As Harper stepped outside the cottage, the cool evening air greeted her, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. The sun was sinking behind the horizon, painting the sky in rich shades of purple, orange, and gold. Dusk wrapped the sleepy little town in its tranquil glow, the world softening as it transitioned from day to night.

She scanned the driveway and the quiet street beyond, her brow furrowing when there was no sign of Ivy. “Where’s Ivy?” she asked Kim, who was tidying up some notes near the porch.

“She left a while ago,” Kim replied, not looking up. “Said she wanted to grab a bite to eat before rush hour hit.”

Harper nodded, her concern lingering. There weren’t many options for food in town, and Harper had a strong hunch about where Ivy might have gone. Sliding into her car, she made the short drive to the local diner, a charming relic of the 1950s with its neon sign glowing faintly against the dusky sky.

The diner stood like a beacon against the deepening purple of the evening, its warm orange lights spilling through the windows and onto the pavement outside. Inside, the soft hum of chatter and the occasional clink of silverware created a comforting backdrop. But the lone figure seated in a booth at the far end drew Harper’s attention.

Through the glass, she spotted Ivy. Her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped in defeat as she hunched over a glass sundae dish. The neon lights illuminated the streaks of tears on her cheeks as she shoveled ice cream into her mouth with desperate intensity, pausing only to wipe her face with the back of her hand.

Harper’s heart sank. She parked her car quickly and entered the diner, the bell above the door jingling to announce her arrival.  The scent of sizzling burgers and vanilla milkshakes wafted over her. The neon lights buzzed faintly, casting a warm, inviting glow over the checkerboard floors and red leather booths. It was quiet, save for the soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of dishes.

Harper’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on Ivy. She was tucked into a corner booth, hunched over a sundae glass, her spoon moving mechanically as she shoveled ice cream into her mouth. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and she sniffled, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks.

Harper’s chest tightened. Without hesitation, she strode over and slid into the seat across from Ivy.

Ivy was startled, her spoon clinking against the glass. “H-Harper?” she stammered, her eyes wide and red-rimmed.

“I was passing by and saw you in here,” Harper said smoothly, though her eyes betrayed concern. “Ivy, what’s wrong?”

Ivy hesitated, glancing down at her sundae as if the melting ice cream might offer her an escape. Then she sighed, her voice small. “It’s stupid.”

“Doesn’t look stupid to me.” Harper’s tone was soft but firm. “C’mon, talk to me.”

Ivy toyed with the edge of her napkin, her gaze fixed on the table. “Maze,” she admitted finally, the name coming out like a bitter pill.

“Maze?” Harper echoed, tilting her head.

“She’s... she’s the ‘situationship’ I mentioned,” Ivy confessed, her voice trembling slightly. “And seeing her today... seeing her with you...” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “It just hit me how much more into you she is than she’s ever been into me. I guess I got jealous. And... pathetic.”

Harper’s brows furrowed. “Ivy, hey.” Her voice was gentle but insistent. “You’re not pathetic. And for the record, I’m not into Maze. Like, at all.”

Ivy looked up at her, uncertainty flickering in her teary eyes. “You’re not?”

Harper shook her head firmly. “Not even a little. She’s not my type. Besides, I’ve got my own... situationship, I guess you’d call it. And trust me, she’s nothing like Maze. No competition there.”

That managed to coax a soft laugh out of Ivy, though it quickly faded into a tense silence. Ivy’s fingers twisted the napkin in her lap. “Thanks for saying that,” she murmured. Then, after a pause, she added hesitantly, “But you don’t have to keep acting, you know. Not after work hours.”

Harper blinked, startled. “Acting?”

“I heard the crew,” Ivy said, her words rushed as if she regretted bringing it up. “They said you’re just being professional, keeping up appearances. And that’s fine—it’s part of the job. I get it. But... it’s hard to tell what’s real sometimes.”

Harper leaned back, a mix of confusion and frustration flickering across her face. “Ivy, listen to me,” she said, her voice steady. “This isn’t me acting. I’m not trying to fool you or anyone else. I like spending time with you. I want us to be friends, Ivy. That’s real.”

Ivy searched Harper’s face for a long moment before she finally smiled, a small, genuine smile that softened the tension between them. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I believe you.”

Harper grinned. “Good. Now, how about we order something to eat properly? Ice cream doesn’t count as dinner.”

Ivy laughed, the sound lighter this time. “Fine. Also, can you order fries? I only want to eat a handful, so if you order them, I can steal some.”

Harper raised an eyebrow but decided not to question Ivy’s logic, finding her kind of adorable when she said things like that. She flagged down the waitress, ordering a burger and fries for herself and a grilled cheese for Ivy. As they waited, she launched into a story about her own situation—a girl who had a knack for turning heads and, as it turned out, wasn’t particularly committed.

“So there I was,” Harper said, her tone full of exaggerated disbelief, “trying to impress her by cooking this fancy pasta dish. And she casually drops that she’s got three other people she’s ‘sort of’ seeing. I burned the garlic. Ruined the whole thing.”

Ivy burst into laughter, nearly knocking over her milkshake. “No! What did you do?”

“I played it cool,” Harper said with a mock shrug. “Until she left, I ate the burned pasta like a champ.”

Ivy giggled, her earlier sadness melting away. “That’s so tragic. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Neither do you,” Harper said, her voice softening again.

Ivy’s smile lingered as their food arrived, and the two settled into a companionable rhythm, their conversation flowing easily. The diner, with its jukebox softly playing old rock tunes, felt like a bubble of safety—a place where, for the moment, they could just be themselves.