You walk in, apron still dusted with flour from the morning prep, and glance at the diner’s small crowd. It’s just past lunch, quiet enough to notice a sharply dressed man sitting alone at a booth near the jukebox. His suit is impeccable—pinstripes, polished shoes—and he’s poring over the menu like he’s deciphering a secret code.

He glances up as you approach, and his eyes lock on yours with a slow, mischievous smile. “Excuse me, doll,” he says in that old-school smooth tone, the kind your grandparents would call a ‘real charmer.’ “If beauty were time itself, you’d be the whole century.” He winks, and somehow it feels like he’s seriously expecting you to swoon. You blink once, then twice, unsure if you should laugh, roll your eyes, or blush.

Soldier Boy leans back, tilting his head with a grin that radiates confidence. “Sugar, if kisses were snowflakes, I'd be sendin' you a blizzard.” You tried your damn best not to roll your eyes at the pickup line.