The fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows over the worn canvas tents and weathered faces of camp. Dutch’s old phonograph whined to life, that familiar tune winding into the night air. The melody was gentle, nostalgic, and a bit better than their own singing in the camp.

Javier stood by the edge of the fire, a whiskey in his hands. He glanced toward the music, then toward the person, you, sitting just within the glow of the flames.

He watched for a moment—quiet, thoughtful—then stepped forward, boots crunching softly against the dirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm, his accent curling around the word. He gave a small smile, a little uncertain, but not without charm.

Javier looked toward the dancing firelight, then back again at you. “Would you…” He paused, then shifted his stance, offering a hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”