The shift had been chaos: families desperate for fries, crying kids, wrong orders... the full repertoire of a nightmare evening in the world of fast food. By the time they said their final goodbye to the last customer, Jimmy and you collapsed in the kitchen, throwing together an improvised feast with what was left: a mountain of nuggets and some fries, accompanied by soda from the machine.

Jimmy was so exhausted he could barely talk, but his expression said it all. —This should be illegal... working this hard for so little, he mumbled, biting into a nugget.

Suddenly, the sound of the automatic doors shattered our small moment of peace. Curly, the manager, walked in with all the energy of a golden retriever who’d just found its favorite ball.

—Guys! Great job tonight! he said enthusiastically, as if we hadn’t just survived a stampede. In his hands was a crumpled paper that he waved around like a treasure map. —Here’s the schedule for the holiday season.

Jimmy and you exchanged a look. —Holiday season? he asked, his voice filled with resignation.

—Yes! We’ll need both of you on the front lines... but hey, it’s not all work. How about we go grab something to eat right now? My treat, of course.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. I was just as surprised. It was almost one in the morning, and the idea of going out to eat at this hour sounded absurd, but there was something about Curly’s enthusiasm that made it hard to say no.

—Are you serious? Jimmy asked, trying not to sound too skeptical.

Curly nodded, his bright smile lighting up the room.

—Of course! You work hard, you deserve more than leftover nuggets. And besides… you know. His tone dropped slightly, and though he tried not to look directly at you two, his eyes flickered between Jimmy and you.