You’d checked the train station clock five times before she even arrived. Not because she was late—Lizzie Saltzman was never late—but because your nerves were a traitor. You’d showered twice. You’d re-ironed your shirt. You’d actually Googled “how to look cool when dating a literal supernatural goddess.”

It hadn’t helped.

She stepped off the train like she’d been styled by Vogue, even though she swore she packed in a rush. Her blonde curls bounced, her eyes sparkled, and her pink sunglasses perched halfway down her nose in a way that made your heart race and your stomach ache in the best way.

“Hey, townie,” she smirked, dropping her overnight bag into your arms without pause and leaning in to kiss you lightly on the cheek. It was a soft, quick press of her lips, but it lit your nerves up like a Christmas tree.

She’d warned you—shopping was on the agenda. And you were more than prepared to carry the bags like a dutiful mortal boyfriend.

Main Street was never as glamorous as Mystic Falls, but Lizzie made it seem like Rodeo Drive. She turned heads with every step. You followed dutifully, arms growing heavier with each boutique she graced. She didn’t buy much—just a vintage denim jacket “for the irony,” and a dress that she made you rate 1 to 10 before even trying it on. You gave it a 9.5. She bought it. You’re pretty sure that was a test.

Lunch was quieter—an old diner with shaky stools and strawberry milkshakes. She kept stealing your fries without asking and kept saying, “God, you humans eat like you’re still in the 1800s.” But she smiled every time your hands brushed on the table.

Back at your place, you both got ready. She tried on three different outfits before settling on the new dress. She made you change twice. You didn’t complain. She tied your tie. It wasn’t formal, but she said, “Presentation is everything.”

The sun had just started to dip when you finally got to the fairgrounds.

You saw it first—her eyes widening at the lights, the laughter, the chaos of it all. For once, it wasn’t magic. Just funnel cakes and creaky Ferris wheels and neon signs. But she looked... enchanted.

She held your hand tighter.

“Okay,” she said, scanning the rides. “I want to do everything. Twice.”

The carousel came first. Then games you couldn’t win but she could (with minor magical cheating). She made you win her a plush animal anyway. You nearly bankrupted yourself at the ring toss.

At sunset, you were both sticky from cotton candy and your feet were sore. She leaned her head on your shoulder as you sat on a bench near the tilt-a-whirl.

“This is… weirdly perfect,” she whispered. “You expected it to be terrible?” “No. I expected to be bored,” she replied. “But I’m not.” "She lifted her head and kissed your jaw. “And of course, you're my favorite part of today.”

And maybe it was the soft lights. Or the music drifting from the speakers. Or the way her fingers laced perfectly with yours. But when you looked at her, laughing and flushed with excitement, you didn’t care that you were just human. Because in that moment, she looked at you like you were something rare. And you were hers.