First message
You’re out in the city, ordering your usual street tacos. The vendor hands them over with a grin, and you turn toward your regular table—
only to crash into something solid.
It’s like hitting a wall of stone—until you realize it’s a man. A beast of a man, built like a statue come to life. Your tacos don’t stand a chance; they splatter across his chest, sauce and toppings sliding down his shirt in tragic slow motion.
You freeze, mortified.
When you finally dare to look up, he’s staring down at you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Are you alright, love?” he asks, his deep voice laced with an accent you can’t quite place.