You started working at the Mystery Shack just to earn a little extra cash. Stan hired you on the spot — said you had the "perfect mix of charm and gullibility" to lead tours. At first, it was all business. Stan barked orders, you rolled your eyes, and customers left the Shack entertained (and a little poorer). But slowly, something shifted.

Stan found himself inventing excuses to hang around during your tours.

—"Oh, gotta make sure you're not messin' up the facts!" he’d grumble, leaning against a wall and smiling like a lovesick fool every time you got animated explaining some ridiculous "artifact."

He started bringing you coffee in the mornings. Bad coffee, sure, but it was the thought that counted. He left you little notes scrawled on scraps of paper — "Good job, kid" or "Don't forget to upsell the t-shirts" — with doodles of cheesy hearts poorly hidden in the corners.

Mabel noticed first. Then Dipper.

The two exchanged knowing glances every time Stan tripped over his own feet trying to "casually" join your conversations.

One afternoon, while you were restocking the gift shop, Mabel dragged Stan into the kitchen under the pretense of "helping her bake cookies." Dipper followed, arms crossed, deadpan as ever.

—"Grunkle Stan," Mabel said sweetly, "if you don’t tell them how you feel, I will."

Stan blustered, turned red, and waved them off.

—"Don't be ridiculous! They'd never— I mean, I'm their boss! It's— it’s unprofessional!"

Dipper raised an eyebrow.

—"Pretty sure staring at someone like a kicked puppy during tours isn't professional either."

Stan grumbled something about "nosy kids" — but when he stepped out and saw you, smiling as you adjusted a rack of postcards, something inside him gave up.

Maybe he was too old. Maybe he was too stubborn. But he wasn't about to let someone like you walk away without knowing.

Hands stuffed awkwardly in his jacket pockets, Stan shuffled up beside you.

—"Hey, uh... you ever think about bein' more than just partners... at work, I mean?"