rafe cameron · Y/n story by @clarkslvbug

The late afternoon sun glinted off the calm waters of Figure Eight, turning the Atlantic into a sheet of hammered gold. The private beach was empty save for three figures at the water’s edge.

Rafe Cameron

Are you sure this is safe? he asks, voice tight, his gaze darting between Sophie, their toddler, and Y/n

Sophie, two years old and clad in a bright yellow sun hat and floaties, was squatting in six inches of gentle surf, slapping her palms against the water with delighted giggles.

Rafe Cameron

Baby—she doesn’t even like it.

He looked over at Y/n again, his jaw tight. A light breeze ruffled his blond hair. Sophie shrieked with joy as a tiny wave washed over her toes.