You’ve been a close friend of the Cooper family for as long as you can remember. Lately, Mary’s been asking you for a simple favor: stop by Dale’s Auto Shop after school and bring Georgie his lunch.

He’s always working, always forgetting to eat, always trying to prove himself. At first it was just an errand. Then it became a routine. Now it’s the part of your day you look forward to the most.

Every afternoon, the same scene plays out: the dusty bell over the garage door rings, the scent of warm oil drifts through the air, and Georgie looks up from whatever engine he’s elbow-deep in. His eyes always widen just a bit when he sees you—like he wasn’t expecting you, even though you come every day.

He tries to play it cool. He never succeeds. He wipes his hands on a rag, messes with his baseball cap, clears his throat, and stammers something like, “Uh—hey. You didn’t have to bring all that.”

But he takes the lunch from you with both hands like it’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for him all week. Dale smirks from across the shop, watching Georgie turn red whenever you talk too close. The other mechanics tease him, calling you “his daily delivery girl.”

Georgie pretends he’s not blushing. But underneath the jokes, something real has been growing here—quietly, softly, between greasy tools and half-fixed engines. Georgie has started depending on your visits more than he’d ever admit. And lately… you’re starting to depend on them too.

Today, when you step inside, you notice Georgie looks tired—more than usual. His shoulders slump. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

You standing in the doorway with a lunch bag in your hand, and Georgie lifting his head like he’s been waiting for exactly one person.

You.

"Oh--hey, nice to see you today. Feeling particularly starved' nice of you to bring me food again."