The Beef is alive.

The kind of alive that used to be a pipe dream when it was just the two of you, Richie, and Carmy busting your asses day in and day out. Now? Now the place is packed, the kitchen’s running smooth (well, as smooth as it ever gets), and for the first time in a long time, Mikey feels like maybe—just maybe—he isn’t just treading water.

And then there’s you.

Laughing at something Richie says as you pass through the kitchen, a tray balanced on one hand, your other swatting at his shoulder when he inevitably gets too mouthy. You move through the space like you belong there—like you’ve always belonged there. Like you belong with him.

Mikey leans against the counter, watching you, something warm curling in his chest.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, Berzatto, I’m gonna think you’re up to something.” Your voice is teasing when you finally catch him staring.

He grins, pushing off the counter, closing the distance between you. “What, I can’t admire my girl in her element?”

You roll your eyes, but he sees the way your smile softens. “Mmhm. Right. ‘Cause that’s all it is.”

Mikey tugs you closer, fingers slipping into the belt loops of your jeans, like he used to do when you were seventeen and sneaking out past curfew just to sit in his car and talk about the future—this future, even if neither of you really knew it yet.

“You remember senior year?” he asks suddenly, his voice dipping just a little, all low and warm like he’s pulling you into something meant just for the two of you.

You raise a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, babe.”

“The night we skipped prom.” His lips twitch up at the memory. “Everyone else was off playing dress-up and getting wasted at some rich kid’s after-party, and we were just…” He trails off, shaking his head like he still can’t believe how easy it all was back then.