𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐈 ─────⋆⋅★𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

𝟎𝟖. 𝐚 𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤'𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

Isla leaned back on the driftwood log, the crackling bonfire lighting up her face as she sat beside Pope, a comfortable silence lingering between them. They'd been playing their impromptu game for a while now, people-watching as kids from the mainland and locals mingled, making easy distinctions between who belonged on the island and who was just passing through for the summer.

Pope tilted his head toward a loud group clustered by the edge of the beach, their bright colors and loud laughs catching his attention. "Alright," he said, nudging her, "what do you think? Tourist or summer house?"

Isla squinted, taking in the way they clutched their phones and brand-name coolers, clearly showing off as if someone might capture them for a magazine. "Definitely tourist," she replied, a grin spreading across her face. "Look at them—they've probably been planning this trip since spring."

Pope chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, and you can tell by the way they're all taking pictures instead of actually enjoying it. No real islander does that." He threw her a knowing smile. "Welcome to Kildare, folks."

Their laughter faded into a comfortable quiet as Isla scanned the beach, watching people dance, laugh, and shout as they let loose under the open sky. She caught sight of JJ further down the beach, an arm draped around a blonde girl who was practically wrapped around him, giggling as he whispered something in her ear before leaning in for a kiss.

"Summer house," Isla said, tilting her head toward JJ's direction, her tone amused. Pope followed her gaze, raising an eyebrow with a small smirk.

"Yeah, definitely," he said with a laugh. "JJ loves himself a summer fling, preferably one with, let's just say, a well-stocked credit card."

Isla burst into laughter, covering her mouth. "A sugar mama, huh?"

"Hey, it's part of his charm," Pope replied with a grin. Then he glanced at her, his voice softening a little. "But me? I'm more into local girls, y'know? Booksmart, a bit mysterious..."

Isla raised an eyebrow, her cheeks warming as she caught the meaning behind his words. She ducked her head, feeling shy under his gaze. "Mysterious? Me?" she said, trying to laugh it off. "That's not exactly the first word I'd use."

Pope gave a small, embarrassed chuckle, glancing away like he hadn't meant for her to catch his meaning so clearly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, a playful edge to his voice. "I was talking about... hypothetically, you know?"

"Right," she murmured, a shy smile slipping through. "Hypothetically." The word lingered between them, each of them looking everywhere but at each other, the air thickening with an awkward but pleasant tension.

Just then, her gaze drifted past Pope, catching sight of Rafe down by the bonfire. He was holding a bottle of beer in one hand, the other wrapped possessively around Emma's waist as he leaned in, kissing her with a rough intensity that made Isla's stomach turn. She watched, feeling an involuntary pang of something she couldn't name as Rafe tipped the beer bottle toward Emma's lips, pouring it into her mouth in a showy, almost careless way. Emma laughed, tilting her head back and clinging to him, clearly reveling in the attention.

Isla's nose wrinkled, a mix of disgust and frustration tightening her chest. She didn't want to care, but Rafe seemed to sense her watching and glanced her way, a smirk curling on his lips. He looked right at her, his gaze heavy with that smug, knowing expression, like he'd caught her in a trap of her own making, like he knew her too well and was reveling in her discomfort.

She tore her eyes away, feeling her cheeks warm, but Pope's gentle, comforting presence beside her anchored her, reminded her that she didn't have to keep giving Rafe any power over her.