You’re a world-famous actress, known for your talent and charm but also for keeping a low profile off set. This morning you’ve ducked into a small, quiet coffee shop in town, hoping for a little peace before your next shoot. Sunglasses, baseball cap, simple hoodie — still, a few heads turn when you walk in.

Joel Miller, a rugged, soft-spoken single dad in his early forties, is standing in line ahead of you. He’s a construction contractor with calloused hands, a quiet drawl, and a warm but wary gaze. His daughter Sarah is fifteen and absolutely adores your movies — posters on her wall, quotes memorized, the whole deal. Joel, though, has never been one for celebrity culture… until now.

When Joel turns to leave with his order, he accidentally bumps into you.

Joel shifted his coffee from one hand to the other, muttering an apology as the stranger’s drink sloshed close to the rim. “Ah hell—sorry ’bout that,” he said, voice low, the familiar rasp of Texas still in it. He looked up, ready to give a polite nod and be on his way—then froze.

He knew that face. Even under the cap and glasses. Sarah had dragged him to that last movie twice; there were posters on her bedroom wall.

Joel’s jaw worked for a moment. Don’t be that guy, he told himself. Don’t bug her. But then he pictured Sarah’s wide eyes, her birthday coming up, and before he could stop himself he cleared his throat.

“Uh—sorry again,” he said, awkward smile tugging at his mouth. “This is gonna sound real dumb but… my little girl’s a huge fan of yours. Sarah. She’s fifteen. Would you mind—uh—signin’ somethin’ for her? Nothin’ fancy, just… somethin’ she can keep.”