Bad Idea, Right?

Chapter 1

Lillian

The ocean hums a steady rhythm outside the window, a soothing kind of white noise that makes me feel like I’m living inside a seashell. Cassie’s beach house is ridiculous—floor-to-ceiling windows, marble countertops, plush white furniture that’s more for show than comfort. This house wasn’t just designed for living; it was designed to impress. Meanwhile, I’m standing here in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, barefoot on heated floors, wondering how my life has taken this turn.

House-sitting. For my best friend. Like a glorified pet-sitter, except the only thing I’m responsible for is locking up and not burning the place down. I’m not ungrateful—I need the extra cash—but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting just a little. Cassie’s flying off to Europe for some runway show while I’m here making sure her floors stay spotless. It’s a glaring reminder of just how different our worlds are.

Still, I’m determined to make the best of it. A week of peace and quiet by the beach isn’t the worst thing in the world. No emails. No rent worries for the moment. Just the ocean, a few good books, and a fully stocked kitchen I didn’t pay for.

I’m halfway through unpacking when there’s a knock at the door—three quick taps. My heart leaps, probably because this house is so cavernous it feels like I’m the only person left on the planet.

When I open the door, my breath catches in my throat.

Carter Davis is standing there.

He leans against the doorframe like he owns the place—which, technically, his family does—hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored jeans. His navy Henley clings to his chest, hinting at muscles that are definitely not the ones I remember from years ago. His hair’s a little longer, tousled like he just got back from surfing, and his smile is lazy, confident, and annoyingly attractive.

"Hey, Lil," he says, his voice low and smooth like warm honey. "Or should I say neighbor? Didn’t expect to see you here."

I blink, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that I’m wearing no makeup and my hair’s piled on top of my head in a messy bun. "Carter," I manage to say, trying to sound casual. "I didn’t know you lived… next door."

"Yeah. Bought the place last year. Figured it was time to stop crashing at Cassie’s every summer." His eyes sweep over me, lingering for just a second too long. "What brings you here?"

"House-sitting." I step back, letting him inside. "Cassie’s off to Europe for a week. She asked me to keep an eye on things."

He chuckles, his eyes glinting with something I can’t quite place. "Figures. Cassie always did know how to delegate."

I laugh, despite myself. "Yeah, well, someone’s got to make sure her plants survive."

Carter’s gaze softens, and for a second, it feels like the air between us shifts. I’ve known him for most of my life—he was always the charming older brother who treated me like his kid sister’s friend, nothing more. But right now, he’s looking at me like… something else entirely.

"You look good, Lil," he says, his voice dropping just a little.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I hate how easily he can unravel me with a simple sentence. "Thanks. You too."

There’s a beat of silence, charged and heavy, before Carter clears his throat and gestures toward the door. "You busy? I was about to grab coffee. There’s a great spot down the road if you feel like getting out for a bit."

My first instinct is to say no. This feels dangerous, like stepping onto a bridge that might collapse beneath my feet. But then I remember that I’m tired of playing it safe.

"Sure," I say, grabbing my keys. "Why not?"

The coffee shop is small and cozy, with mismatched chairs and the smell of fresh pastries hanging in the air. We sit by the window, the ocean just visible in the distance.

"So," Carter says, stirring sugar into his espresso. "How’ve you been?"

It’s such a loaded question, one I wasn’t prepared for. "Busy," I say with a shrug. "Work’s been… well, work. Nothing too exciting."

He raises an eyebrow. "Still working at that marketing firm?"

"Yep. Still hustling." I force a smile. "What about you? Still charming your way through life?"

Carter laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes my pulse skip. "Something like that. I’ve been doing more consulting lately. Less travel, which is nice."

The conversation flows easier than I expected. We talk about old memories—trips to the beach, Cassie’s infamous parties, the time Carter tried to teach me how to surf and I almost broke my ankle.

"Remember that?" he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I told you not to stand up too fast, but you were determined."

"I remember you laughing at me," I shoot back. "While I nearly drowned."

"You didn’t drown," he says, leaning in slightly. "And I didn’t laugh. I was impressed. You’ve always been stubborn."

There’s that shift again, the one that makes my skin tingle. His knee brushes mine under the table.

"Stubborn’s one word for it," I say, trying to sound unaffected.

"Fearless," he counters, his eyes locking on mine.

My breath catches. The air between us thickens, and for a second, I wonder if I’m imagining the way he’s looking at me—like I’m not just Cassie’s friend anymore. Like I’m something he’s just now seeing for the first time.

The moment stretches, charged and electric, until the barista calls out our drinks.

Carter leans back, his lips curving into that lazy smile again. "We should do this again sometime."

I swallow hard, my heart thudding in my chest. "Yeah. I’d like that."

This is dangerous. Stupid, even.

But as I replay the way Carter looked at me, the way his voice dipped when he said my name, I can’t help but think—maybe a little danger is exactly what I need.