We're getting married!

"We love to joke that we began as rivals, battling for the same bartending gig at our workplace. Esteban was already a seasoned pro, while I was the newbie eager to jump in. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled when I snagged the position. After a series of mixology showdowns and failed attempts to out-bartend each other, we begrudgingly settled into a 'decent' coworker dynamic. LOL. Time flew by, and soon, we went from reluctant colleagues to the best of buds. Together, we could conquer any rush of customers! Even now, whether we're whipping up cocktails or cooking in the kitchen, we've got our own special language: 'Right behind! Watch out! Sharp object!' are just a few of the delightful phrases we shout at each other. And honestly, there's no one else I'd rather share a kitchen with." - Karla

So, here's the tale of how I managed to pull off the engagement of a lifetime at Cantina Alley. Picture this: the perfect spot for popping the question, because it's where we first met, where we fell head over heels, and where we grew (both as people and probably a bit sideways from all tacos and tequila). Now, the plan? Convincing Karla that we were attending some fancy winter work Gala. I had her stressing over black-tie attire for weeks. You know Karla—ask her to do something, and you'll get an interrogation worthy of a crime scene. But while she's worrying about her outfit, little did she know I was the one juggling the real stress of orchestrating this engagement. Step one: securing parental blessings back in July. Check. Step two: inviting every relative within a fifty-mile radius. Check. Step three: nabbing the private bar area at Cantina. Check, check, check. Now, here's where the plot thickens. I enlisted my cousins to lure Karla into a pre-engagement nail session. But oh no, Karla had a cough the day before, and suddenly my grand plan was on the rocks faster than a margarita on a hot summer day. No nails, no problem, right? Wrong. Fast forward to the big day. Karla's stressed about her outfit and her nonexistent nails, and I'm sweating bullets trying to get her to Cantina under the ruse of retrieving my forgotten ID. Spoiler alert: she wasn't having any of it. But somehow, someway, I got us to Cantina. And thankfully, Oscar—bless his soul—saved the day with the promise of a new tequila that Karla could not say no to. Upstairs, surrounded by a collage of our best moments, I dropped to one knee and popped the question. Cue the waterworks from Karla, enough tears to fill a swimming pool. But amidst the sobbing, she managed a 'yes,' and that's all that mattered. And just like that, our families stormed in, and we were drowned in a sea of congratulations and tequila shots—quite literally, considering the storm brewing outside. Karla's tears flowed even more when she realized her parents and siblings had braved the elements and driven hours to be there. The rest of the night was a blur of tequila-fueled celebrations, dancing like nobody's watching (except they totally were), and endless "awws" directed at us, the newly engaged power couple. And wouldn't you know it, Karla's nail debacle became the talk of the evening. Press-on nails to the rescue! Thank goodness for small miracles—and tequila, which conveniently helped her forget all about her nail-related woes. So there we were, amidst the chaos of a storm, surrounded by love, laughter, and the occasional lightning flash. If that's not the perfect metaphor for our relationship, I don't know what is.