Later maybe

It was a little after nine when Evan pulled onto the narrow residential street above the beach, joining the slow procession of cars being squeezed into every available patch of curb around the house. Maya had spent most of the drive balancing the ridiculousness of Sloane’s costume plan against the fact that, objectively, they looked good. Sloane had decided weeks earlier that the four of them were going as Riverdale characters and treated the casting as settled before anyone else had been given much opportunity to contribute. Maya’s Veronica consisted of a fitted burgundy top with a structured sweetheart neckline, a high-waisted black miniskirt, pearls at her throat and ears, and a wide black velvet headband holding her dark hair sleekly away from her face. Her lipstick was a deep wine shade that Sloane had approved with unnecessary seriousness, while the strappy black sandals Maya had chosen had seemed significantly more practical before she remembered that the destination was, in fact, a beach.

Evan’s Archie costume required less precision. His auburn hair already did most of the work, and Sloane had supplied the rest of the concept with a blue-and-gold varsity jacket over a white shirt. Maya had been mildly concerned that giving a man she had only recently started seeing an assigned Halloween costume would become one of those unexpectedly revealing dating experiences, but Evan had taken it easily. He had picked her up without making an event out of how she looked, although his expression when she came outside had made the compliment obvious enough, and the drive over had been comfortable. She liked him. They had met through mutual friends several weeks earlier, talked often enough afterward that accepting his invitation had felt natural, and Maya had been looking forward to seeing what he was like when they spent more than an hour or two together.

Sloane and Wes were waiting near the front of the house when Maya and Evan came up the walk, standing beneath the spill of warm exterior lights while costumed people moved around them toward the open side gate. Sloane made such a convincing Betty that Maya suspected she had enjoyed the shopping process far more than she had admitted, her blonde hair pulled into a soft high ponytail above a pale blue cardigan and white skirt. Wes, on the other hand, was wearing the gray crown-shaped beanie Sloane had found for him, and Maya made it three steps toward them before she started laughing. The charcoal shirt, dark overshirt, and black jeans only made it worse. He looked unmistakably like Jughead and considerably less enthusiastic about that fact than Sloane looked on his behalf, which meant Maya needed several seconds to recover before the four of them could actually head inside.

The house itself functioned mostly as a passageway to the party. Music vibrated through the open downstairs rooms, countertops had disappeared beneath bottles and cups, and people drifted through sliding doors toward the wide lanai and the stairs beyond it. The real party had spilled onto the beach below, where strings of warm bulbs ran along the back edge of the property before surrendering to the darkness over the water. A bonfire burned farther down the sand, large enough to throw shifting orange light across blankets, low chairs, coolers, and groups of people in costumes that ranged from carefully planned to something involving a pair of cat ears purchased on the way over. The wind carried salt and woodsmoke back toward the house. Music rolled down from speakers near the lanai and tangled with the steady break of the surf, loud enough to give the night energy without quite swallowing conversation.

They had barely reached the sand before someone demanded a photograph of the Riverdale group. Sloane immediately took control of the arrangement, repositioning Wes, adjusting Evan’s jacket, and moving Maya half a step until whatever composition existed in her head had been satisfied. Maya tolerated it until she caught sight of Wes beneath the crown again and started laughing, ruining the first picture. The next few were better. By the last several, Maya had Evan’s varsity jacket pulled around her shoulders, Sloane was laughing against Wes, and whatever effort they had initially made to resemble a polished television cast had dissolved into bright phone flash, bare feet sinking into sand, and everyone talking over one another.

The party absorbed them quickly after that. Maya and Evan found drinks, joined people they knew near the fire, wandered away when conversations split, and eventually made their way toward the water where they could hear each other without leaning quite so close. Evan remained easy company. He remembered things Maya had told him before, asked questions about her work because he actually wanted the answers, and had none of the exhausting tendency some men had to turn every story into an opportunity to establish how interesting they were. When he took her hand as they walked, Maya let him. She liked the warmth of his fingers around hers and the uncomplicated pleasure of being out with someone she wanted to know better.

She first saw Rafe not long after they returned toward the bonfire, although there was nothing subtle about discovering him. His short platinum hair caught the firelight before the rest of him did, followed by a white dress shirt, dark tailored trousers, suspenders, a clear raincoat, and a fake axe substantial enough to make his Patrick Bateman costume impossible to misread. He was standing with a brunette Maya had seen around before, listening to something one of their friends was saying, and he looked exactly as pleased with himself as somebody who had found an excuse to wear expensive clothes and carry a weapon probably should.

Rafe spotted their group a moment later and came over with his date when the conversation around him shifted in their direction. His eyes moved across the four Riverdale costumes before settling briefly on Wes’s crown, and the expression that followed was enough to start Maya laughing again. Whatever he said earned an unimpressed response from his sister and a look from Wes, while Maya took a drink and let him enjoy himself for another moment before looking pointedly at the axe in his hand.

“This is almost too on the nose for you.”

His answer was apparently meant to defend either his personality or his costume, but Maya’s expression made clear that she accepted neither defense.

“No, I think the frightening part is how little convincing you needed.”

Rafe laughed, somebody else joined the group, and within another minute the conversation had broken naturally into smaller pieces. Evan asked Maya something near her ear and drew her attention away, and she went with him toward another cluster of friends without thinking much about the exchange afterward.

By ten-thirty, Maya had stopped keeping track of where most people were. The beach had filled out as later arrivals appeared, the bonfire had grown hotter and louder, and Sloane had somehow persuaded Maya into dancing with her on uneven sand while Wes and Evan remained nearby with the resigned amusement of men who understood they were not being consulted. Maya was having fun. She liked the way Evan fit into the evening without requiring her to manage him, liked that he could talk to her friends without attaching himself permanently to her side, and liked that whenever they found their way back together there was still something to talk about. She could easily imagine another date with him, which she took as a good sign.

The only thing she began to notice, gradually enough that she could ignore it at first, was that being around Evan remained pleasant in exactly the same way it had been at the beginning of the night. Nothing intensified. When his hand settled at the small of her back, Maya liked it, but she did not become more aware of him afterward. When he leaned close because the music had gotten louder, there was no little hitch of anticipation before she realized what he was doing. Once, standing near the water while Evan told her a story that genuinely made her laugh, Maya found herself thinking that she liked him and then realizing that the thought had started to feel more descriptive than promising.

She dismissed it just as easily. They were on one date. Not every connection needed to arrive with immediate fireworks, and Maya had enough experience to distrust anything that depended entirely on fireworks anyway. Evan was attractive, considerate, funny, and interested in her without being pushy about it. There was no reason to turn an enjoyable evening into a problem merely because she had not suddenly become sixteen.

Rafe crossed through their orbit again sometime later when several groups converged around one of the coolers. His raincoat was open now, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled beneath it, and the axe had disappeared somewhere. Maya was standing beside Evan while Sloane showed somebody the photographs from earlier, and Rafe leaned over far enough to catch sight of the screen. Whatever he said about Wes’s costume made Maya immediately pull out her own phone and find the worst picture she had taken.

“Oh, I have evidence.”

She held the screen toward Rafe, angling it away when Wes noticed what she was doing.

“No. Absolutely not. This is historical documentation.”

Rafe plainly agreed with her, which guaranteed that Wes would never be rid of the photograph. Maya grinned at him across the phone before Evan asked to see it too, and within seconds the joke had widened to include everybody standing there. Nothing lingered after it. Rafe eventually disappeared toward the house with his date, Maya slipped her phone back into her bag, and Evan tugged her toward the water because somebody had started an ill-advised beach game nearby.

The next hour or so passed faster than the first part of the night. There were more photographs, another drink that Maya did not entirely finish, a disastrous attempt at beach volleyball involving people in costumes poorly suited to athletics, and a stretch of time sitting around the bonfire while somebody distributed Halloween candy from an enormous mixed bag. As midnight approached, Sloane and Wes began the long process of leaving because Wes had an early morning and Sloane, despite repeatedly claiming she understood this, had spent most of the night behaving as though their departure time were only a suggestion. She checked in with Maya before they went, making sure she did not want to leave with them and quietly asking how things were going with Evan. Maya’s answer was positive because it was true. She was having a good time, Evan had been lovely, and there was no reason she could not get herself home later.

The final group picture happened shortly before midnight, just before Sloane and Wes actually escaped. It was much less polished than the first set. Sloane’s ponytail had softened, Maya’s hair had started slipping around the edges of her headband, Evan’s varsity jacket was rumpled, and Wes’s crown sat crooked because Maya had knocked it sideways at the last second. The phone flash caught all four of them laughing instead of posing, and Maya knew before seeing it that it would probably be the photograph Sloane liked most.

After Sloane and Wes left, Maya and Evan wandered back toward the water for a while. The crowd was still thick around the bonfire and the music remained loud enough to carry well down the beach, but the farther they walked from it, the more the surf took over. Evan put his varsity jacket around Maya’s shoulders when he noticed her rubbing one arm, and she smiled as she pulled it closer around herself. He had been thoughtful like that all night, attentive in small ways rather than constantly checking whether she had noticed how attentive he was.

They kissed a little after midnight.

It happened naturally enough, away from the busiest part of the party where the light from the bonfire reached them only in weak orange flashes. Evan touched her waist and gave her enough time to understand where the moment was going. Maya stayed, tipped her face toward his, and kissed him back when he leaned in.

She liked kissing him. She simply did not want very badly to do it again once it was over.

The thought was quieter than disappointment and had been building long enough by then that it did not surprise her. It connected a number of small things from throughout the night: the way she had enjoyed his touch without seeking it, the way conversation had interested her more than the spaces between conversation, the complete absence of nerves whenever he looked at her like he wanted to kiss her. Maya had spent several hours genuinely open to the possibility that attraction might deepen if she gave it room. Instead, she had found herself liking Evan more as a person while becoming less convinced she wanted anything romantic from him.

It was unfortunate mostly because there was nothing useful to blame. He had not done anything wrong. Neither had she. Whatever people meant when they talked about chemistry was annoyingly imprecise, but Maya understood the concept better standing there in Evan’s jacket than she had earlier in the evening. She could appreciate him without wanting him in the way she would have needed to for this to become something.

She did not turn the rest of the date into an autopsy. They returned to the bonfire, spent another twenty minutes or so with friends, and continued enjoying each other’s company. By the time Evan checked the time and decided he should head out, it was approaching half past twelve and Maya felt settled rather than conflicted. He offered to drive her home since he had brought her, but Maya was not ready to leave yet. There were still people she knew all over the beach, and she could find a ride with someone heading her way or call an Uber when she was done.

Their goodbye was warm without becoming heavier than the night deserved. Maya returned his hug, let him kiss her cheek, and stood near the bottom of the stairs long enough to watch him disappear toward the house. She felt a small amount of regret, but it was regret that something promising had not developed rather than regret that she had given it the opportunity. Evan had been worth saying yes to. She was glad she had gone.

The party showed no particular sign of ending. The bonfire still burned high enough to warm the nearest circle of chairs, music carried from the house across the sand, and new drinks seemed to appear every time somebody opened a cooler. A group had started dancing again near the fire while several people farther down the beach shouted through the rules of some game Maya could not identify from a distance. Costumes had loosened and hair had surrendered to wind and humidity, but the night itself still had plenty of momentum.

Maya rejoined a few people near the fire for a while, but after another conversation and the better part of a bottle of water, she found herself wanting a few minutes in which nobody was talking directly at her. She retrieved her sandals from beneath a chair without putting them on and wandered toward the water, moving far enough from the densest part of the party that the music softened without disappearing. The sand grew cooler beneath her feet as she approached the damp line left by the retreating waves, and she stopped there with her shoes hanging from one hand, watching white foam flatten across the dark beach before being pulled back out.

It was not a dramatic retreat. Maya was not upset, drunk, lonely, or working through some grand romantic disappointment. She had simply spent more than three hours surrounded by conversation, music, fire, and other people’s bodies, and the open stretch of ocean in front of her felt good for a minute. Wind slipped beneath her hair and cooled the back of her neck. Behind her, somebody shrieked with laughter, another song changed over, and the party continued without needing anything from her.

She had only been standing there for a few minutes when she heard footsteps moving through the softer sand behind her and glanced over her shoulder.

Rafe was coming toward her.

Maya watched him approach for a moment, then turned back toward the water as he stopped beside her. She had no idea how long it had been since she had last seen him or what he had been doing in the meantime, and she did not bother asking. For a few seconds they simply stood there with the party throwing warm light behind them and the ocean stretching black ahead.

Then Maya looked sideways at him, one corner of her mouth beginning to lift.

“What, did everyone else finally get bored of you?”

Rafe glanced back toward the bonfire as though he were genuinely considering the possibility, the warm spill of firelight catching along the edge of his jaw and turning the clear plastic of his raincoat amber for a second before he looked at her again. “Bored of me?” he repeated, almost offended by the premise. “Reyes, be serious. People don’t get bored of me. They get intimidated, overwhelmed, occasionally obsessed. Bored has never really been the issue.” The smile that followed was slow and self-satisfied, exactly the sort of expression that suggested twenty-seven years of being a Laurent had done very little to encourage humility. “There are worse burdens.” He settled beside her with his hands slipping into his pockets, close enough that the wind coming off the water tugged at the loose edge of his raincoat and carried the scent of salt and woodsmoke between them. Somewhere behind them, the music shifted into another song and a cluster of people near the bonfire cheered as though the DJ had personally rescued the evening. Rafe barely looked back. He had spent enough of the night being entertained, entertaining other people, and pretending not to notice things he had absolutely noticed.

Unfortunately, Maya’s date had made ignoring him more difficult than Rafe would have preferred. Evan had been there from the moment Maya arrived, red hair, varsity jacket, pleasant expression, doing absolutely nothing offensive enough to justify the amount of irritation Rafe had felt every time he happened to look in their direction. That had almost made it worse. If Evan had been obnoxious, Rafe could have enjoyed himself. If he had interrupted Maya constantly, talked over her, gotten too drunk, made some stupid comment about her work, or generally behaved like a man Rafe could dismiss without effort, the night would have been significantly easier. Instead, the guy had listened to her. He had remembered things she said. He had made her laugh. He had taken her hand while they walked near the water, put his jacket around her shoulders later, and generally behaved like somebody who understood the basic requirements of being on a date with a woman he liked. Rafe had spent an unreasonable portion of the evening discovering that he could dislike a man for being perfectly decent.

He had not exactly been staring. Rafe Laurent did not stare. He observed when convenient, and Maya had simply been inconveniently visible for most of the night. The bonfire had a habit of illuminating her whenever he happened to glance across it. She and Evan had somehow ended up within his line of sight during conversations, near the cooler, beside the fire, closer to the water, and at least once while dancing with Sloane. None of that was Rafe’s fault. Neither was the fact that he had registered Evan’s hand at the small of her back or the way Maya let him hold hers without pulling away. Rafe had been on his own date, for Christ’s sake. A perfectly attractive brunette whose name he had not forgotten despite what Sloane would undoubtedly accuse him of later. He had given her attention, bought drinks, made her laugh, and done everything expected of him. It was hardly his responsibility that somewhere in the middle of all that, he kept noticing Maya in a burgundy top and black skirt looking entirely too good beside somebody who was not him.

Sloane had also done very little to improve his mood, although that was mostly because she was having an offensively good time. Rafe had spent the better part of his life believing that irritating his little sister was both an obligation and a privilege granted exclusively to older brothers, and tonight had offered excellent material. She had shown up dressed like Betty Cooper with the sort of satisfaction that told him she had probably spent more time coordinating everybody’s costumes than she would ever admit, and she had somehow convinced Wes to wear that ridiculous crown beanie without apparently threatening him. Rafe had respected the achievement while also making it his mission to ensure neither of them enjoyed the accomplishment too peacefully. He had mocked the hat, made at least two comments about Wes’s commitment to the role, and informed Sloane that orchestrating a four-person Riverdale costume at her age should probably disqualify her from making fun of any decision he made for the next calendar year.

The irritating thing was that Wes took it well. Worse, Sloane was happy. Not pretending to be happy, not performing for everyone around her, but genuinely, stupidly happy in the way that softened her whole face whenever Wes leaned down to say something to her or rested a hand at her waist. Rafe had noticed that too, because for all the pleasure he took in annoying his sister, he knew her better than almost anyone. He knew when she was forcing enthusiasm, when she was overthinking, when she was pretending something mattered less than it did. There had been none of that tonight. She had looked comfortable with Wes. Safe with him. Bright in a way Rafe liked seeing, even if acknowledging that directly would have given Sloane ammunition he had no intention of handing over voluntarily. So he had done what any loving older brother with dignity would do: insulted Wes’s hat repeatedly, threatened to preserve the worst photographs forever, and privately decided that, for the moment, Wes could stay.

It had made the contrast with Maya considerably more annoying. His sister had wandered around the beach wrapped up in her new boyfriend and looking thrilled about it, while Maya had spent most of the night with Evan looking comfortable enough that Rafe had found himself resenting entirely harmless moments. There was something deeply offensive about having to watch two women he cared about enjoy themselves with men who had done nothing wrong. Rafe could at least rationalize Wes. Wes was dating Sloane, which meant Rafe was entitled to be suspicious on principle. Maya was different. He had no claim there. He knew it, which was precisely what made the irritation so difficult to put anywhere useful. Maya could date whoever she wanted. She could kiss whoever she wanted. She could show up to a party in somebody else’s jacket and leave with them afterward if that was what she decided. Rafe understood all of that perfectly well. Understanding it had done absolutely nothing to make him enjoy watching it.

“Actually, I came over because you wandered away from the party by yourself,” he said eventually, the admission casual enough that it could almost pass for nothing. His eyes dropped briefly to the sandals hanging from her hand before moving back to her face. “And because apparently Archie Andrews has abandoned his post, which feels negligent.” The mention of Evan brought the faintest edge into his expression, subtle but unmistakable to anyone who knew him well. “He leave?” he asked, glancing toward the house as if Evan might somehow still be close enough to disappoint him further. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping he’d stick around long enough to finally embarrass himself.” His mouth curved as he looked back toward Maya. “I gave him hours, Maya. Hours. Not one terrible opinion, no weird speech about how your job is basically swimming with turtles, didn’t try to explain reefs to you after two drinks. Honestly, I found it selfish.”

He shifted slightly as another wave collapsed across the sand, the cold foam sliding farther up the beach before retreating. Rafe glanced down immediately and stepped back with far more concern than he had shown for most of the evening. “Absolutely not,” he muttered, staring at the water like it had violated a boundary. “These shoes were handmade.” He inspected the dark leather for a second, brushed an unnecessary grain of sand from one toe, then looked back at Maya with complete composure. “And yes, I know that sounded spoiled. Before you start, self-awareness counts as personal growth.” The truth was, money had insulated Rafe from most consequences for so long that he rarely thought about the price of things in the same way other people did. Ruined shoes were annoying, not catastrophic. Scratched cars were fixed. Last-minute travel happened because somebody made a call. Restaurants that were full somehow became less full. Rafe had grown up in a world where inconveniences bent more often than he did, and while he was perfectly aware that made him insufferable sometimes, awareness had never quite inspired reform.

He looked out over the ocean again, the line of the horizon barely distinguishable beneath the black sky. “He seems nice, though,” he admitted after a moment, and the reluctance in his voice somehow made the compliment sound like an accusation. “Very polite. Very attentive. Very…” He paused with exaggerated consideration before landing on the word he had clearly chosen to be annoying. “Safe.” His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Which is fine. Some people like safe.” There it was again, that smug little edge that allowed Rafe to say something technically harmless while making it clear he meant at least three other things beneath it. He let another second pass before adding, “He also looks like the kind of guy who alphabetizes his streaming passwords, but that’s not necessarily a character flaw.”

The truth was that Rafe had spent the evening trying to find one. He had watched Evan laugh with Maya and wanted the laugh to be forced. It had not been. He had watched him talk with Sloane and Wes and quietly hoped he would say something pompous. He had not. He had watched Maya disappear toward the darker part of the beach with him sometime after midnight and deliberately turned his attention elsewhere because following that particular thought seemed like a terrible idea. His date had asked him something at nearly the same moment, and Rafe had answered correctly enough to make it look as though he had been listening. He had not been proud of that. He had also not stopped doing it.

By the time he noticed Evan leaving alone, Rafe had experienced a quick, sharp satisfaction he had immediately recognized as petty and therefore made no effort to examine further. Evan had gone up toward the house, Maya had stayed behind, and Rafe had pretended for perhaps ten minutes that this information meant nothing to him. He had remained near the bonfire, talked to people he knew, accepted another drink he barely touched, endured somebody complimenting his costume for what felt like the fiftieth time, and then watched Maya drift away from the crowd toward the water. That was when pretending became inconvenient. He knew her rhythms too well. He knew when crowds started to wear on her, when she needed five minutes away from voices and music and people expecting reactions from her. So he had excused himself without making it look urgent, abandoned whatever conversation he was in, and followed at a pace that allowed him to tell himself he was merely going in the same direction.

“You okay?” he asked now, and the sarcasm faded from his voice enough to expose something warmer underneath. “Actually okay. Not your version where you decide explaining yourself would take longer than whatever’s bothering you, so you just say you’re fine until everybody shuts up.” His mouth twitched when he heard himself. “I know. Disturbing. Apparently I listen sometimes.” Rafe turned slightly toward her, enough that the wind coming off the water hit his shoulder before reaching her directly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, either. I’m capable of standing here quietly.” He considered that statement for a second before correcting himself. “For short periods. Under controlled conditions.”

His eyes dropped to Evan’s varsity jacket still around her shoulders, and the irritation returned almost immediately. Rafe gave it the same look he might have given an offensive piece of furniture somebody had placed in one of his family’s homes without permission. “Although that needs to go eventually.” He nodded toward it, expression calm. “The colors are terrible, it doesn’t match anything you’re wearing, and it belongs to Archie.” His gaze returned to hers, mouth curving faintly. “I have standards. You’ve known this.” The fact that the jacket belonged to Evan had absolutely nothing to do with his opinion, naturally. Rafe would have maintained that position under oath.

A burst of laughter carried toward them from the bonfire, followed by somebody yelling Sloane’s name even though Sloane had been gone for nearly an hour. Rafe glanced back automatically, and the corner of his mouth lifted with reluctant affection. “She was ridiculous tonight, by the way. Completely insufferable.” There was no mistaking who he meant. “She spent half the party looking at Wes like she’d personally invented boyfriends.” His expression softened almost despite himself. “He’s good with her, though.” The admission came more easily than the one about Evan had. “I hate saying that because she’ll somehow sense it from wherever she is and become unbearable, but he is.” Rafe shook his head, already imagining Sloane’s reaction if she ever heard him say it. “She’s happy. That’s what matters.” A beat passed, then the familiar arrogance returned. “Obviously, if he ruins that, I’ll destroy his life, but until then I’m being very mature about the whole thing.”

He looked back at Maya, the firelight farther behind them now and the ocean throwing faint silver along the edge of her hair. “And before you accuse me of hypocrisy, yes, I’m aware I spent most of the night making fun of him.” Rafe smiled. “That’s different. I’m her brother. It’s affectionate harassment.” He glanced down the beach again, hands still tucked into his pockets. “You two have made tonight very inconvenient for me, actually. Sloane being happy with Wes means I can’t properly dislike him, and your guy being decent means I couldn’t properly dislike him either.” His eyes slid back toward Maya. “You could both stand to be more considerate.”

The teasing remained, but so did the attention beneath it. Rafe had known Maya too long to mistake quiet for sadness, but he also knew better than to assume everything was fine simply because she had not announced otherwise. “If you need a ride later, I’m taking you home,” he said, the words delivered with the same effortless certainty he used when making reservations or changing plans somebody else had already made. “Don’t call an Uber from here at one in the morning. I’m already here, I haven’t had enough to drink to make it an issue, and my car is better.” His mouth curved as though that last point settled the matter. “That isn’t arrogance. It’s objectively true.”

Rafe stayed facing the water for another moment before adding, quieter, “Besides, Sloane would murder me if she found out I let you leave alone after she went home.” The softness lasted only a second before he covered it with the usual smugness. “And then my mother would have to deal with two funerals, which feels unnecessarily dramatic even for this family.” He glanced sideways at Maya, a faint grin appearing again. “So really, I’m being responsible. This is growth, Reyes. You should appreciate it while it’s happening.”

Maya let him get through the entire defense of his own universal appeal without interrupting, although her expression became progressively less charitable the longer he went. By the time he reached occasionally obsessed, she had lowered her eyes toward the water mostly so he would not get the satisfaction of seeing her laugh too soon. It did not work. A quiet sound escaped her anyway, and she shook her head as another wave spread thinly over the sand several feet in front of them. “That was a very long way of saying yes.” She looked over at him then, amusement sitting openly in her face. “Everybody got bored of you, and now I’m being punished for it. Understood.” The smug smile he gave her in return only confirmed that humility had not made a surprise appearance in the few hours since she had last spoken to him. Maya had known that smile was coming before it appeared, right down to the slight tilt at one corner of his mouth, and there was something irritatingly satisfying about being able to read him that easily.

She listened to the explanation about Evan with increasing suspicion, though it took her a moment to realize exactly what was bothering her about it. Rafe knew an oddly impressive amount about how Evan had behaved tonight. Not simply that he had been there or that Maya had spent the evening with him, but that he had listened when she talked, avoided saying anything idiotic about her job, apparently passed several invisible tests, and had somehow disappointed Rafe by failing to publicly humiliate himself. Maya turned toward him slowly as the list kept growing, amusement giving way to genuine curiosity. She knew Rafe noticed people; he had always been observant beneath all the noise he made about himself. Still, there was something particularly funny about hearing him recite Evan’s evening back to her like he had been conducting an independent review. His expression remained perfectly casual, which only made her more suspicious. She should probably have found the scrutiny more invasive than she did. Instead, there was a small, private satisfaction in realizing how closely he had been paying attention, one Maya dismissed almost as soon as she noticed it. “That is a suspicious amount of information about a man you supposedly don’t care about.”

There was no accusation in it, only entertained disbelief. Maya assumed most of it came from the same instinct that made him quietly keep track of anyone Sloane brought into her life. Rafe could tease his sister mercilessly, but he watched the people around her with an older brother’s ingrained suspicion, and Maya had been folded into the Laurent orbit long enough that some of that vigilance had inevitably extended to her too. She had never thought much about it beyond finding it alternately irritating and reassuring. The fact that Evan had apparently survived his scrutiny mostly intact was probably the closest thing Rafe offered to an endorsement.

His sudden retreat from the incoming water broke whatever response she might have added. Maya watched him protect the shoes with an urgency wildly disproportionate to the threat, then looked down at her own bare feet planted happily in damp sand. The contrast made her laugh. “They’re shoes, Rafe.” His immediate offense suggested she had said something significantly more insulting. Maya glanced pointedly toward the dark leather when he informed her they were handmade, then back up at him. “That actually made it worse.” When he attempted to claim self-awareness as growth, she gave him a slow nod as though considering an argument presented by a particularly difficult child. “I’ll alert the appropriate authorities. Maybe they can issue you a certificate.” There were moments when Rafe forgot to maintain the polished, vaguely untouchable version of himself he carried through most rooms, and Maya had always liked those better. Watching that polish crack over a threatened pair of shoes made him feel more like the version of Rafe she knew best.

The smile remained when he grudgingly acknowledged that Evan seemed nice, although it faded slightly when he landed on safe. Maya knew that tone. It was the same one Rafe used when describing a restaurant as fine or calling somebody interesting when what he really meant was that he had already formed six opinions and only three of them were kind. She looked toward him fully now. The firelight reached them only faintly from this far down the beach, but it still caught along one side of his face when he turned toward her, sharpening the line of his jaw and picking up the pale sweep of his hair. Maya’s attention lingered there for a beat longer than the thought required before she pulled it back to the conversation. “Safe isn’t an insult.” She waited a beat, then added, “And you have absolutely no idea how he organizes his passwords.” The absurd specificity of the criticism nearly made her laugh again, but there was something almost endearing about Rafe having apparently searched so hard for a flaw that he had been forced into hypothetical streaming-account behavior.

The question about whether she was okay softened her expression before she could stop it, although it was the rest of what he said that caught her more than the question itself. Rafe had identified one of her habits with irritating precision, right down to the calculation behind it: if explaining herself seemed more exhausting than whatever was bothering her, Maya had always preferred to deal with it privately. She could have objected just to be difficult, but there was no point pretending he was wrong. He had known her too long. Apparently, somewhere between all the teasing and unnecessary commentary, he really had been paying attention. The realization landed with more warmth than she expected, though Maya filed that away with everything else that came from knowing someone for years. She looked back out at the ocean, watching the next wave curl and collapse beneath the darkness. “I’m okay.” This time she did not leave it there simply because he had already anticipated that she might. “Actually okay. I just needed five minutes where nobody was asking me anything or yelling over music.” She glanced sideways at him. “Although you’re making a pretty strong argument against counting this as quiet time.”

Her hand moved absently to the varsity jacket around her shoulders when Rafe looked at it, and only then did Maya seem to register that she was still wearing it. Evan had told her to keep it when he left because she was cold and they would figure out returning it later, an arrangement that had seemed perfectly ordinary until Rafe started glaring at the jacket as though it had personally offended his aesthetic principles. The look he gave it was so disproportionate that Maya almost checked the fabric for a stain she had somehow missed. When she realized there was nothing wrong with it beyond belonging to Evan, amusement slowly crept into her expression. Maya looked down at the blue-and-gold fabric, then back at him. “You’re picking a fight with a jacket now?” The faint curve at one corner of her mouth deepened. “This feels healthy.” She pulled it a little more securely around herself instead of taking it off. “It’s warm. I’m keeping it on.” She let another beat pass, eyes still on his. “You’ll survive.”

She let the quiet settle after that rather than rushing to explain Evan. It had not been some dramatic failure she needed to process, and saying it aloud did not require a confession. The date had been good. Evan had been good. Maya had enjoyed herself enough that the slight disappointment she felt now was almost entirely because she wished those facts had added up to something stronger. Eventually she nudged at the damp sand with her toes and gave a small shrug. “He is nice.” Her tone carried none of Rafe’s reluctant accusation. “I had fun. I liked being with him.” Maya paused, choosing the simplest version because it was also the truest. “I just don’t think I liked him enough.”

There was something oddly relieving about hearing herself say it that plainly. She had been arriving at the conclusion in pieces all night, first through the absence of anticipation and then through the kiss that had confirmed what she already suspected. It did not make Evan boring or wrong for her in some sweeping, permanent sense. It simply meant that whatever she had hoped might develop had not. Maya rested her weight more comfortably onto one hip, still looking toward the water. “I kept thinking maybe it would build. Because everything else was there, you know? He’s attractive, he’s easy to talk to, he remembered things I told him, he wasn’t weird with Sloane and Wes.” A little smile returned. “He survived you, apparently, which should come with some sort of medal.” She shook her head. “But I kept waiting to want him more, and I didn’t.”

She did not look at Rafe while she said it. Not because there was anything she was avoiding in his expression, but because the admission felt easier directed toward the ocean than toward another person. Her thoughts had stopped at Evan. Maya was not looking for an explanation beyond the obvious one, and certainly not interested in turning a perfectly ordinary lack of chemistry into some grand referendum on what she secretly wanted instead. Sometimes a date went well and still did not lead anywhere. People were allowed to be good on paper and wrong in practice. She understood that much. It was only after the words were out that Maya realized she had given Rafe a considerably more honest answer than she would have given most people at the party, and the realization did not make her regret it. Rafe could be insufferable about almost anything, but there were certain things he rarely mishandled once he understood they mattered. She trusted him with more than his personality suggested was advisable.

Rafe’s abrupt pivot toward Sloane gave her somewhere lighter to go, and Maya turned back to him with immediate interest when he accused Sloane of spending half the party looking at Wes like she had personally invented boyfriends. Her brows rose. “Boyfriends?” The single word came out delighted enough to make clear she had caught the phrasing, and her smile widened as she let him sit with it for a beat. “Careful. You’re starting to sound supportive.” The satisfaction on Maya’s face suggested she intended to remember the slip regardless. Sloane and Wes had spent months occupying the increasingly ridiculous territory between casual dating and something everyone else could clearly see, and Rafe sounding even remotely accepting of it was far too useful to waste.

Her teasing eased when he admitted Wes was good with Sloane. Maya’s gaze drifted back toward the bonfire as if she might somehow spot them there even though they had been gone for about forty minutes. “He is.” There was easy affection in the agreement. “She’s really happy with him.” Maya had noticed the same things Rafe had tonight: the complete lack of performance in Sloane’s happiness, the way she automatically reached for Wes, the way he seemed to know when to indulge her and when to quietly make sure she had eaten something or remembered whatever she had abandoned three conversations ago. “And she’s comfortable. I think that’s the bigger thing.” Maya glanced back at Rafe with a small smile. “So you’re allowed to continue the affectionate harassment. Within reason.”

His complaint that both women had made his evening inconvenient earned another quiet laugh. Maya shook her head, studying him as if the burden he described were truly unfortunate. “That sounds terrible for you.” She let the sandals dangle from two fingers and folded her arms loosely beneath Evan’s jacket. “Your sister likes a good man, my date failed to disgrace himself publicly, and somehow you’re the victim. I’m sure there’s a support group.”

The offer of a ride home came with such complete certainty that Maya knew immediately there was almost no point arguing about it. Rafe was apparently sober enough to drive and had already completed the argument on behalf of both of them, including the imagined consequences of Sloane learning he had allowed Maya to make her own transportation decisions. More importantly, Maya trusted him. That part required no consideration at all. “You do know Sloane doesn’t actually have custody of me?” Maya asked, though the smile beginning at the corner of her mouth ruined any chance of the objection sounding serious. She let him enjoy whatever silent victory he believed he had earned for another second before relenting. “Fine. You can take me home.” Her eyes narrowed slightly before his expression could become unbearably smug. “But don’t make this into one of your heroic acts.”

For a moment Maya expected the conversation to drift back toward the party, but neither of them moved. The next wave reached a little farther than the last, cold water spreading thinly toward her toes before retreating again, and she watched it disappear into the dark. Behind them the bonfire cracked loudly enough to carry across the beach, followed by a burst of cheering and the bass line of another song. Rafe remained beside her instead of heading back, and Maya found that she did not mind his interruption nearly as much as she had suggested she did.

Maybe it was the fact that they had already spent several minutes discussing her night in more detail than Maya had expected, or maybe it was simply Rafe’s confidence that he was entitled to opinions about nearly everyone she encountered, but the imbalance suddenly struck her as funny. He had evaluated Evan’s conversation, manners, attentiveness, suitability, and apparently even invented faults for him when the real ones refused to materialize. Meanwhile, Rafe had arrived with somebody of his own and somehow escaped the entire conversation without Maya asking a single question about her.

Her gaze wandered toward the fire and then back to him as the thought settled. She remembered seeing them together near the bonfire earlier, the brunette laughing at something Rafe said while he leaned closer so she could hear him over the music. Maya had registered the moment and moved on from it then. Now, standing here while Rafe offered unsolicited commentary on the state of her dating life, returning a little of that curiosity seemed only fair.

She tipped her head slightly and studied him, amusement returning as soon as she recognized the imbalance. “Actually, hold on. You don’t get to conduct a full performance review on Evan and then walk away without answering for your own date.” Her brows lifted. “That seems suspiciously convenient.”

The woman had been pretty, Maya remembered, although that was hardly surprising. Rafe had never struggled to find beautiful women willing to spend an evening with him, and Maya had known him far too long to treat that as noteworthy. Still, she found herself wondering who this particular one was, mostly because Rafe had somehow gathered enough information about Evan to produce a detailed character assessment while Maya had been given nothing in return.

“So?” she prompted, giving him an expectant look. “Who was she?”

A beat passed, and Maya’s mouth curved before he had the opportunity to make the question into more than it was. “And don’t give me that look. You knew Evan’s name, his personality, his alleged password habits, and apparently every conversational mistake he managed not to make tonight.” She shifted her weight, warm inside the borrowed jacket despite the wind coming off the water. “I think I’m entitled to one question.”

Her gaze remained on him this time. The question was ordinary enough, even if the answer interested her a little more than she would have predicted. Maya decided that was mostly Rafe’s fault. If he had not spent the last several minutes dissecting her date, she probably would not have thought to return the favor.

One brow lifted as her mouth curved again. “So what was the story there? Because she looked pretty comfortable with you.”

Rafe accepted her conclusion about everyone getting bored of him with the expression of a man choosing not to correct someone who was very obviously wrong. “That’s an interesting interpretation of events,” he said, smoothing one hand over the front of his shirt where the wind had pressed the fabric against him. “Factually inaccurate, obviously, but interesting.” He looked toward the party again, where the bonfire had settled lower without losing much of its heat and the crowd around it had broken into smaller, looser groups. Somebody had dragged one of the chairs too close to the water, somebody else was shouting about a missing phone, and the bass from the house still reached them in softened pulses. Rafe turned his attention back to Maya with the same unearned confidence he brought to nearly everything. “I left them. Important distinction. There were still at least four people actively enjoying my company when I walked away.” His mouth tilted. “Five if you count the girl dressed as a flight attendant who kept touching my arm, which I do because accuracy matters.”

Her accusation that he had gathered a suspicious amount of information about Evan made the smile hesitate for only the smallest fraction of a second. Rafe recovered immediately, of course. Recovery was one of his better skills, particularly when the alternative involved admitting Maya had caught him doing something he had no reasonable explanation for. “I care about lots of things,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Market trends. Good tailoring. Whether restaurants are lying when they claim they’re fully booked. The structural integrity of boats. This was just observational awareness.” He gave her a look as though the distinction should have been obvious. “He was standing in front of me half the night. What was I supposed to do, close my eyes?” The fact that Evan had not actually been standing in front of him for most of those moments went politely unacknowledged. Rafe had noticed him across the fire, down the beach, near the coolers and once from halfway across the lanai while pretending to listen to somebody explain a business idea he had already decided was terrible. None of that technically required caring. It merely required Maya to be involved, which Rafe chose not to examine.

He scoffed at the certificate suggestion, although there was a reluctant laugh under it as another curl of foam reached toward them and retreated before threatening his shoes again. “You joke, but I’m sure there’s an organization that would be willing to recognize me for personal development if somebody made the appropriate donation.” The answer came so naturally that he did not seem to hear how thoroughly it proved her point. He looked down at her bare feet instead, then at his own shoes, and shook his head. “Also, your standards are compromised because you’ve already sacrificed your shoes to this beach. Mine are still salvageable.” His gaze lifted back to her, amusement flickering there. “And yes, they’re shoes. They’re very good shoes. Those concepts are not mutually exclusive.”

When she defended safe, Rafe’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I didn’t say it was an insult.” His tone made it abundantly clear that he could make almost anything sound like one if he wanted to. “I said he was safe.” He paused, allowing the distinction to breathe before adding, “Golden retrievers are safe. Luxury sedans are safe. Hotels with twelve different pillow options are safe. All perfectly respectable things.” The smugness deepened when she challenged his entirely fabricated theory about Evan’s passwords. “You’re right. I don’t know that.” Rafe turned his head toward her, completely unbothered. “But tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that man doesn’t have a spreadsheet somewhere with every subscription he pays for and the renewal date highlighted in green.” He waited half a beat before nodding as though her silence had already vindicated him. “Exactly.”

Her more complete answer about needing a few quiet minutes took some of the performance out of him. Rafe’s expression softened, small enough that most people probably would not have noticed it. Maya would. She tended to notice everything he would have preferred people miss. “Yeah,” he said, and for once there was no immediate joke waiting behind the word. “I figured.” He glanced back toward the party where someone had begun yelling enthusiastically along with a song they only partially knew. “It got loud.” His attention returned to her. “Sloane also spent three straight hours operating like she was personally responsible for everyone having the correct amount of fun, which is exhausting even when you love her.” The affection under the complaint was easy to hear despite his best efforts. He gave Maya a sideways look. “And I am being quiet, by the way. This is quiet for me. You’re getting the premium low-volume package.”

The jacket remained considerably harder for him to approach with maturity. Rafe watched her pull it tighter around herself and narrowed his eyes at the garment as though Maya had deliberately escalated hostilities. “That was unnecessary.” His gaze moved from the jacket to her face. “You saw me dislike it and then made it worse on purpose. That’s antagonistic behavior.” He could hardly object to the fact that she was cold, particularly when he had offered no alternative before criticizing the thing keeping her warm, but reason had never prevented Rafe from maintaining a position once he found it entertaining. “Fine. Keep wearing Archie’s jacket.” His mouth curved with false generosity. “I’m secure enough to tolerate ugly outerwear.” The lie came smoothly enough to almost work. Almost. His eyes dropped once more toward the blue and gold before he added, “But if you leave it in my car later, I’m having it professionally cleaned before it touches anything.”

Then Maya finally gave him the answer he had been pretending not to want all night, and for perhaps the first time since he walked over, Rafe became genuinely still. The satisfaction came quickly enough to annoy him. It was an immediate loosening somewhere beneath his ribs at the knowledge that whatever Evan had been to her tonight, he was apparently not going to become something more. Rafe knew better than to let that satisfaction reach his face unchecked. He managed a sympathetic nod instead, though the corner of his mouth threatened betrayal. “That’s rough,” he said, with a solemnity that would have been significantly more convincing if he had not spent the previous several minutes cataloguing imaginary flaws in the man. “Devastating, really. I was already planning the engagement party.” His eyes flicked toward her and softened when the joke passed. “No, I get it. Sometimes somebody can do everything right and still not make you want to keep doing it.”

That last part came with less teasing than most things Rafe said. He knew the feeling, even if his version usually arrived considerably faster than Maya’s. He had dated plenty of women who were beautiful, interesting and perfectly enjoyable company, only to discover that none of those qualities created the particular pull that made him rearrange his life to see them again. For years, he had treated attraction as something easy because it usually was. There was always another party, another dinner, another person willing to occupy his attention for an evening. Wanting someone enough for it to become inconvenient was newer territory. Rafe’s gaze lingered on Maya for a second before he looked back toward the water. “You shouldn’t have to talk yourself into wanting somebody,” he said. “Not after giving it a fair shot.” A beat passed, and the arrogance returned just enough to make the sincerity manageable. “Obviously, I’ve never personally had this problem from the other side, but I understand the theory.”

He listened while she explained how much of Evan had worked on paper, and every additional compliment should have irritated him more than it did. Instead, knowing where the explanation ended made them easier to tolerate. Attractive, easy to talk to, attentive. Fine. Rafe could allow Evan those things now that they were apparently irrelevant. “He did survive me,” he agreed, slipping one hand from his pocket long enough to gesture vaguely toward himself. “Which, in fairness, showed some character.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I gave him opportunities. Nothing cruel. Just little openings where a weaker man could have destroyed himself.” He shook his head with almost genuine regret. “He kept refusing.” Rafe looked at Maya again, humor easing into something more observant. “But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? You were keeping a list of reasons you should like him because you were waiting for the actual feeling to catch up.” He shrugged lightly. “If you have to keep checking whether it arrived, it probably didn’t.”

The admission seemed obvious to him once she said it, and it was one of those rare instances where Rafe’s confidence was not entirely misplaced. He knew Maya well enough to know she did not give up on people casually. She would examine the situation from six different angles, make sure she had not been unfair, give something room to become what she hoped it might become, and only then decide. There was a sweetness to that instinct he would never phrase as sweetness to her face because he valued his life. “For what it’s worth, you did the right thing going,” he added. “Now you know.” His gaze dropped briefly toward her before moving out toward the black horizon again. “Better than spending six months wondering whether you should’ve said yes.”

He gave her an immediately suspicious look when she caught his phrasing about Wes. “Don’t.” There was no actual warning behind it, because the damage was already done and they both knew it. “I said a word. A common word. Millions of people use it every day.” Maya’s satisfaction only made his expression more resigned. “And if you repeat this conversation to Sloane, I’ll deny it with enough confidence that she’ll believe me over you.” That was almost certainly untrue, which made it funnier. Rafe sighed and looked back toward the beach as though his sister might somehow materialize solely to make his life difficult. “Yes, boyfriend. Whatever. They’re together. She’s happy. He seems to understand the assignment.” His tone became more thoughtful despite himself. “He lets her be ridiculous without making her feel ridiculous. That matters.”

There were things about Wes Rafe had noticed without ever intending to discuss. The way he kept track of Sloane in crowded rooms without hovering. The way he listened when she launched into stories that required three separate detours before reaching the point. The way he had apparently already learned when her dramatic complaints were genuine complaints and when she simply wanted somebody to participate in the performance. Rafe recognized it because he had spent his whole life learning the same distinctions. “She likes him a lot,” he said finally, a faint crease appearing between his brows as if the admission personally inconvenienced him. “Like, an annoying amount.” His expression softened anyway. “But yeah. She’s comfortable. She doesn’t seem like she’s trying to be anything around him.” He looked toward Maya again. “So I like him enough.” He held up a hand before the statement could be celebrated. “Do not misquote me. Enough is doing significant work there.”

Her assessment that he had somehow made himself the victim restored some of his dignity. “Thank you for finally acknowledging my suffering.” Rafe inclined his head as though receiving condolences. “It’s been a difficult evening. My sister is happy, your date was offensively competent, my shoes are under constant environmental threat, and my costume involved a raincoat in Hawaii.” He exhaled dramatically. “Some people would collapse under this level of adversity.” His eyes flicked toward her. “I endure.”

The fact that she accepted the ride home earned exactly the expression she had been trying to prevent: smug satisfaction spreading slowly across his face. “There it is.” Rafe nodded once, clearly pleased. “A sensible decision. I knew you had one in you.” He ignored the custody comment entirely because acknowledging that Maya was a grown woman capable of arranging her own transportation would undermine the little authority he had invented for himself. “And I never said heroic. You did.” His brows lifted. “Interesting that your mind went there.” He let the grin sit for another second before easing off. “Seriously, though, whenever you’re ready. No rush.” That was the part he meant. If Maya wanted another twenty minutes by the water, he would stay. If she wanted to go back to the party, he would follow. Rafe had already decided his night was leaving when hers did, though he would rather walk directly into the Pacific in his handmade shoes than phrase it that way.

Her eventual reversal of the interrogation caught him off guard in a much more entertaining way than the Evan questions had. Rafe’s head turned toward her slowly, and by the time she reached the accusation of convenience, something distinctly pleased had appeared in his expression. “Oh.” The single syllable carried far too much satisfaction. He looked at her for a moment longer, enjoying this new development before he said anything else. “So we’re asking about my date now.” His brows rose, the smugness becoming almost unbearable. “Interesting.”

Rafe let her finish without rescuing her from the hole he had already decided she was digging. The ocean breeze tugged at his shirt sleeves and carried a few strands of platinum hair out of place, but he did not seem to notice anymore. His attention was entirely on her now. “You noticed she was comfortable with me?” he asked, tone maddeningly casual. “That’s very observant, Reyes. Almost suspiciously observant.” He borrowed her accusation without shame, mouth curving when he did. “How much of my night were you watching?”

He gave her only a second to object before relenting, mostly because he enjoyed the question too much to risk irritating her into withdrawing it. “Her name’s Camille.” Rafe looked back toward the water, finally offering the answer without making Maya fight for every piece of it. “Our families know each other. We’ve been running into each other at the same things since we were teenagers. Fundraisers, dinners, somebody’s wedding every six months, the usual deeply traumatic rich-kid upbringing.” The last part was delivered dryly, with enough self-awareness to acknowledge exactly how little sympathy he deserved. “She moved back to Honolulu a few months ago. We’ve gone out a couple times.”

A small pause followed, and Rafe gave a shrug. “She’s fun. She’s gorgeous. She knows how to behave at places where my mother cares whether I embarrass the family, and she knows how to misbehave at places where my mother isn’t there to find out.” There was genuine fondness in the description, but nothing particularly deep beneath it. “We get along.” He glanced toward Maya again. “She also knows I’m not looking for anything serious with her, before you start conducting your own ethics investigation. We’re not planning a spring wedding.”

Camille had been comfortable with him because there was very little tension left to negotiate between two people who understood exactly what the evening was. She knew Rafe’s reputation, Rafe knew hers, and neither had arrived pretending Halloween on a beach was secretly the beginning of some sweeping romance. He liked her. He probably would go out with her again if she texted him. It simply did not matter enough to occupy much space once she was gone. “She left maybe twenty minutes before I came over here,” he added. “Her friends were heading somewhere else. I wasn’t interested.” His eyes settled on Maya again, and the answer carried a little more weight than it probably needed to. “So she went with them.”

Rafe studied her for another moment before the grin returned, slower this time. He had answered the question. That did not mean he intended to let her escape the fact that she had asked it. “But now I’m curious.” He shifted slightly toward her, close enough that the wind pressed the open edge of his raincoat briefly against his leg. “You spent half this conversation accusing me of monitoring your date, and apparently you had enough free time to notice mine laughing, where she was standing, and how comfortable she looked.” His voice lowered into something warmer beneath the teasing. “Seems a little hypocritical.”

He glanced once toward Evan’s jacket before meeting her eyes again, and the familiar arrogance settled comfortably back into place. “So which is it?” he asked. “Were you conducting your own independent review, or did you just happen to notice me all night too?”