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I'm not even gonna lie... I'd mop the floors with a toothbrush if it meant Victoria would say my name.
Like, say it. Not just toss it out while asking for the ketchup or calling for backup when table six's kid dumps syrup on the floor. I mean... say it like it matters. Like she knows it. Like she's been thinking about it too.
But nah.
It's another Wednesday night at Jazzy's Diner, and I'm posted behind the counter pretending like I'm focused on organizing the sweetener packets. I've been lining up the pink, blue, and yellow ones into perfect color-coded stacks for ten minutes, which is wild considering I don't even like sugar substitutes.
But she's here. And when Victoria's working, everything else fades into soft focus.
She's in her section, pouring coffee with that slow, graceful ease like she's done this in another life. The diner lights hit her skin just right—warm gold and hazy, making her glow like something holy. She laughs at a customer's dad joke, hand on her hip, and I swear the sound drifts over like it was made just for me.
"There you go being a creep again."
I blink. "Huh?"
Keke slides into the booth behind the counter like she owns it, balancing a slice of cherry pie in one hand and two plastic forks in the other. Her curly ponytail bounces as she moves, and her expression is full of the kind of drama only best friends can pull off.
"I said, you being a creep again. You been staring at her like a lost puppy since clock-in, and I'm starting to get secondhand heartbreak. Here. Eat something before your heart falls out your chest."
I grab a fork and stab the pie half-heartedly. "I do not look like a lost puppy."
"Girl." Keke leans in like she's about to break national news. "You literally dropped a glass of sweet tea when she said good morning."
"She caught me off guard!"
"She caught you in a fantasy, is what she did. Don't act like you weren't planning your wedding during prep."
I chew slow, ignore the burn in my cheeks, and glance back at Victoria—just in time to see her tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
God.
"Why don't you just talk to her?" Keke asks, nudging me with her knee. "Like, for real. Not the awkward wave and panic shuffle you keep doing."
"Because" I mutter, "she's her. And I'm just... me."
Keke looks at me like I've grown two heads. "You say that like it's a bad thing. You're cute, you funny, you got nice skin when you stop smoking so much, and your playlist is elite."
I snort. "Thanks, that last one really seals the deal."
"I'm serious, YN. You keep waiting around, somebody else gon' slide in. Probably that new hostess with the butterfly tattoo and the baby voice."
