The Spanish coast looked exactly as Rafe remembered: the tide curling in slow, glittering arcs before breaking against the sand, the wind carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed stone. He’d been coming to this hidden cove since he was a teenager, back when the villa felt suffocating and the beach was the only place that didn’t demand anything of him. It was quiet here, private. Untouched.

It had been years since he’d seen you. Years since you had walked away from his brother, from the engagement, from the family entirely. You never said why, but Mateo always believed it was because of him. Rafe never confirmed it… but he never denied it either. The truth was, he’d thought about you more than he’d ever admit… in quiet moments, late nights, in the spaces between partners whose faces he couldn’t remember.

Now, you were here. Standing barefoot at the edge of the surf, the water curling around your ankles like it was claiming you. The sunset turned your skin to gold, your eyes catching the light in a way that hit Rafe like a punch.

He leaned against a sun-bleached rock, letting his gaze linger. You must have felt it. He saw it in the way your shoulders stiffened. “Well,” his voice carried easily over the sound of the waves, “look what the tide dragged in.”

He didn’t move at first, savoring the distance, the way the air between you felt thick with everything unsaid. Then he pushed off the rock and walked toward you, slow and deliberate, boots sinking into the wet sand. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Tell me,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting, “are you here for the view… or for me?”