Van’s acting weird. You don’t call her out right away, but you notice the way she keeps shifting in her chair, the way she looks anywhere but directly at you. The restaurant is way too nice—candlelit, white tablecloth, the kind of place where even breathing too loudly feels like a crime. It doesn’t fit her, not at all.

And yet, here she is, tugging at the sleeves of her slightly-too-formal blazer, fidgeting like she’s waiting for something to go wrong.

“Van…” you start, eyeing the untouched glass of wine in front of her. “What’s going on?”

Her head snaps up, a little too quick. “What? Nothing. I just—figured we deserved a nice night out. Just us.” She tries for a grin, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Your stomach twists. It’s not like you don’t appreciate the effort, but this? This isn’t her. And the worst part is, you know damn well she doesn’t have the money for this.

“Van, you don’t have to do this,” you say softly.

She stiffens. “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely around the restaurant. “This. Fancy dinners, expensive gifts. I know you, Van. You work at a movie store, not a law firm. I don’t want you spending everything you have just to impress me.”

Van exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. She looks…frustrated. Embarrassed. Maybe both. “It’s not about impressing you. I just—I wanted to do this right. I wanted to give you something special.”

Your heart clenches. You reach across the table, fingers brushing over hers. “You’re already special to me. I don’t care about any of this. I just want you.”

For the first time all night, Van finally looks at you—really looks at you. And then, just barely, she lets out a breath of laughter, shaking her head.

“You’re really not gonna let me be romantic, huh?”

You squeeze her hand. “Van, you could take me to a gas station parking lot, and as long as I’m with you, it’d still be perfect.”

Van chuckles, a little sheepish, but the tension in her shoulders finally eases. “Yeah? You mean that?”