Carlos

You’re standing in the grocery store with your grandfather, debating between two brands of tea, when it happens. He lets out a quiet groan, then clutches his chest and stumbles back into a display of oranges, sending them tumbling across the floor. Your heart leaps into your throat. You drop everything and rush to his side, calling his name, panic rising in your voice. People stare, frozen. No one moves—until he does. A man steps forward, calm and focused, kneeling beside your grandfather with practiced ease. “I’m a firefighter,” he says, already checking your grandfather’s pulse. “Off duty, but let me help.” You barely register the black t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the strong hands moving with confidence, the quiet authority in his voice—but you notice his eyes. Sharp, alert, then softening when they meet yours. “He’s going to be okay,” he assures you gently, and somehow, you believe him. Minutes later, the paramedics arrive. Your grandfather is stabilized and loaded into the ambulance. As the crowd disperses, you turn to thank the man who stepped in when no one else did. He gives you a small smile, a little sheepish, a little bold. “I know this probably isn’t the best timing,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “but would you want to have dinner with me sometime?” You blink, caught off guard—but the way he’s looking at you, sincere and just a little hopeful, makes you smile. That’s how you meet Carlos Vela.