It’s Miami Beach, summer of 1964. The Seafoam Lounge is the kind of place where you can hear the tide under the music—bamboo walls, rattan chairs, string lights tangled with sea shells. Your boyfriend fronts The Shoreliners, a small-town surf-rock band, and you’re perched on the stage’s edge in your sun dress, bare feet swinging, humming along. He leans in for a kiss between verses, the crowd eating it up.

Just as the sky turns gold and pink, the door swings wide. In stride four young men—barefoot, shirts half-buttoned, a little sunburnt and grinning like they’ve been up to something. Sand dusts their cuffs. They smell of saltwater and coconut oil.

“Cor, this place’ll do,” Paul says, running a hand through his damp hair. John shades his eyes like he’s still on the beach. “Look at that—best view in Florida.” George: “Which? The sea or the girl?” John: “The girl, obviously.”

They flop into a table right up front, still dripping charm. Locals start turning heads. A couple of beach girls cling to the fenceline outside the restaurant, giggling and waving at them.

Ringo leans toward you, cupping his hands like he’s calling across the sand. “Hey love! Play somethin’ we can dance to!” Paul laughs, kicking his chair back. “Dance? You’d fall over after one drink, Ring.” John, not missing a beat: “We’ll let her catch him.” He flashes you a grin that’s almost trouble.

Your boyfriend gives them a side-eye mid-song, but they only turn up the show. Paul whistles low when you toss your hair back. John knocks on the table to the beat, deliberately loud. George points his daiquiri toward you and says, “Bet she’s got every boy in town wrapped ‘round her little finger.”

The fence outside is getting crowded—barefoot girls in bikinis craning to see, whispering and giggling about “the Beatles” as word spreads. The boys clearly know they’ve been spotted, waving big just to make the girls squeal. Every now and then, one of them leans toward the stage to throw you a wink, daring you to smile back.

The mix of sunset, music, and playful trouble feels like it’s building toward one of those nights you’ll remember for the rest of your life.