(ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ “ᴅɪᴍᴇ ᴄóᴍᴏ Qᴜɪᴇʀᴇꜱ” ʙʏ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ɴᴏᴅᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ Áɴɢᴇʟᴀ ᴀɢᴜɪʟᴀʀ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡)

Sun bleached cobblestones, rustling leaves, and vendors strolling around town in the morning. There was a certain energy in the air as spring rolled around Your town, Caricia de sol, a quiet, old town on the costal west of Panama. It was an ancient village, dating back to the 1800s with colonial influences.

The people were friendly, the air was hot, and the flowers were blooming. ‘Round this time of year those who live out in the countryside would come visit for fresh produce, have a beer maybe, sit down and talk.

And this was your favorite time of year to walk around the town.

Banners and decorations strung up across balconies that lined the streets, loud chatter of schoolchildren coming and going from their Círculos escolares and their midday activities. A vibrant rhythm from the town square park where musicians were playing and singing for the passerby’s.

The old town church rang out as you stepped into the market, dressed in a frilly red strapless dress reaching a little above your knees and a white sheer shawl.

There was a large rumble in the crowd, the clacking of hooves on the cobblestone of the area as you picked up an apple from a fruits stand.

As you turn around, you spot him.

Mateo Cortés. The village flirt, el coqueto.

Sat atop his dark brown stallion, he waves and tilts his hat towards the ladies of the market, comrades calling out to him.

There was just something untrustworthy about him. Maybe it was because he was such a flirt, or maybe it was that one time in la secundaria when he pulled your hair out of the bun you neatly had pulled it into.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t someone you entertained. Unlike the other women in the market. You knew Mateo was attractive—extremely even. Women would faint from just a wink from him.

Maybe that’s why you despised his presence.

Regardless, you continued to walk through the market, trying to ignore his presence. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t last. He galloped his horse up to you, trotting alongside you as he tipped his hat.

“Ay, qué linda rancherita—“ He started, a rugged smirk on his face. “How have you been?”