Rafe followed not long after, slamming deep and groaning your name as he spilled inside you.

For a minute, the only sound in the room was both of you trying to catch your breath.

He stayed buried inside you, pressing lazy kisses along your collarbone, almost gentle now that the storm had passed.

“You’re still annoying as hell,” he mumbled against your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh, running your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah… well you’re still an asshole.”

But neither of you moved away.

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy with anticipation. You were both lying on your sides, faces inches apart, the king bed suddenly feeling much smaller. Moonlight spilled across Rafe’s bare chest, highlighting every line of muscle, and your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it.

You licked your lips, voice barely above a whisper.

“Kiss me.”

Rafe went still. His eyes darkened, surprise flickering across his face. He’d never seen you like this — soft, shy, asking for it. Not the fiery girl who argued with him at parties or spilled drinks on him on purpose. This version of you was vulnerable. Needy. Flustered and waiting for him.

It did dangerous things to him.

A slow, cocky smirk tugged at his lips as he shifted a little closer, his hand sliding to rest on your waist under the sheets.

“Say that again,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

Your cheeks burned. You knew exactly what he was doing. Teasing. Making you work for it.

“Rafe…” you whispered, embarrassed but too turned on to stop. “Kiss me.”

He leaned in just enough that his lips hovered over yours, breath warm against your mouth. So close, but not touching. His fingers flexed on your waist, gripping the fabric of your oversized t-shirt.

“You’re awfully demanding for someone who was hiding behind a pillow barrier ten minutes ago,” he teased, eyes locked on yours. “Thought you were pissed at me.”

“I am,” you breathed, but your body betrayed you, shifting closer. “But I still want you to kiss me.”

Rafe’s smirk deepened. He brushed his nose against yours, teasing, drawing it out. He’d imagined this — you under him, wanting him — but never like this. Never so sweet and flustered, practically begging with those wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Beg a little more, baby,” he said softly, lips grazing the corner of your mouth before pulling back just enough to deny you. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

You let out a frustrated little sound, half-embarrassed, half-desperate. Your hand came up to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm.

“Please, Rafe,” you whispered, voice trembling with need. “Kiss me. I’ve been thinking about it since that night in your room… since the lake today… just kiss me.”

Something in his expression shifted — the teasing mixed with raw hunger. He’d never seen you this way, and fuck, he liked it. A lot.

He finally closed the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that quickly turned hungry. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as he tilted his head and kissed you harder, tongue teasing yours.

First Night at the Beach House

You stood on your side of the massive king bed, pillow clutched to your chest like a shield.

“Um… do you want a pillow barrier?” you asked, voice smaller than you would’ve liked.

Rafe, already stretched out on his back in nothing but gray sweatpants, gave you a look that was distinctly unimpressed. One eyebrow raised, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“After you kissed the shit out of me in my room and I had my hands all over you in the water today? A pillow barrier is useless, baby.”

Your face instantly heated. You hated how easily he could fluster you now.

You climbed into bed anyway, placing one sad pillow between you before lying down on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The tension was electric. The room was dark except for the moonlight filtering through the windows and the distant sound of waves crashing outside.

You were both quiet for a minute.

Then Rafe turned onto his side, facing you.

“Why were you so flustered after tubing?” he asked, voice low and direct. “You could barely look at anyone for the rest of the day.”

You froze. He was watching you closely, that cocky little smirk growing when you didn’t answer right away.

“I wasn’t—” you started.

“You were,” he cut in, clearly enjoying this. “All pink and quiet. Couldn’t even talk to the other guys. Was it my hands on you? Having to hold onto me while I fixed your bottoms?”

You turned your head sharply to glare at him. He was teasing you. The bastard.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. Your heart was racing.

Rafe reached over and casually tossed the pillow barrier onto the floor. Now there was nothing between you. Just a foot of mattress and way too much awareness.

He propped his head on his hand, looking down at you with dark, amused eyes.

“C’mon. Be honest. You’ve been thinking about it all day, haven’t you?”

You swallowed hard. The intimacy settled in fast — the closeness, the quiet of the room, the way his eyes kept dropping to your mouth.

“…Maybe,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s smirk softened into something heavier. “Yeah. Me too.”

The air shifted. You turned onto your side to face him fully. Face to face. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Why did you kick me out that night?” you asked quietly. “After we kissed. It was… really good. And then you just told me to get the fuck out like I was nothing.”

Rafe’s expression changed. The teasing faded, replaced by something more serious.

“I was pissed at myself,” he said after a beat. “We’d been fighting for weeks. I told myself I hated you. Then you kissed me and I lost it. If you’d stayed any longer I would’ve fucked you right there against the wall. And I didn’t want to be that guy with you.”

Your breath caught. His honesty hit harder than expected.

“So instead you made me feel like shit,” you whispered.

Rafe’s hand moved slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek.

“I know,” he said, voice rough. “That was fucked up. I regretted it the second you left.”

The space between you felt smaller. His eyes were locked on yours, the tension thick and intimate. You could feel the pull — the same one that had led to that heated makeout weeks ago.

“You’re still an asshole,” you breathed.

Rafe’s lips curved. “Yeah. But you kissed me anyway.”

First Day at the Beach House

By lunch, you were completely ruined.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt it again — Rafe’s big hands under the water, steady on your hips, fingers brushing your bare skin as he carefully retied your bikini bottoms. How solid and warm his body had felt pressed against yours while you clung to him. He was so big — broad shoulders, strong arms, the way his chest had brushed against your breasts with every small movement in the water. The memory made your face burn hotter than the sun.

You sat at the long outdoor table picking at your food, barely able to follow the conversations around you. The other guys were trying to talk to you — joking, flirting, offering you another drink — but you could only give short, distracted answers. Your mind kept replaying the intimate moment on the lake. The way Rafe had looked at you. The low tone of his voice when he said “I’ve got you.”

You were so flustered you could barely function.

By the time the sun went down and everyone had gathered for drinks and games on the porch, you were done. You just wanted to crawl into bed and hide from the memory of Rafe’s hands on you.

Then the night got worse.

You walked into the room you were supposed to share with one of the other girls and froze. Water covered the floor. A pipe had burst in the wall, soaking the carpet and one of the beds. Thankfully your suitcase had been on the other side of the room and was mostly dry, but the room itself was unusable.

Topper winced when you told everyone. “Shit… we’ll figure it out. Most of the rooms are already doubled up.”

Your best friend looked guilty. “My room with Topper only has a twin.”

Everyone else was already paired off or in smaller beds. The only person with a bed big enough for two was Rafe — the master bedroom with the king.

Rafe, who had been quiet and watchful all evening, met your eyes across the porch.

You swallowed hard.

“I can take the couch,” you offered weakly.

“Don’t be stupid,” Rafe said, voice rough. “It’s a big bed. Just… stay on your side.”

Your stomach flipped. The idea of sleeping in the same bed as Rafe Cameron after everything that had happened today made your head spin.

But you had no other choice.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to their rooms, you stood awkwardly in the doorway of Rafe’s room in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, clutching your pillow. He was already in bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head, scrolling on his phone like this was completely normal.

He glanced up at you, eyes dragging slowly down your bare legs before snapping back to your face.

“You coming in or what?” he asked, tone low.

You hesitated for one more second, heart racing, still flustered from the entire day. Then you closed the door behind you and walked toward the massive bed.

This was going to be a long night.

Rafe was convinced this trip was going to kill him.

He couldn’t decide if he was already in heaven or being dragged straight to hell.

The group had decided on waterskiing that afternoon. The boat was rented, the lake calm and sparkling under the sun, and everyone was buzzing with excitement. Then you walked out of the house in your bikini.

Fuck.

It was tiny. Black. The kind that tied at the sides and left almost nothing to the imagination. Your body looked insane — sun-kissed skin, curves in all the right places, that plump ass he still had vivid memories of gripping. The top barely contained your tits as you adjusted the strings.

Rafe had to turn away immediately, pretending to mess with the cooler while he adjusted himself. His dick was rock hard in his swim trunks. He felt like a fucking horny teenager who’d never seen a girl in a bikini before. He grabbed a towel and strategically draped it over his lap as he sat on the dock, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Get it together, Cameron.

You were completely unaware of his crisis… or maybe you weren’t. You posed for a few Instagram photos on the dock — hair tousled by the breeze, smiling that bright, confident smile, arching your back just enough to make his blood run hotter. The camera loved you. Everyone loved you.

The second you were done taking pictures, the other guys swarmed.

“Yo, you need help with the life vest?” one of the brothers asked, already stepping way too close.

“Looking good out here,” another grinned, eyes shamelessly dragging over your body. “You ever been waterskiing before? I can show you how it’s done.”

A third one laughed and offered you his hand to help you onto the boat like you were some delicate princess.

Rafe sat there gripping the towel, watching the whole thing with a storm brewing behind his eyes. Every laugh you gave them, every time one of them touched your arm or stood too close, made something ugly twist in his chest.

He hated it.

He hated how much he wanted to tell them all to back the fuck off. He hated that he had no right to feel that way. And he really hated that his body was still betraying him every time you moved.

Topper nudged him with his elbow, smirking. “You good, man? You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

“I’m fine,” Rafe muttered, voice tight.

But he wasn’t.

Not when you were standing there in that bikini, laughing with his brothers like you hadn’t been the reason he’d been losing his mind for weeks

First Afternoon at the Beach House

You both managed to climb back onto the tube without another incident. Rafe helped pull you up, his hands firm on your waist as the boat slowly reeled you back in. Thankfully, no one on board had noticed what happened. The others were too busy laughing and cheering, assuming you’d both just let go for fun.

When you finally reached the boat, Rafe was strangely quiet.

He climbed up first, then reached down to help you aboard. His grip was strong, and for a second longer than necessary, his eyes lingered on your face. You quickly adjusted your bikini top and made sure your bottoms were still secure before sitting down on the bench beside him.

The rest of the group was focused on the next pair getting ready to go out — Topper and your best friend hyping each other up. Laughter and loud music filled the boat, but the space between you and Rafe felt like its own little bubble.

You waited until the boat took off again, the roar of the engine covering your voice.

“Hey,” you said softly, glancing over at him. “Thanks. For… helping me out there. That would’ve been mortifying.”

Rafe didn’t look at you right away. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped, jaw tight like he was thinking too hard. Water still dripped down his chest and abs. When he finally turned his head, his eyes were darker than usual.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “No problem.”

You expected him to make some cocky comment or brush it off. Instead he stayed quiet, watching the tube bounce in the distance with the others on it. But you caught the way his gaze kept flicking back to you — your flushed cheeks, the way you were still fidgeting with the strings of your bikini, the lingering embarrassment in your expression.

He realized, with a twisted sense of satisfaction, that he really liked seeing you flustered.

The confident, sharp-tongued girl who spilled drinks on him and argued with him at every party — reduced to shy, pink-cheeked silence because his hands had been on her hips under the water. Because she’d had to cling to him, chest to chest, while he fixed her bottoms.

It did something dangerous to him.

Rafe shifted slightly, trying to ignore the way his body was reacting again. He cleared his throat.

“You good now?” he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Just… don’t tell anyone.”

A small, rare smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the rest of the ride, he stayed seated right beside you. The tension between you had shifted again — still charged, still complicated, but now laced with something hotter. Something neither of you wanted to name.

First Afternoon at the Beach House

After a few rounds of waterskiing, the group switched to tubing. The big inflatable tube got dragged out, and everyone started pairing up for rides behind the boat.

Topper, with a shit-eating grin, pointed between you and Rafe. “You two. Perfect matchup.”

Rafe shot him a deadly look. “Not funny.”

“Extremely funny, actually,” Topper laughed. “You two hate each other. Should be entertaining.”

You didn’t argue. You just climbed onto the tube with Rafe, determined not to give anyone more ammunition. The boat took off, and for a while it was just speed, spray, and the two of you gripping the handles as the tube bounced hard over the wake.

You were both laughing despite yourselves — adrenaline and the ridiculousness of the situation cutting through the tension. Rafe’s arm brushed against yours every time the tube jolted. His thigh pressed against yours. It felt too close. Too good.

Then it happened.

One particularly hard bounce and sharp turn — your bikini bottoms came untied. The strings loosened completely. You felt the fabric slip and gasped, instantly letting go of the handles to grab at them.

You hit the water hard.

Rafe reacted fast. He let go too, diving off the tube after you. The boat circled back slowly as the driver noticed.

By the time he reached you, you were treading water, one hand desperately holding the front of your bottoms in place while the other arm tried to cover your chest. Your face was burning crimson.

“Shit— here,” Rafe said, swimming right up to you.

Without thinking, he positioned his body to block you from the view of the boat and the others. His hands found your waist under the water, steadying you as you clung to him with your free arm. Your bodies pressed together, skin slick and warm from the sun.

“I’ve got you,” he muttered, voice low. “Just hold onto me.”

You had no choice. You wrapped one arm tightly around his neck, chests flush, your legs brushing against his as you tried to stay afloat. Rafe’s free hand worked under the water, fingers brushing against your hip as he found the loose strings of your bikini bottoms.

The moment was painfully intimate.

His face was inches from yours. You could see the water droplets on his lashes, the way his jaw was clenched in concentration. His fingers were careful but sure as he retied the strings at your hip, double-knotting them securely. Every small movement of his hand against your bare skin sent electricity shooting through you.

You’d never felt this flustered in your life. Not even during that heated makeout in his room. Your heart was pounding, cheeks flaming, and you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“There,” he said roughly, voice quieter than it should have been. “They’re good.”

You still didn’t let go of his neck right away. Neither did he pull away. For a few long seconds you just floated there, bodies pressed together in the cool water, the rest of the group shouting from the boat in the distance.

Rafe’s eyes dropped to your mouth for a split second before snapping back up.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

He was breathing harder than the swim warranted.

The Drive

The pancakes had been a mistake.

Not because they weren’t good — they were delicious — but because they gave you energy. And with that energy came the very reasonable need for multiple pit stops.

The first one was for coffee (“I need caffeine after that breakfast”). The second was because you “really had to pee” twenty minutes later. The third was when you spotted a cute roadside stand selling fresh fruit and insisted on stretching your legs.

Each time you asked, Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel got tighter. Each time he muttered under his breath but still pulled over. He didn’t argue much anymore — probably because he knew it was pointless — but the tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife.

By the time you finally pulled up to the beach rental house, it was a full hour later than everyone else.

The rest of the group was already unpacked and settled. Topper and your best friend were on the porch drinking beers when Rafe killed the engine. They both raised their eyebrows at the sight of you two climbing out of the car.

“Damn, what took y’all so long?” Topper called out, smirking. “We thought you got lost or something.”

Rafe slammed his door harder than necessary. “Ask her.”

You shot him a glare as you popped the trunk. “I had needs. Sue me.”

Your best friend came down the steps to help with your massive pink suitcase, giving you a knowing look. “Everything okay?” she whispered.

“Fine,” you whispered back, though the word felt like a lie.

Rafe hauled your suitcase out like it personally offended him and dropped it on the gravel with a thud. His jaw was locked, shoulders tense. The two-hour drive had stretched into nearly three and a half thanks to your pit stops, and you could tell he was at the edge of his patience.

Still… he hadn’t said no to any of them.

You caught his eye for a second as he grabbed his own bag. There was heat there. Frustration. Something else that made your stomach tighten.

“Glad you two could finally join us,” one of the other frat brothers joked from the doorway.

Rafe ignored him and headed inside without another word. You followed a moment later, the salty ocean air doing nothing to cool the weird mix of annoyance and awareness buzzing between you.

This trip had barely started, and the two of you were already a ticking time bomb.

The Drive

Thirty minutes into the painfully tense drive, your stomach growled loud enough for both of you to hear.

You shifted in the passenger seat, pressing a hand to your belly. “Can we stop for breakfast? I’m starving.”

Rafe didn’t even glance over. “We’ll eat when we get there. It’s only two hours.”

“I didn’t eat this morning,” you argued, turning to look at him. “And I get hangry. You really want to be trapped in a car with me when I’m hangry?”

He gripped the wheel tighter, jaw ticking. “We’re already behind schedule.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “There’s a diner right off the next exit. Five minutes. I’ll be quick.”

Rafe muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “fucking nightmare,” but he took the exit anyway.

The diner was cute — the kind of old-school Southern spot with checkered floors, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox playing soft country music in the corner. A bell jingled as you walked in. An older waitress with perfectly curled silver hair and a name tag that read “Darlene” greeted you with a warm smile.

“Well, good mornin’, y’all! Table for two?”

You both nodded. Darlene led you to a booth by the window, handing out menus with a twinkle in her eye as she looked between you and Rafe.

“Aren’t you two just the cutest? Nothin’ like a little lovers’ quarrel to start the day off right,” she said with a knowing chuckle. “I’ve been married forty-two years — trust me, make-up breakfast is the best kind.”

Your eyes widened. Rafe stiffened across from you.

“We’re not—” you started.

“Not dating,” Rafe finished flatly.

Darlene just waved a hand, clearly not believing a word. “Sure, sugar. Whatever you say. Coffee for both?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. Rafe just grunted in agreement.

The next ten minutes were excruciating. You ordered pancakes and bacon. Rafe got eggs and toast, arms crossed like he was being held hostage. Every time Darlene came by to refill coffee, she threw in another comment.

“Y’all remind me of me and my Henry back when we were young and stubborn. He used to get that exact same grumpy look on his face when we’d fight.”

You nearly choked on your orange juice. Rafe looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

When the food came, you ate in charged silence, the tension from the car following you right into the booth. You caught him watching you a few times when he thought you weren’t looking — eyes flicking over your face, your mouth, the way your tank top sat on your shoulders.

You refused to acknowledge the way it made your stomach flip.

When the check came, Rafe grabbed it before you could even reach for your wallet.

“I’ve got it,” he said gruffly.

Darlene winked at you as she took his card. “Smart man. Keep this one around, honey. Even when he’s actin’ difficult.”

You didn’t bother correcting her again.

Back in the car a short while later, the silence felt even heavier than before. Rafe started the engine, eyes fixed on the road.

“You didn’t have to pay,” you muttered.

He shrugged, jaw still tight. “Just eat your damn pancakes next time before we leave.”

You fought a smile despite yourself.