Heat comes in many forms. The kind I like invariably starts to percolate early in our first tanda. I sense the potential of our embrace within a few bars of the opening song, when the music nudges our steps into resonating synchrony. The faint half flush that dies along her throat is one with the intimate touch of her elbow against the warm moist crook of my arm. We bask in the warmth of our aligned bodies and the sinuous invitation of the music. Far from our minds are everyday concerns. We revel in the heat of the moment, step following step, touch inflaming touch, until, at tanda’s end, we weigh in the balance whether to reset life as we know it, to progress or to regress, to embrace heat or tolerate cold. Or just ask the DJ to adjust the thermostat.