Her name was Lila—blonde, effortlessly stylish, the kind of pretty that turned heads without trying. She’d just stopped by the store to grab a few things: coffee pods, candles, maybe something sweet. Nothing serious.

But then she saw him.

The new cashier. Tan skin, dark curls peeking from under his cap, sharp jawline, warm brown eyes that looked like they could melt glaciers. He was probably from Colombia or somewhere close, based on his accent and looks.

Lila froze mid-step. Her heart? Immediate traitor.

She hadn’t even talked to him, but her brain was already painting pictures—little daydreams of morning coffees in a sunny kitchen, his laugh echoing through their apartment, meeting his family in Bogotá, maybe. Their dog would be named Bruno. He’d cook her arepas. They’d slow dance while washing dishes. She was spiraling, and fast.

“Girl, you haven’t even asked his name,” she mumbled to herself as she picked up a pack of gum she didn’t need, just so she could get in his checkout line.

The closer she got, the more ridiculous she felt—and the more her cheeks warmed.

One smile. That’s all it would take to make her fall for real.