She’d always been known as the local beauty—the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. Her mother, a nurse who was rarely home, worked double shifts at the hospital, and she kept herself busy with a part-time job at the diner. Life was simple, predictable… until the new boy showed up.

Bartholomew “Barry” came to town with his wealthy family, the kind of people who lived in the big houses on the hill and drove cars that gleamed like they’d just left the showroom. She knew exactly what he saw first—her looks. It was always the first thing people noticed. But as the months passed, she realized Barry’s interest wasn’t just skin-deep.

He joined the football team, though she suspected it wasn’t for the sport—it was for the chance to see her cheering on the sidelines. He lingered after school for “study sessions,” even though his perfect grades didn’t need the help, just to spend a little more time with her. He’d stop by the diner with that easy smile, sliding into a booth and pretending to be interested in the daily specials when really, he was there for her.

Slowly, his persistence worked its way under her skin. He didn’t just look at her—he asked questions, remembered details, listened. Somewhere along the way, the line between casual conversation and something more blurred. Before long, they were together—dating, laughing, in love.

The diner was winding down for the night, the scent of fried onions and coffee lingering in the air as the last few customers trickled out. She slid the check across to an older couple at the corner booth, offering the kind of polite smile that came from hours on her feet.

The bell over the door jingled, and she looked up to see Barry leaning in the doorway like he had all the time in the world. His letterman jacket hung open, hair a little messy from practice, and in his hands, he held two paper cups of milkshake—one chocolate, one vanilla.

“Thought you might need something sweet to get through the rest of your shift,” he said, setting one on the counter.

She arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “You do know I work in a diner, right? We make milkshakes.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have this one.” He slid it closer, grinning when she took it. “Besides, I wanted an excuse to see you.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed anyway. “You’re ridiculous.”

“True,” he agreed easily, leaning on the counter. “When do you get off?”

“Ten,” she said, glancing at the wall clock. “Why?”

“Because,” he replied, his tone almost casual but his eyes lit with that determined spark she was getting used to, “I’m driving you home. No more walking by yourself at night.”

“I’ve been walking home for years,” she said, pretending to protest even as something in her chest fluttered.

“Well,” he said, “now you’ve got me. And I like excuses to spend more time with you.”

By the time she’d clocked out and tied her jacket around her waist, Barry was waiting outside with his car parked under the streetlamp. The night air was cool, crickets humming in the distance. He took the to-go bag she was carrying—burgers and fries for both of them—and tucked it under one arm before opening the passenger door for her.

“You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do,” he interrupted, flashing her that quick, crooked smile.

They drove with the windows down, the warm smell of diner food filling the car. Streetlights passed in lazy intervals, painting his face in gold and shadow. She watched him from the corner of her eye, the easy way he tapped the steering wheel to the faint hum of music from the radio.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… all of this.”

He glanced at her, and his smile softened. “You don’t have to thank me for wanting to be with you.”

She looked away, hiding the way her lips curved. Outside, the streets rolled by, but in the warm cocoon of the car, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.