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The diner was nearly empty, and it was after midnight by the time Ivy finished her second piece of pie. She sat back in the booth with her hands on her stomach, eyes closed, a small smile on her lips. 

“Feel better?” Milo asked, glad to see her smiling again.

“A bit.” Her phone pinged before she could say more. She grabbed it from the table and checked it. “Oh no,” she groaned. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?” Who had the nerve to ruin this woman’s pie-induced peace? Milo felt a sudden urge to grab the phone and fling it away from their table.

Ivy let out a pained moan and shoved her phone across the table to him. He looked down to see a video of her performance. It was titled The Wedding Singer, and it had already racked up several hundred views. 

Before the words, it’s not that bad, could leave his mouth, Ivy was talking in a pitch so high he was sure she woke up all the dogs in the neighborhood. 

“Who would do this? What am I going to do?” She thunked her head on the edge of the table and left it there. 

Milo spoke to her prostrate form. “Give it a few days and everyone will forget about it.” Judging by the look on Ivy’s face when she raised her head long enough to glare at him, the practical approach was not going to work.

“At least your voice sounds good, right?” he tried.

She narrowed her eyes. “I look like a fucking crazy person! Look at my eyes! Ugh, oh God, and now I’m crying and singing. Turn it off! Turn it off!”

He quickly exited out of the video and turned off her phone, sliding it back across the table. 

“I’m a joke.”

“You’re not a joke.”

She looked at him like he was the dumbest person to have ever lived. She might be right, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He stood up and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Ivy hesitated for a second before she took his hand and scooted out of the booth.

“When I find out who posted that video, will you pay my bail?” she asked as they made their way through the dark parking lot. She was still clutching his hand, and Milo wished he had parked further away. 

“Of course. But I don’t think revenge plots are what we need right now.”

“What do we need?” she asked, peering up at him. The fact that she said we made his stomach do an absolutely absurd flip-flopping thing that he really needed to get under control. They were not a we.

They made it to his car, and she leaned against the back bumper, her fingers still intertwined with his.

“A good night’s sleep,” he said. “You’ll wake up tomorrow, and this whole thing will seem like no big deal.” She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows as if she couldn’t believe he had just said that. But before she dropped his hand, he caught the faint trace of a smile as it danced over her lips. She walked around his car and slid into the passenger seat.

“I strongly disagree, Grandma,” she said as he settled into the driver’s seat, the amusement in her voice softening the insult.

“Grandma? Wow, I buy you pie, and this is how you treat me?” He tossed his phone onto her lap, and she programmed her address into his GPS.

“You shouldn’t feel insulted. My grandmother is very cool for an eighty-year-old.” She smirked, her eyes sparkling in delight at teasing him. He laughed, shifting the car into drive, and pulled out of the nearly empty parking lot.

“I do strive to act like an eighty-year-old.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” She clapped him on the shoulder in mock congratulations, then huddled down further in her seat.

She leaned her head against the passenger window as they drove in silence through the deserted streets. He parked the car in front of an old Victorian house. At some point in the past hundred years or so, it was split into multiple apartments. One of which belonged to Ivy.

As soon as the car was parked, she lifted her head, but she made no move to get out. They sat in the orange glow from the street light above them. An occasional car drove past, but otherwise, everything was quiet. Milo shifted in his seat, unsure of what to do next.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked finally, turning to face him. In the tight confines of his front seat, they were uncomfortably close. She still wore his sweatshirt with the hood up, and a few wisps of blonde hair escaped and curled around her face. He was close enough to see that her eyes were the color of honey and that they saw right through him.

He shrugged. “You seemed like you could use a friend.” He made a promise to himself to make that be the truth.

She nodded, her fingers picking at the frayed edges of his sweatshirt sleeves. “As long as you’re not doing some, like… knight in shining armor kind of thing. I’m not really into that.” Her lips turned up in a smirk when she looked up at him. Most of the red lipstick had faded long ago, but her mouth was still perfect. 

“I would never be as presumptuous as to try and rescue you,” he said, watching her smile grow. “I felt it was my civic duty to provide a ride to an intoxicated coworker. That was my only motivation. Except for the pie.”

She laughed and reached for her door handle. “You are a real nerd, Milo. See you at work.” She got out of the car and walked to her door. Her shoes dangled from her left hand and her purse from her right. He waited until he saw her go inside before he pulled away. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he realized she’d kept his sweatshirt.

Featured image by Joseph Keil via Unsplash