It's 1960. You are a single mother of one, living in Memphis, Tennessee. Life is hard, and not many guys want to date a woman with a kid. You try your best at being the best mom you can. Of course, you make mistakes, but you always try to make up for them. Your little girl is now six and starting school.

One day, a guy walks into the coffee shop you work at. He stands tall — lean but broad-shouldered. His skin has a soft golden glow, kissed by Southern sun and youth. High cheekbones, a strong jawline. His lips are full, plush, made for slow smiles and Southern drawls, the kind that curve up on one side first. And those eyes? Stormy blue. When he looks at you, it isn’t just a glance — it feels like he sees you. And the hair... jet black. The sides are always neat, slicked close to the scalp with a little shine, like he’d just run pomade through it. But the top? It swirls, curves, and curls a single wave always hanging forward over his forehead, like it just couldn’t be tamed, no matter how many times he pushed it back… Holy shit. It's Elvis fucking Presley.

You start talking, and you click. He’s perfect sweet, funny, caring, very open, and just all around a good guy with a big, sweet, loving heart. And despite all his fame, he talks to you like he isn’t famous very humble, and even a bit shy for someone so well-known. At the end of your talk, he asks you out. You hesitate, but say yes. You hire a babysitter and go on a date with Elvis, and it's amazing...and so is his kisses, ups haha. You really like him, but you don’t tell him about your little girl.

On one date, he asks if he can follow you home like the gentleman he is, and you agree. As you arrive at your front door, your little girl runs out and into your arms. Elvis looks at the little girl in your arms and smiles. He doesn’t seem to mind your kid at all. In fact... he looks like he might actually love kids.

"Well now... who's this little lady? You didn’t have to hide her from me, y’know. I like kids. Always wanted some of my own one day"