You and Rafe Cameron have never gotten along too much history, too many sharp words. But one quiet night on the beach, helping newly hatched turtles reach the ocean, forces you both to slow down and see each other differently.
Pt.2
Masterlist
The beach is quiet in that fragile, late-night way, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You crouch low in the sand, careful not to block the path, heart pounding as tiny flippers push forward. Dozens of baby sea turtles move instinctively toward the moonlit water, small and impossibly vulnerable. You bite your lip, gently redirecting one that’s wandered too far off course.
“Come on,” you whisper. “You’ve got this.”
It’s stupid, maybe, how emotional it makes you, but there’s something about helping something so small survive that feels important. Like it matters, even when everything else feels loud and broken. You’re so focused you don’t hear the footsteps at first.
“Didn’t expect to find you out here.” Your shoulders tense instantly.
Rafe Cameron.
You straighten slowly, sand clinging to your knees, and turn to face him. He looks painfully out of place: tailored slacks, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to show a watch that probably costs more than your car, shoes already ruined by sand. He smells faintly like cologne and ocean air.
“What do you want, Rafe?” you ask flatly. His jaw tightens, like he expected that. “Relax. I’m not here to start something.”
You snort. “That would be a first.” His eyes flick past you to the turtles.
“Oh,” he says, quieter. “Damn.” You follow his gaze despite yourself. The turtles are still moving, slow but determined.
“They just hatched,” you explain. “If they don’t make it to the water, they won’t survive.” Rafe swallows. “You out here alone doing this?”
“Yeah. Someone has to.” He nods, hands sliding into his pockets. For a second, neither of you speaks. The waves fill the silence.
“So,” you add, “if you’re done staring, you can go. You’ll scare them.” Rafe exhales through his nose. “You always assume the worst of me.”
“You’ve given me plenty of reasons.” That lands. You see it in his face, the flicker of guilt, of something heavier than anger.
“I just came from the country club,” he says. “Business meeting. Boring as hell. I needed air.” “And you ended up here,” you say skeptically.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Guess I did.” Another turtle veers toward the darker part of the beach. Without thinking, Rafe steps forward.
“Hey—” you start. He freezes instantly. “What?” “You can’t step there. The light, the shadows, it confuses them.”
“Oh,” he says quickly, stepping back. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” You study him. He actually looks… embarrassed.
“You can help,” you say after a moment. “If you want.” Rafe blinks. “Me?”
“Just—” you gesture. “Guide them. Gently. No touching.” He hesitates, then carefully kneels beside you. The sand stains his pants immediately.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he mutters. “I’ve got a reputation to protect.” You roll your eyes. “God forbid anyone thinks Rafe Cameron has a soul.”
He almost smiles. You work in silence for a while, the tension easing into something strange and unfamiliar. Rafe is careful, surprisingly patient. He watches the turtles like they’re something sacred.
“They’re tiny,” he says softly. “Yeah.” “World’s brutal,” he adds. “Doesn’t exactly wait for you to catch up.”
You glance at him. “Speaking from experience?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Something like that.”
One turtle reaches the water, disappearing beneath a wave. You feel your chest loosen.
“That’s one,” you say.Rafe nods. “Feels like a win.”
You look at him again, really look. He’s different from the boy you used to argue with, the one who scared you, who hurt people without thinking. There are still sharp edges there, but they don’t feel aimed at you right now. “I didn’t think you cared about stuff like this,” you admit.
He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d ever believe me if I said I did.” The honesty hangs between you.
“Why are you trying now?” you ask quietly. Rafe’s hands still. “Because I got tired of hating myself.”
That surprises you more than anything else tonight. Another turtle stumbles, and you both instinctively lean in, hands hovering as it finds its way.
“You know,” you say slowly, “you don’t have to be… whatever you used to be.”
He swallows. “I know. I’m trying not to be.”
You nod. Enemies don’t usually get conversations like this. They don’t kneel side by side in the sand at midnight, hoping small lives make it to the sea. The last turtle finally reaches the water. You exhale, tension draining from your shoulders. “That’s all of them.” Rafe stands, brushing sand from his hands. He offers you one without thinking.
You hesitate, then take it. His grip is warm. Steady. For a second, neither of you lets go. “So,” he says, voice low, “are we still enemies?”
You consider him. The ocean. The quiet.
“…Maybe not,” you admit. “But don’t think this means I trust you.”
He nods. “Fair.” His thumb brushes your knuckles, barely there. “But maybe,” he adds, “it means I get a chance to earn it.”
You meet his eyes, heart beating a little faster than it should. “Maybe,” you say.
The tide rolls in, erasing the tracks in the sand softening the edges of where you both stood.
I absolutely love turtles and just had to write about Rafe. He's simply made for it. ☆
Weeks after the night on the beach, Rafe can’t forget you or the way the ocean seemed to soften him around you. When he finds you again among the dunes and turtle nests, the distance between enemies and something more begins to disappear.
Pt.1
Masterlist
The second time Rafe sees you, the sky is painted in soft morning pastels.
The air is cool, the tide rolling in quietly, and the beach feels untouched, like the world hasn’t woken up yet. He almost turns around when he spots you near the dunes, kneeling in the sand with careful hands and quiet focus.
You’re barefoot, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up as you place small pieces of driftwood around a turtle nest, marking it so no one will step too close.
He watches longer than he means to.
You don’t look like someone who belongs to chaos or country clubs or boardrooms. You look like you belong here, where the ocean breathes slowly and gently.
“You’re gonna ruin your shoes,” he says. You glance up, startled for a moment before recognition settles in your eyes. “You.”
“That’s usually my name, yeah.” You straighten, brushing sand from your knees. “What do you want, Cameron?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about this place.” Or about you. He keeps that part to himself.
After a long second, you gesture toward the nests. “Just don’t get in the way.” Rafe nods and steps carefully, like he suddenly understands how easily things can be broken.
You work in silence for a while. Rafe watches the way you move, gentle but determined, protective without being loud about it. “You do this every day?” he finally asks.
“During nesting season,” you say. “Someone has to.” “Why you?” You pause. “Because they don’t have anyone else.”
Something in your voice settles deep in his chest. “You don’t seem like someone who waits for other people to fix things,” he says.
You glance at him. “And you don’t seem like someone who usually notices.” He gives a small, almost shy smile. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”
Later, you sit in the sand a little away from the nests. The waves stretch toward your feet, pulling back again like they’re listening.
“You still hate me?” Rafe asks quietly. You look at him, really look at him. “I think I hated what you represented. Who you were when you came into my world.”
“I don’t want someone who hurts people and calls it strength,” you add.
“I don’t want to be that guy anymore,” he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him.
The honesty is raw. It makes your chest ache.
The wind shifts, lifting a few strands of hair into your face. Rafe reaches out without thinking and tucks them back. His fingers linger.
Neither of you pulls away. “I don’t know what this is,” you whisper. “Me neither,” he admits. “But I don’t want to walk away from it.”
You hesitate, then place your hand over his. The ocean roars behind you.
The kiss happens slowly, careful, like neither of you wants to scare the other away. When your lips meet his, it’s not desperate or rushed. It’s quiet. Real.
When you pull back, your forehead rests against his. “Don’t make me regret this,” you murmur. “I won’t,” he says. “I swear.”
And for the first time, the ocean doesn’t feel like it’s keeping secrets anymore, it feels like it’s blessing you both.
Heyyyy here is part 2 and this is also the last part.
#Repost @yesil.doga (@get_repost) ・・・ Kaplumbağaları Boyamayın. Boyanması izin vermeyin. Sözde hayvan sevgisi aşılamak için kaplumbağalar boyanıyor. Ama bu işlem bu hayvanların acılı ölümüne neden oluyor. "Boya, güneşten ihtiyaç duydukları vitaminleri emme yeteneklerini engelleyebilir, solunum sorunlarına neden olabilir, toksik kimyasalların kan dolaşımına girmesine izin verebilir ve daha fazlasını yapabilir". Üzerine mum koyup bahçede izleyenler var. Bu hayvanı strese sokar. Çocuklarınıza bunu iyi anlattın. Boyama malzemesi alırken dikkat edin. Yazık. O da bir canlı. Tek derdi neslinin geleceğe taşımak. 3 milyon yıldır bunu başardı. Biz sadece 200 bin yıldır varız ve herseyi yok ettik. #turtels #painting #wild #boyama #çocuk #kaplumbağa https://www.instagram.com/p/CNmTU5drCZ4/?igshid=1asveyaeaqh54
