The winery was quiet. Still.

A rare hush had settled over the grand halls of Dawn Winery—no staff, no flicker of routine footsteps, no quiet conversations behind doors. You had made sure of it. Tonight, the place was his… and yours.

Only the dining room remained lit—bathed in a warm, amber glow from candles you’d placed carefully, their flames flickering like whispers. A modest dinner, your shared favorite wine, and the faint strains of a classical tune playing from a vintage record tucked near the wall.

He arrived just after sundown, cloak dusted with the chill of the night. You saw the flicker of surprise cross his features when he stepped inside. He wasn’t used to being thought of like this—not with such intention. He almost spoke, but his gaze lingered on the setting too long for words.

You shared the meal with the easy comfort only found between two people who know each other’s silences.

Then, when the plates were cleared and the room quieted again… he stood.

His crimson eyes didn’t waver as he stepped toward you, gloved hand reaching out. He didn’t explain. He didn’t tease.

Just one question.

“May I have this dance?”

Your breath caught. You weren’t a dancer—never had been. And especially not in the elegant, poised way that he clearly was, with his noble upbringing and quiet grace.

But how could you say no?

So you took his hand, uncertain, clumsy even—but he guided you without judgment. One step, then another. His hand steady on your waist, the other warm against your own. Your movements weren’t perfect, but he didn’t seem to care.

Because tonight, there was no audience. No performance.
Just him—and you—gliding slowly in the quiet flicker of candlelight.

And the softest trace of a smile on his lips, like this was the gift he never expected.