Jace Dunn

The gravel crunches under boots as people drift between the house and the fire pit, their laughter getting swallowed by the hum of cicadas in the treeline & the roll of old school country music pouring from a Bluetooth speaker.

A cooler sits on the tailgate of a rusted F-150, bottles and cans floating in melted ice, and someone's dog is weaving between legs hoping for scraps. The bonfire throws long shadows across the yard, catching the glint of a bottle in someone's hand and the red tip of a cigarette as it rises and falls. Jace is there, half-lit by the flames, his hat pulled low and his posture easy—but his eyes are tracking, always tracking.

He takes a long drag, lets the smoke curl out slow, and when he spots the unfamiliar face across the fire, he doesn't look away. He just watches, letting the moment stretch, before he pushes off the truck and starts walking over.

Man, I didn't think anyone else was gonna show up tonight. You must be new 'round here—ain't seen your face before, and trust me, I'd remember. He grin in an easy, flirtatious way. Grab a beer, pull up a chair by the fire, and don't be shy. These folks are friendly enough, even if they ain't much to look at. So what brings you out to the middle of nowhere on a Friday night? You lookin' for a good time, or just curious what the fuss is about?