16

Rafe guided her up a narrow path that led to a cliffside overlook—one of those hidden Figure Eight spots only the Camerons knew about. The view was unreal, the moonlight casting silver streaks over the ocean far below. The breeze was stronger up there, lifting Stella's hair and cooling her flushed cheeks.

Finally arriving to the top, Stella tripped a little on a rock, making her yelp.

But before she could fall, Rafe had grabbed her by the waist firmly, "I got you," he said lowly, holding her steady.

She blinked up at him, breath caught for a second."You're like... my designated savior tonight," she mumbled, cheeks warm from just his hand on her side.

He didn't answer, just kept his arm around her as he led her toward the edge where the ground leveled out. They sat together, the view stretching endlessly in front of them. Stella curled her arms around her knees and let her head rest lightly on his shoulder.

"Midsummers is kind of fake, isn't it?" she murmured after a long silence. "A day where everyone can play dress-up."

Rafe gave a humorless laugh. "Midsummers is just an excuse to show off how much money you have."

She turned her head toward him, chin resting on her knees. "Yeah, exactly that"

He looked out at the water, quiet all over again. It was a silence, not uncomfortable—just full.

When she glanced at him again, she noticed he wasn't looking at the view anymore. He was looking at her.

Staring, really.

"What?" she asked softly, a little shy under the weight of his gaze.

He didn't look away. His voice came low, quieter than before. "You used to have freckles. Right here." He reached out slowly, brushed a knuckle across her cheekbone. "They faded."

Stella's heart tripped in her chest. "Not really, there's just some makeup over them." She tried to laugh it off.

"I remember thinking they made you look like trouble, when we were younger," Rafe said, lips tugging slightly at the corner. "Like you could do anything in the world, and still get away with it."

She felt her breath catch again, the air between them tighter now—charged with something old but familiar. Something neither of them had spoken about. So, she didn't reply.

The wind picked up just a little, tousling Stella's hair as she tucked a strand behind her ear. She still hadn't looked back at him, eyes locked on the dark horizon. But her voice came out, soft and honest, almost lost in the waves below.

"I didn't even want to go with Oliver tonight," She said, her voice just above a whisper.

Rafe didn't move. "Then why did you?"

She sighed. "To make my mom happy. I feel bad making her go to these insufferable events alone, I couldn't imagine how that would feel."

Her words were slightly slurred, drifting like the breeze around them, and she blinked slow, like the stars above were a little too bright.

"I mean, she does everything, you know?" she went on, not really waiting for him to respond. "Always has. Dad's gone. Christopher's off being... whatever big important college boy he is. And it's just me and her."

Rafe stayed quiet, watching her as she rambled — her hair a little messy from the wind, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes, golden dress wrinkled at the hem where she'd tripped earlier. She looked like the aftermath of a perfect storm.

"I think sometimes she forgets I'm not her," Stella mumbled, tugging a blade of grass from the ground beside her. "She wants me to care about all the same things — names and faces and who wore what at the club gala. But I don't. I never did."

She tilted her head toward him, a bleary little grin tugging at her mouth.

"Don't tell her that. She'd probably faint."

"I won't," Rafe said, voice low. "Promise."

She stared at him a second longer, eyes glassy but soft, like she was trying to see if he meant it. Then she laughed, quiet and breathless.

"You know, for a guy with a reputation for being a dick," she teased, "you're kinda sweet."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly, and when he looked back at her, his expression had softened — more amused than annoyed, but there was something else behind it too. A flicker of something deeper.

Their eyes locked. The laughter faded. For a second, neither of them said anything.

Rafe's gaze dropped to her lips — pink, slightly parted, and still curved with that lazy smile.

Stella's breath hitched as she noticed, and suddenly it felt like she wasn't in control anymore. They leaned in. Slow, like neither of them was totally sure who moved first.

Their faces were so close she could feel his breath brush her lips, the whole world holding its breath—

But then, Stella flinched as her phone buzzed loudly in her purse. She blinked, heart racing, and pulled back just enough to fumble it out with clumsy fingers.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," she muttered, still flushed as she checked the screen. "It's Sarah."

She answered, putting it to her ear. "Hey—"

There was only the sound of sobbing on the other end.

Stella sat up straighter. "Sarah? What's wrong?"

The sobs came harder now, broken words she couldn't quite make out through the hiccups.

Stella's tone shifted immediately, serious. "Okay. Hey, hey — I'm coming. Just hang on."

She ended the call and turned to Rafe, face pale now, all traces of flirtation gone.

"I have to go. Sarah's— I don't know, something's wrong. She's crying."

Rafe nodded, jaw tight, already standing up to help her. "I'll drive you."

She didn't argue. The stars above them still sparkled, the ocean still crashed — but whatever magic had filled the air a moment ago had vanished, replaced with something heavier, realer.

And Rafe didn't ask questions. He just walked with her toward the car, silent but steady beside her.