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The next few days after your disastrous trip flew by in a blur of ice packs, you jumping around the house on one leg and nearly killing yourself several times, and your friends and mom hovering over you as if you couldn’t handle anything by yourself. 

Pogues and Sarah visited you multiple times, always coming into your quiet place like a storm and sweeping everything in their way. Your leg was getting much better with how much care you received from people, from you following all of the instructions, and because thankfully the sprain wasn’t that bad. 

Everything went great because you could finally step on it without feeling like you’ve been stabbed, and well… because one particular person has been present in your mind since that day. 

Rafe didn’t overwhelm you with lots of messages; instead, he just checked on you occasionally, making sure that you were feeling great and that you didn’t need anything to be delivered to you. 

You suddenly ended up in that weird position when you didn’t know what to answer to a few of his random pictures he’d sent you just because you got too overwhelmed and started overthinking everything. You two didn’t talk about what happened, didn’t clarify where you were standing after the kiss, yet judging by your inner voice and Sarah’s matter-of-fact comments, Rafe was nervous and unsure about the whole situation. 

Maybe that was the reason why he didn’t come to your house himself, or, better said, didn’t let you know when he did, because a few craft bags with food, your favorite gummies and chocolate, and medicine were left on your porch anonymously. With a card where the person wished you to get better and a prominent and obvious “R” at the bottom of it, it spoke for itself. 

So now, after Rafe texted you a few times to make sure that you were able to walk, he finally made a decision—he planned to pick you up at 7p.m. to take you out to dinner and advised you to wear something casual and comfy. 

You spent the whole day getting ready, way too nervous to do anything else and just sitting on your bed in anticipation. You felt a bundle of nerves curling tighter in your stomach every time you thought about being together, alone, on something that seemed like a date—for the very first time. 

At 6:55, already dressed in your favorite jeans, an off-shoulder sweater, and sneakers that seemed the most comfortable for your foot, you were in front of the window, half hiding behind the curtain and nervous as ever. The SUV pulled up on your driveway, and after a few seconds of sitting there still, Rafe walked to the front door, hitting the bell. 

The moment you saw him, for the first time since that day, your eyes took him in greedily—dark blue jeans, black henley, hair that still looked slightly damp like he just got out of the shower and that fell over his forehead in that messy-pretty way. He stood there almost awkwardly, hands deep in his pockets, and eyes studying you the same way you did. 

Rafe’s heart, for some stupid and unexplainable reason, hammered against his ribs, like it was the first time he ever talked to a girl. Like it was the first time he talked to you. He gave you a soft smile, his eyes respectfully slid down your body, and then lifted back to your face. You smiled back at him, not able to hold back a nervous laugh. 

“Hi.” You half-whispered, closing the door behind you. As you stepped closer, his cologne hit you again—the same way it did in the woods.

“Hi.” He replied back. “You look gorgeous. Ready to go?” Your face heated when you nodded. 

“You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised. Just—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“You carried me for two miles. It’s the least I can do.” You looked up at him when he didn’t respond to your words, guiding you towards his car with his hand at the small of your back. 

The car was warm, filled with that familiar smell of his, and you settled against the seat, a bit fidgety from nerves. This time, you thought, the ride was as awkward as the first one. But if the first time it was mostly because girls were sitting there, then now it was because neither of you suddenly knew how to break the ice. 

Rafe’s fingers hammered against the steering wheel while he mentally was kicking himself for suddenly being so unsure of himself. When was the last time he felt like that? He didn’t know. But the fear of doing something wrong, of pushing too much, suddenly startled him again. He knew you for many years and had a crush on you for almost that exact amount of time, and now you were there with him. He had all the chances to clear things up, but he stayed silent. 

The ride to the diner took about fifteen minutes, and soon a giant neon sign was illuminating everything around you when Rafe stopped at the parking lot. You’d never been there before, but the whole aesthetic of a good-old vintage place, with vinyl booths and a menu that stayed the same for decades, some jazz playing in the background, made you smile at Rafe’s choice. 

He held the door for you and guided you to the booth in the corner, as if he’d been there a million times, and you sat in front of each other. A few customers barely paid any attention to you, and you like it that way—it was much better than constantly being eyed on the Figure Eight and probably talked about behind your back the whole time. 

“Is this place okay?” Rafe finally asked, looking at you over the menu, eyes a bit unsure.

“It’s perfect, really. I like places like this. It doesn’t feel as pretentious, you know?” You smiled at the way his shoulders relaxed a bit. At least he didn’t fuck this up, he thought. 

“Yeah, I get it. The food is stupid good here.”

“Already back, honey?” Your eyes snapped up when an elderly woman appeared near the table, a little notebook and pen in hand, and a mischievous smirk on her lips. “And you brought company this time?”

Rafe’s ears went faintly pink before he shrugged. “Yeah.” 

You both made your orders, seemingly getting the whole damn menu, before the woman left, and a silence settled between you again. Your hands were in front of you on the table, nervously twisting a ring on your finger. 

“So… those porch deliveries?” You started slowly.

Rafe half smiled, eyes darting to yours. “Wanted to make sure that you had something you liked.”

“Mm, why didn’t you come in? I wouldn’t have kicked you out, you know?” 

He sighed, straightening up a bit and leaning forward too, hands just a few inches away from yours. His leg accidentally bumped against yours under the table, but neither of you moved. 

“Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I still don’t know where we’re standing after that day, and—fuck.” He dropped his head forward in defeat for a few seconds, and you waited patiently. “I keep thinking that maybe you don’t want it. That you just, I don’t know, kissed me because you were hurt, or tired, or just on adrenaline. Maybe you woke up and realized that I’m not that kind of guy.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head once—small, firm—cutting you off gently.

“I’m not fishing for pity.” He continued, looking at you without hesitation now. “I’m just saying that I do want you. I do like you. I liked you since you were, maybe, fifteen, when you and Sarah were having sleepovers, and I had to pretend to be an annoyed older brother to not make things weird.” You huffed a laugh, shaking your head at the memories of that time. “But I know what it is to act on impulse. So I just bought you something nice, left it on the porch, and gave you space.” 

His eyes held yours the whole time—direct, unflinching, the way he used to look at you when he was trying to figure out if you were lying about something stupid back when you were kids. Only now there was something heavier behind it. Vulnerability you had never seen on him before. 

“I’m honest when I say that I want you. If you want me. But you don’t.” He stopped, jaw ticking and eyes dropping to your hands. “That’s okay. There’s no pressure.” 

You pursed your lips at the way he said it—how bitterly it sounded, how his face briefly twisted like he didn’t even believe that lie himself. 

“I do want you, Rafe.” Your hand reached forward until your fingers brushed his. “You know that cliché thing with liking your best friend’s older brother? Yeah, that was totally me.” 

His hand covered yours fully after a small hesitation, as his lips stretched in a small, almost shy smile. “Really?”

“Are you kidding me? Tall, handsome, a bit mean… A teenage girl’s dream. You were making me nervous, like, all the time.” He fully laughed now, shaking his head in disbelief and interlacing your fingers, tugging your hand just a bit closer. 

“I didn’t know.” 

“Thank God!” You laughed too. The air around you was stripped of any tension now that you both fell into that familiar and comfortable place where you could talk properly without walking around each other on eggshells. “I would’ve died from embarrassment if you knew.”

“I would’ve teased you to death.” Rafe grinned with that boyish sparkle in his eyes. He kept looking at you as if really seeing you for the first time, feeling weirdly happy and proud of himself that now your smiles and laughs were because of him. “But… Fuck, I wish I knew. I would’ve done something earlier.” 

The sound of your laugh slowly died when you just shrugged, not knowing what to answer. You looked at each other softly now—not hiding your eyes, not being uncomfortably nervous, but just relishing the moment when you made everything clear, when you both knew that you were not just crazily crushing over each other. 

That was the moment when the waitress came with a full tray of food, glancing at your intertwined hands with a smirk playing on her lips. She put everything down, walking away with an appreciative nod to herself. 

Rafe didn’t let go of your hand for a few more minutes. He just picked up a fry with his free hand, dipped it in ketchup, and held it out to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Open.” You raised a brow but leaned forward anyway, letting him feed you the fry. The salt hit your tongue, and you hummed in approval.

“See?” He said, smug now, teasing fully back in his tone. “Told you this place was good. You gotta listen to me more often. ”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “Don’t get cocky, Cameron.”

“You like when I’m cocky.” 

You reached out for Rafe’s milkshake, taking a sip through the straw and looking straight at him. “Maybe I do.”

The rest of your night at the diner was filled with laughter, stolen food off each other’s plates, and countless times you both reached out to hold hands. Time went by quickly, and when it was already dark outside and the bill was placed on your table, Rafe pushed there a few dollar bills, not even letting you look at the price, before guiding you outside with a knowing smile from that same waitress. 

He wanted to take you on a boardwalk near the beach, because he was just not ready to let you go yet, so after just a few minutes in the car, you were parked under the palms, which led to the already cooled water. 

You opened the door of the truck, Rafe already by your side, as you jumped out on the gravel and just barely winced at the feeling in your ankle—not as bad as before, but still tender. 

“Woah, easy.” Rafe’s hand steadied you with a firm hold on your elbow. His eyes were already alert, while you tried to brush it off. 

“I’m okay.” 

“I saw that. Still hurts?” He crouched down a bit, looking at your reaction. 

“Just a bit sensitive, but I’m fine.” 

You tried to move past him, but the next moment you were scooped off your feet in a dangerously similar way—flush against Rafe’s chest, one hand under your knees, and the other one on your back to keep you in place.

“Rafe!” You half-laughed, half-gasped, hands flying to his shoulders for support and legs swinging helplessly in the air. “Put me down, I can walk myself.” 

“Nah.” He shook his head, looking straight ahead as he already started going to the place of his choice. Your body softly jostled in his arms while he seemed to move with ease despite holding you. “That’s my job now.”

“Your… job?” Your heart fluttered when his eyes darted towards yours. 

“Yeah. My job. As your boyfriend.” 

That scary yet very real word hung heavily between you while you tried to understand what you were supposed to say. You looked at Rafe’s profile again, just like the last time, but now you were studying him to find a sign of teasing, of him being a smart-ass again. 

You blinked up at him, lips parting when he stayed as serious as ever. “So… you’re my boyfriend now?”

He slowed just enough to look at you properly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that slow, devastating smile.

“If you want me to be.”

The sincerity in his voice and the hint of hope and vulnerability you thought you heard made your chest ache in the best way. You slid one hand up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape. 

“I want you to be.”

Something flashed across his face, his eyes darted between yours, then slid down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if he was reading you—checking your reaction. 

Rafe carried you the rest of the way in silence, relishing the way you placed your head against his shoulder, your sweet scent making him go absolutely crazy. He reached the higher part of the little alley, from where you could have a perfect view of the ocean. 

He put you down gently, hands steadying you at your waist, but he didn’t step back the way you expected him to. Instead, Rafe leaned forward. 

Both of his hands cupped your cheeks, bringing you in closer, catching your lips in a seemingly sweet and gentle kiss, his hair just barely tickling your face. He savored your taste, your lip gloss you just reapplied back in the car, thinking that he might already be addicted. But the moment your hands fisted the front of his shirt, the kiss turned into something greedy. 

Rafe took a step forward, fully covering your smaller form with his body, sliding one hand down to your waist and bringing you impossibly closer. You softly moaned into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue past your lips and devour you like you were his last meal. At one point, you thought your brain stopped working altogether because of the pure feeling of Rafe kissing you, the way the palm of his hand slid just barely under your sweater to touch your skin, the way you could feel him groaning in desperation against your lips… Yeah, that was intoxicating. 

You broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard, while he tried to chase your lips just to get a bit more.

“Fuck.” He laughed, low and rough, in disbelief. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, giddy, fingers still tangled in his shirt. “You started it.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then down the side of your neck, slow and open-mouthed, teeth scraping lightly until you shivered. “You complaining?”

You tilted your head back, giving him more room. “Never.”

Rafe groaned against your skin, hands roaming a bit more confidently now, sliding under your sweater to trace the bare curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs. You responded by dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch and his breath caught when you stopped dangerously low at his stomach. He hissed, hips rocking forward instinctively, pressing the hard length of him against you.

You both laughed, breathless, happy, and giddy from the feeling of the moment. 

“God, you feel good.” Rafe muttered, kissing you again, messy and smiling against your lips.

“So do you.” You nipped at his bottom lip. “Boyfriend.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. He smiled again, eyes roaming over your face and taking you in—your smile, the glimmering in your own eyes when you looked at him. 

“Say it again.”

“Boyfriend.” You whispered, teasing, then softer, “My boyfriend.”

He kissed you hard. It was claiming, possessive, and full of everything he’d held back for years and didn’t think he was allowed to show. When you finally broke apart, you were both smiling again like idiots, foreheads touching, hands everywhere, unable to stop yourself from wanting to be closer.

“You’re stuck with me now.” Rafe said against your mouth, voice rough with happiness you thought you had never heard from him before.

You slid your arms around his neck, pulling him down until your lips brushed his ear.

“Not complaining.”