“I can’t go on, Blake. I can’t. My feet are killing me. If only—” she sighed again, louder this time, “—someone could carry me…”

I stared at her.

Beverly smiled sweetly. “I’m delicate.”

“You?” I scoffed. “You punched Nathan in the face last week.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I’m injured. I need rest. And you literally carried me three days ago,” she reminded me.

“You twisted your ankle.”

“Semantics.” She took a step forward and pressed both palms against my chest, batting her eyelashes. “Please?”

I rolled my eyes but turned around, crouching low. “Get on.”

Grinning, she climbed onto my back, her arms looping around my shoulders. I hooked my arms under her thighs, securing her against me as I started walking toward Mel’s Diner. Its red neon sign buzzed softly, casting a warm glow on the sidewalk.

Beverly rested her chin on my shoulder, her voice softer now. “I can’t believe you let me choose a tattoo for you.”

I huffed out a laugh. “And I can’t believe you picked ‘Always.’”

She was silent for a beat. Then she said quietly, “You know it was always you, don’t you?”

I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of her, the way her arms tightened ever so slightly. “Yeah, B,” I murmured, my voice just as soft. “I know.”

She let out a slow, contented sigh, and her fingers brushed lightly against my collarbone. I could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “You know, I bet you secretly wanted to carry me. You just like having an excuse to touch me.”

“Yeah?” I squeezed her thigh. “What gave it away?”

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped into the diner, carrying her on my back. The familiar scent of burgers, french fries, and melted cheese hit me instantly, mingling with the faint sweetness of vanilla milkshakes. Mel’s Diner looked exactly as I remembered it. The black-and-white checkered floor gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and the booths, upholstered in their familiar bubblegum pink and sky-blue patterns, sat neatly along the walls, each one paired with a glossy white table that reflected the neon glow from the jukebox in the corner.

“You’re so dramatic,” I muttered as Beverly tightened her grip around my shoulders, refusing to let go.

“I made it all the way here without complaining too much,” she huffed. “The least you could do is carry me the rest of⁠—”

“You’re lucky I love you,” I said without thinking.

She let out a soft laugh. “There they are,” she murmured, pointing toward the farthest booth by the window.

Tiffany and Jamal were already settled in, a red plastic basket of fries between them, and four tall milkshakes with whipped cream and a cherry on top sitting untouched.