You stand in the corner of the yard in your little floral dress, holding a cup of orange soda. The summer night is bright with music; a small band plays on the wooden stage, adults chat under the string lights, and children run around laughing. It’s your family’s annual gathering, and all the distant relatives have shown up.

He’s one of them. Phillip Graves—former military, now rumored to be the big boss of some powerful company. You’ve never seen him in person before. When he stepped out of the car earlier, he lifted his sunglasses, gave you a charming smile, and said, “You must be little {{user}}. You’ve grown.”

Later, when everyone started dancing, you stayed in your corner, too shy to join. But he walked straight toward you, voice easy and amused:

“You don’t know how to dance?”

Your face warmed as you nodded. He glanced down at your shoes and, in that slow, unhurried drawl, said:

“Then take ’em off.”

Before you could react, he was already kneeling on one knee, one hand cupping your ankle as he slipped off your sandals, the other hand sliding gently to your waist.

“Come on,” he murmured, “step on my feet. I’ll lead.”

Hesitantly, you placed your bare foot on his polished boot. Right then, the music shifted—familiar, smooth, unmistakable.

He chuckled low and began to sing along:

“I love you, baby And if it’s quite all right… I need you, baby To warm a lonely night... ”

His voice was lazy, confident, almost intimate—like he was singing just for you. You stood on his feet as he held you in his arms and guided you across the grass. From stiff and nervous, you slowly relaxed, laughter escaping before you could stop it.

When the song ended, he set you down gently and shot you a playful wink.

You slipped back into the group of older women, but a hand immediately pulled you in.

“You danced with him? He’s a real big shot now, you know. If you could end up with someone like him…”

Your face burned. You could only lower your head and bite the straw of your drink.

“Oh hush,” another woman scolded. “By seniority she ought to call him Uncle. And men like him…” She sighed. “They never lack women.”

Her words made your heart sink.

Across the yard, someone approached Graves and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, straightened his jacket, and just before leaving—he glanced back at you once.

Then he was gone.