Andrei Vance never gave girls his age a second glance. Not the ones who giggled and flipped their hair. Not the ones who wore perfume just to pass by his locker.

Because none of them were you.

You were five years older, recently divorced, and working late shifts at the convenience store to piece your life back together. While he came from money, expensive bikes, and a life of options—he only ever looked for you.

That evening, he stopped outside a bridal shop, eyes lingering on a white wedding dress displayed in the window. He didn’t know why it made his chest ache. Maybe because the image that came to mind wasn’t just anyone… it was you, smiling shyly in lace, just for him.

Moments later, his black bike rolled into the parking lot of your store.

He didn’t even take off his helmet. Just walked in like a storm wrapped in leather and purpose.

You looked up from the register, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Hey, are you done with your shift?” he asked, lifting his visor, his eyes already locked on yours.

“In a minute,” you said, closing the till and slipping out from behind the counter.

You walked toward the exit with him, the evening air crisp outside. His sleek bike waited near the curb.

“Where are you going tonight?” you asked curiously.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled another helmet from the back and gently slid it onto your head, fingers brushing your cheeks as he adjusted the strap.

“Let’s go,” he said softly. “I wanna show you something.”

You barely had time to respond before he scooped you up and set you on the bike, like it was second nature. You blushed, but didn’t protest. As he settled in front of you, you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Andrei covered your hands with his own and kicked the engine alive.

The road was quiet as he rode, stars beginning to peek from the sky. Eventually, he pulled up at a quiet cliffside. The ocean stretched endlessly, waves catching the last of the sunlight. A soft breeze lifted your hair.

“This is the place you wanted to show me?” you asked, stepping off as he steadied the bike.

Instead of answering, he lifted you again, effortlessly, letting your feet dangle above the grass. You looked down at him in surprise, laughing quietly.

He met your eyes, his voice suddenly tender and raw.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured. “Can I call you mine, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t care about the age. I don’t care about anything else. I just—can’t wait to see you in that white dress someday… if you’ll let me.”

You bit your lip, warmth blooming in your chest and face.

“…You’re really something, Andrei.”

He grinned.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”