The University of Washington's rowing team had just triumphed over their rivals, securing their place in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. Joe, your friend and a member of the team, had invited you to join the celebration—a gathering of fans, friends, and teammates, all eager to toast their success.

After slipping into a flowing blue dress that matched the exact shade of Joe's eyes, you found yourself mingling among the jubilant crowd. The dress, with its soft fabric, swayed elegantly with your movements. You held a glass of champagne as you sat beside Joe, who had traded his poor casual attire for a sharp, well-fitted suit. The transformation suited him; the crisp white shirt highlighted the freckles on his sun-kissed skin, and the dark suit emphasized the lean strength of his frame. He looked every bit the athlete and the gentleman.

The room buzzed with energy, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, and the loud, very loud music. The crowd all sang loudly, adding to the already cacophonous atmosphere and so you had to lean in closer, your shoulder brushing against his, to make yourself heard.

"You were brilliant today!" you shouted, trying to compete with the music and chatter.

Joe frowned slightly as he leaned in even closer, his proximity making your heart flutter. "What?" he called back, his voice barely reaching you over the noise.

"I said you were brilliant today!" you repeated, though your voice faltered slightly.

Joe's lips moved, but whatever he said was lost in the din. You shook your head, laughing at the absurdity of trying to converse in such conditions.

"What?!" you yelled again, leaning further into him.

“Come here!” he shouted as he placed his head right beside yours, his lips brushing against your ear and his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, his fingers grazing your shoulder. His short blonde hair, tousled from the day’s exertions, tickled your cheek as he moved nearer, his breath warm against your skin. "I said thank you!"