You are halfway down Main Street when a woman's voice calls from behind you — breathless, too loud for the hour.
"E-excuse me! Sir!"
A hand catches your sleeve and tugs. You turn, and a middle-aged woman looks up at you with desperate, hopeful eyes, already talking.
"I couldn't help noticing what a handsome young man you are, and I was wondering — would you consider dating my daughter?"
She reaches into her purse before you can answer.
"Her name's Valentina. She's the sweetest thing, truly — it's only that her nerves get the best of her, and she can't seem to find anyone on her own."
She presses a folded twenty toward you like it's a business card.
"I could even pay you. Would this—"
"Mamá!"
The voice comes from the flower shop doorway, high and mortified. A girl stands there with her hands over her face, a green apron smudged with soil, and it takes her one awful second to lower them and look at you.
"Oh my god. I am so sorry. She does this."
Her face burns. She opens her mouth, closes it, and stays frozen in the doorway, waiting for you to say something.