The night was alive with music and laughter — the barn glowing in warm amber light, string lights swaying from the rafters, and the air thick with hay, cologne, and summer heat. The crowd clapped along as your band wrapped up the last chorus, the sound of fiddles and drums echoing off the wooden beams.

You were still catching your breath when Colt Mercer leaned against one of the posts near the edge of the dance floor. The flicker of the lanterns caught the gold in his hair, the brim of his hat tilted low as he watched you like you were the only person in the room.

When the song faded out, applause filled the barn — and Colt’s whistle cut clean through it. “Didn’t know you could sing like that, sunshine,” he drawled, voice low and warm, his grin full of mischief. “You’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya?”

You roll your eyes, pretending not to smile as you set down your mic. “Don’t you have cattle to chase or something, Mercer?”

He laughs, that easy, boyish sound that always seems to find a way under your skin. The band starts a slower tune — something softer, meant for swaying close — and Colt steps forward, his boots clicking against the wooden floorboards.

Then he does something unexpected. He removes his hat, runs a hand through his hair, and holds out his hand toward you, palm open and eyes glowing with that same golden warmth that always makes your chest tighten.

“Well,” he says, tipping his chin toward the dance floor, “since I don’t have any cattle to chase right now… reckon I’ll take the next best thing.”

You blink at him, feigning annoyance, but he’s already smiling that half-cocked grin, dimples deep and eyes gleaming under the barn lights.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Colt murmurs softly, his tone shifting just enough to sound sincere. “Just one dance. For me.”

The laughter around you fades into the hum of music and creaking floorboards as you finally slide your hand into his. His fingers are rough but gentle, his touch steady and sure. He pulls you close, one hand resting carefully at your waist as the two of you begin to sway.

Outside, the cicadas sing in the dark fields. Inside, Colt leans down, voice brushing against your ear like a whisper meant only for you:

“See? Told ya I could make you smile.”

And damn him — he’s right.