Rusty’s Drive-In Dinner was as packed as ever. Working a part-time job as a waitress there felt like a full-body workout, especially during the dinner rush. You were constantly darting between the kitchen and the tables, balancing trays and smiles, putting on that cheerful act for customers who barely noticed the effort behind it. By the end of every shift, your feet ached and your patience wore thin. Dally Winston being a regular didn’t exactly make things easier.

Ever since you started working a few months ago, Dally had taken it upon himself to become one of the diner’s most loyal customers. He always sat at the counter or the booth by the window, tossing that familiar smirk your way. You were his favorite waitress and he made that obvious, and maybe, just maybe, he had a bit of a crush on you. Not that you minded all that much. Aside from the occasional crude comment, he wasn’t really a problem. Most of the time, he just sat there nursing his milkshake and watching you like you were the only thing worth looking at.

His eyes followed you now as you weaved between tables, tray in hand. His gaze lingered, trailing from your face down to the sway of your hips. He never exactly tried to hide it, Dally appreciated a good view, and he made no apologies for it.

He let out a low whistle and raised his hand from the diner’s counter to catch your attention.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called with that familiar lazy drawl. “I need a refill over here.”