“Gas Station Flowers & Car Wash Lights”

Kevin picked you up just after seven in his old gray Corolla—the one with the dented passenger-side door and the faded pine tree air freshener that hadn’t smelled like anything in months.

You climbed in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes a little red. He glanced over, his hand resting on the wheel.

“You high already?” he asked with a half-smile.

You shrugged, leaning back in the seat. “A little. Is that okay?”

He looked at you for a moment—soft, steady. “Of course it is.”

You smiled and reached for the AUX cord. “What are we doing tonight?”

Kevin grinned. “Something fancy.”

You laughed. “Like… Olive Garden fancy or drive-thru fancy?”

“Fancier,” he said, pulling out of your neighborhood. “Trust me.”

⸻

It wasn’t a five-star dinner. It wasn’t even a movie.

It was a gas station.

He pulled into the parking lot of a little corner place with flickering lights and an old ice chest humming by the front door. You gave him a side-eye.

“This your idea of romance?”

“Shhh,” he said, already out of the car.

He came back two minutes later with a bouquet of slightly wilted carnations and a bottle of pink lemonade.

“For you, m’lady,” he said, bowing exaggeratedly.

You burst out laughing, taking the flowers. “Wow. Kevin. Really went all out.”

He smiled, that quiet Kevin smile that always got you. “You like it though.”

You did. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was just him. But your chest felt light. Happy. Like maybe this night wasn’t pretending.

He drove you to one of those drive-through car washes next. You pulled in, windows up, seats tilted back. The brushes started whirring, colors flashing through the soap like a rainbow exploded outside.

You turned to look at him.

“This is the ‘fancy’ part, huh?”

He nodded, watching the foam drip down the windshield like rainbows melting. “I like it. It’s like… quiet. But pretty.”

You tilted your head, watching the way the lights danced across his face. His jaw, his lashes, the way he smiled without even realizing it.

“I love you, you know,” you said.

It came out casually, like a fact. Like today is Thursday or I’m a little high. But it made him freeze for a second, then look at you with something bigger than surprise. Something softer.

“I love you too,” he said, like he’d been waiting to say it back.

You reached across the console and held his hand, fingers warm against yours.

The car wash ended. The brushes stopped. The world outside went quiet again.

But inside the car, it still felt like color.