The Scoops Ahoy counter is sticky in that way it always is by mid-afternoon, the kind of sticky that survives three wipe-downs and a silent prayer. You’re behind the counter with Robin, both of you leaning your elbows on the glass, watching Steve attempt to fold napkins into what he insists is a “nautical fan.”

“It’s a boat thing,” he says without looking up.

Robin squints. “That’s a triangle, Steve.”

“It’s suggestive of a boat.”

You’re about to chime in when you see someone walking up to the counter. Steve’s head snaps up immediately.

“Oh my god,” he says, already grinning. “Dustin!”

And there he is, Dustin Henderson, baseball cap, backpack on. Loud. Animated.

Your stomach does that stupid little flip it always does.

You don’t say anything. You just straighten a little behind the counter, suddenly very aware of your posture, your hands, the fact that you’re holding a scoop like you’ve never used one before in your life.

You’ve had a crush on Dustin for a while now, and you’re not even sure when it started. You don’t really know him, not at all. Most of what you know comes secondhand, through stories and comments from other people… mostly Steve.

Steve vaults over to the register like he’s greeting a celebrity.

“Hey, Henderson! What’s up, man?” He leans forward conspiratorially. “You want the usual?”

Dustin lights up. “You remember my usual?”

Steve beams. “I always remember my customers.”

Robin snorts beside you. “You literally see him every other day.”

Steve ignores her completely.

Dustin launches into a rapid-fire explanation about something you can’t even comprehend. You catch bits of it while pretending to reorganize cones that were already organized.

Robin tilts her head, watching the whole thing with mild disbelief while you stand next to her, trying to play it cool.

“…Why is he friends with so many children?” she mutters to you under her breath.