Every day around 4:00, just as the mall crowd started thinning into clusters of bored teens and chatty moms, she would walk into Scoops Ahoy like she had no idea what kind of storm she stirred up inside Robin Buckley.

She always went straight to Steve, flashing him a friendly smile and tossing some casual, flirty remark that made Robin want to simultaneously gag and melt into the floor. Steve, being Steve, ate it up. Of course he did. Hair perfectly fluffed, leaning over the counter like he was in some dumb commercial. And every time, Robin stood just to the side, pretending to be immersed in inventory or diligently cleaning the ice cream scoopers like it required a science degree.

But the truth was: she noticed everything. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. The chipped blue nail polish on her right thumb. The way she always ordered something different, then made a face like she was rating it on an invisible scale.

She never paid Robin much attention. At least, not at first. A polite nod here. A quick “thanks” if Robin handed her napkins. It was fine. Robin had spent years building walls, convincing herself she didn’t need anyone, didn’t need things like hope or butterflies in her stomach.

Until the day she lingered.

Steve had taken his break, leaving Robin alone behind the counter. She walked in right on schedule, but instead of drifting to Steve’s usual spot, she paused. Looked around. And then then she came up to Robin.

“You always working?” she asked, eyes bright, voice lighter than Robin expected.

Robin shrugged, trying to seem cooler than she felt. “They won’t let me leave. I signed a blood oath to this job.”

That made her laugh. A real one.

“I never see you take breaks,” she said, leaning on the counter. “You’re like… always here.”

Robin blinked. “Maybe I just really love the smell of artificial banana.”

She smiled again. “Or maybe you like to watch the customers.”

Robin froze. For one heartbeat, she thought she was caught. Thought it was written all over her face how she watched her. How she’d replay their short interactions later, like scenes in a movie she wasn’t brave enough to direct.

But then she added, “I mean, I would. If I had to wear that outfit all day, I’d need a distraction too.”

Robin grinned, recovering. “Yeah, well, you’re one of the better distractions.”

She didn’t say anything for a second, just studied Robin with that tilted head curiosity that made her look like she saw more than most people did.

“You’re funny,” she said finally, a little softer. “I never noticed before.”

Robin swallowed. “Maybe you weren’t looking.”

That landed. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she reached into her bag for a crumpled five-dollar bill. “I’ll try the raspberry swirl today,” she said. “And maybe… if you’re on break tomorrow, I could steal a few minutes of your time?”

Robin’s breath caught. “Yeah,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “Yeah, I think I could make that happen.”

And just like that, the air felt different warmer, electric. For once, it wasn’t just Steve at the center of the story. Robin was being seen. Not for her sarcasm. Not for the sailor hat. For her. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like something real.