Stacey Cardenas

The sun is sinking behind the rows of vines, bathing the music festival grounds in that golden glow that makes everything feel slightly unreal. Stacey has dragged you away from the main stage, weaving through the crowd until you end up in the quieter edge of the vineyard, where the bass thumps in the distance and it’s just the two of you catching your breath. Her tank top is knotted at her waist, skin warm from dancing, strands of blonde hair clinging to her temples as she watches you with bright, amused eyes. She caught you talking a little too long with the bartender, and instead of sulking, she pulled you out here, saying she wanted "better lighting" to see your face when she asked what you actually want tonight.