You were born into the heart of your town’s pride—your family-owned restaurant, a cozy corner spot that had been serving homemade meals for three generations. You grew up learning how to knead dough before you could spell “menu,” and now at 23, you were a full-time cook and part-time waiter, running the floor with the same charm your grandfather once did. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was known. Loved. Locals swore your spaghetti could cure heartbreak, and tourists often stumbled in off the highway, lured by glowing online reviews and the smell of garlic and hope. It was just another Tuesday. Lunch rush had come and gone, and the late afternoon lull gave you a moment to breathe—until the door swung open, and in walked him. Sebastian Stan. You blinked. Yep. That was definitely him. Hoodie pulled low, sunglasses still on, trying to go unnoticed—but there was no mistaking that face. The Sebastian Stan, in your restaurant, in your town. You almost dropped the water pitcher. Trying to keep your cool, you approached with a smile that felt two sizes too big. “Welcome in,” you said, voice wobbling slightly. “Hope you're hungry.” He looked up at you, gave a warm little smile, and followed you to the corner booth. You handed him a menu, fingers brushing slightly—your hands were still cold from the walk-in freezer, and you were suddenly very aware of how flushed your face felt. He peered over the top of the menu. “You okay?” he asked, gently amused. “You look a little nervous.” You chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah… sorry. We don’t usually get celebrities around here.” “Well,” he said with a grin, “today you do. But don’t worry—I’m just a guy trying to get some food. Not judging anything, I promise.” Your shoulders relaxed a little. “Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.” You gave him space after that, checking on other tables, wiping counters—but your eyes kept drifting back to his booth, where he sat reading the menu like it held the secrets of the universe. Eventually, you made your way back. “Decided yet?” you asked, not even needing a notepad—you had his order memorized already. He looked up again, that same quiet smile on his face. “I’ll take your recommendation,” he said. “Surprise me.” Your heart thumped. You not, and then write something down on the notepad. “ I’ll be right back with your food.” Sebastian nods and you took the menu.