here i am, just as strange as you.

Okay, well, judging by the disaster currently unfolding behind the counter, anything she was expecting had already sailed straight out the window, arms flailing, screaming for help. But for argument’s sake, let’s say she expected a normal morning. Mama Ivy’d be up at the church by the time the bakery opened, morning rush would hit hard around seven and keep her elbow-deep in flour and small talk until about ten-thirty. Then it’d be lunch prep—swapping cinnamon buns and hand pies for something heartier, tomato tarts and biscuit sandwiches. Mama would roll back in right before noon, purse swinging, still in her Sunday heels even on a Tuesday, ready to take over the register and patch the fractures with more than the Band-Aids Misty slapped on every leaking crack.

By three, they’d both be wiped. Misty would be dreaming of cold beer and porch lights, and if the good Lord was feelin’ generous, maybe a call from Wendy—though those were fewer and farther between these days. If not, it’d be leftovers for dinner, her feet in a bucket of Epsom salt, and tomorrow waiting on the other side of sleep.

Disasters? Sure. They came with the job. A burned quiche here, a supplier no-call-no-show there. It was all part of the rhythm. A clumsy sort of chaos she’d learned to manage over the years, somehow always landing on the right note by the time the doors locked.

But this? This was not the kind of disruption she was prepared for. Because there, standing in her bakery, a ghost from a sweeter life, was Tallulah Goddamn Wolfe.

The bowl nearly slips straight through her hands if it wasn’t for Tully’s fingers catching it mid-air like she’d been born for this exact moment. And if it had shattered on the tile, Misty wouldn’t have heard a thing over the thunder of her heart in her ears and the sudden rush of blood that made her feel she’d spun around too fast.

Lord help her, there was no force on this earth strong enough to keep Misty Apple from hugging the soul out of a long-lost friend.

She throws her arms around Tully like the past thirty-something years were a bad joke the universe had played on them both, burying her face in her shoulder and laughing—a wet, shocked, breathless laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep, somewhere she hadn’t touched in years.

“You,” Misty chokes out, pulling back just enough to see her again, dark eyes glassy, mouth curled into something between a grin and a sob. “You no-good, smoke-slingin', memory-hauntin', broke-my-heart-and-left-me-for-dead Wolfe.” She sniffles and wipes her cheek with the back of her flour-dusted wrist. “I oughta swat you with this spoon and then lock you in my pantry so you never go disappearin’ again. You got a lotta nerve, woman, struttin’ in here like you didn’t fall off the face of the earth somewhere around nineteen-ninety-four.”

She lingers for a moment, thumb brushing across Tully’s cheek, a part of her trying to prove this wasn’t some heatstroke-induced hallucination. “You wanna hold a bowl? Lord, I’ll give you every bowl in this kitchen. But you’re gonna work for that hug, ‘cause you don’t get to vanish on me for some thirty years and come back lookin’ good.”

tully was sorry for the way their friendship ended. there was no fight or words said out of anger. in fact, a week before her father had gone missing, they had snuck out of a party for a brief moment. two friends on the cusp of maturity, talking about the dreams they had and words of encouragement being shared. sealing it off with a vow to stick by each other no matter how messy life could get.

a week later and tully’s telling her friend she can keep the cotton candy lipsmacker in exchange for a shirt misty had once let her borrow that was never returned. sending the farewell off with another vow in place of the first one. this time, it was all about how tully would call her every week so she could get the latest gossip about a town she didn’t even want to leave.

a promise tully broke because it was easier for someone to drown when there was no one there to pull them out. she can’t remember what she did with the shirt and that was the worse part about the whole situation. life’s funny like that.

“michelle apple!” tully puts a hand on her chest like she’d just heard the woman speaking tongues, gasping in a sarcastic manner as if they hadn’t spent almost thirty years apart. “don’t make me get on the phone with mama ivy and tell her you’re callin’ a guest no good.” a giggle rolls off tully’s tongue before she can finish. “now, i won’t lie to you and say i’m not in need of a swattin’ but you lock me in that pantry and you’ll be wishin’ you didn’t. ‘cause i’ll be fuller than a tick on a hound dog.” she’s cheesing like a kid in a candy store with a fresh ten dollar bill. with only the heavens knowing how much she missed this.

the brief moment misty has her thumb on her cheek feels more healing than any therapy session tully’s had. flour leaves behind an imprint of misty’s finger on tully’s face and tully’s debating if she’ll just keep it there forever. “i’ll work as hard as you need me too. kneading, mixing, shaping, and egg cracking but we both know nothin’ good comes from me getting behind a stove.” an absolute tease because she would bake a whole pie by herself if it meant getting to hug misty again.

tully goes on her search for the sugar, taking in all that misty has done for herself and her bakery in between. she couldn’t have been more proud of the woman misty had become and she wasn’t sure misty would feel the same once she told her what she’d been up to. a whole lot of nothing and an endless list of jobs and towns she didn’t make the cut for. getting the sugar was the easy part of misty’s request.

“an order of pure cane sugar for the misses!” tully comes shouting and she’s thrown on an apron too. she places the sugar in misty’s hands before talking about her whereabouts. deciding she’ll keep it simple and light hearted. “so you want to know where i’ve been hiding? the truth is i’ve been everywhere from california to vermont… nothing’s ever felt quite like home the way bleeding hearts did.” tully replies, grabbing a nearby apple and taking a bite to distract herself from what misty would think

At the mention of the Volkswagen, he snaps his fingers,"That's yours? Seen it earlier, it's a sweet ride. A buddy of mine used to have one of ‘em Dodge vans. I've thought about getting one for myself but haulin’ stuff around with a truck is way easier. Wouldn’t get much use outta one...” words trail off as he watches the bold woman with the bolder hair help herself to the cheer wine float. Growing up with a younger sibling meant snacks and other goodies were never safe from being swiped and he was able to take Tilly's disregard in stride. "Osvaldo. Oz if you're in a hurry," he returns the introduction, setting the drink down for now, "So did your van break down on ya while visitin' or are ya settlin' back in the springs?"

“a number three, huh? the peppers are a bold choice but i gotta admit… this burger is finer than a frog’s hair split four ways.” a cackle escaping from tully. she throws her burger doused hand up towards osvaldo, coming in for a high five. he deserved one for his incredible taste. “ah, yeah. restaurants hate being out done by the customers.” tully takes another bite from her burger, doesn’t even give it a chance to go down her throat before she decides to continue on with her rant. “one time, i paired a shrimp taco from del taco with a… what was it?” she frowns, staring down at her burger before her eyes meet oz’s again. snapping her finger when the answer comes to mind. “a roasted plantain, yeah that was it. went back the next day and they said they don’t even sell roasted plantains. the madness, i tell ya.” she shakes her head, del taco could have easily added roasted plantains to the menu. anyways, that’s what tully’s concluded.

“you think so? i won that beater at one of those auctions for, uh, seized property. costed an arm and leg but drove off in that thing feeling like i’d won the lottery.” she grins, taking another mouthful of the food osvaldo shared with her. tully hadn’t known him for too long but he had a way of making her feel comfortable. and tully found herself talking up a tornado to the man who had simply decided to split his meal. she wouldn’t be surprised if he was already regretting his offer but tully didn’t mind it as she continued. “is your friend selling the dodge? kinda thinking little winnie has outrun her course. got over a couple hundred thousand miles on her. she’s a trooper, y’know.” tully gets a glimpse of the van who’s tires are worn and blue paint rusted to the core. then she’s checking out osvaldo’s truck. red and shiny despite it’s age and she’s bubbling up with a short lived laughter. “you made the right choice. i think you’ve got a winner in the silverado. a real beauty she is.”

tully’s practically made herself at home with osvaldo at this point, kicking her feet up onto the free chair closest to her. hands behind her head as she finishes up her burger. feeling more well fed than she had in weeks. the man beside her would never know this but he’d brought her to the conclusion that she made the right choice coming back to bleeding hearts springs. disregarding her hunt for swan lake’s cryptid. his kindness was a rare occurrence she rarely came into contact with on the high roads. “osvaldo. i like it. rolls off the tongue with ease.” tully’s lighting up one of her last pall malls, the perfect ending to a perfect meal. offering her lucky one to her new companion, a present wrapped in gratitude. “and oh, me? i’m settlin’ back into bleeding hearts. hadn’t been here since the 90s. not much has changed though. what about you, oz? i’d like to know everything about the man of the hour.”

One raucous pat to her shoulder, and another warbling laugh is leaking out as her back straightens. She knows about the Old King. Lydia’s seen some new faces, more recently than ever, but it’s unusual for anyone who isn’t local to care about this sort of thing. Anyone moving here is inevitably coming from somewhere bigger, more chaotic— which means they’re probably seeking the peace of what this quiet, sprawling land has to offer. Not immediately investing in the lore of the lake. So that means this lady’s done her dang research, or she’s someone this town hasn’t seen long enough for Lydia not to remember her. Either way—

“You ain’t pullin’ my leg, are ya?” She huffs softly, though the disbelief in her voice in no way matches the bashful enthusiasm written all over her face. “Him n’ I’ve been tryin’ to get'im for years. I’ve been workin’ on this fancy bait with Doc, but so far all it’s good for’s catchin’ minnows…” She’s looking away only to rifle through the notebook, tugging at her lower lip, and when she spins it around to face the other, she’s nearly vibrating with anticipation. The drawing on the page is, for lack of a better word, dinky. The monstrous, gar-like creature’s face is far more dopey than fearsome, each tiny scale individually shaded, and in the corner of the page, there’s a misshapen moon with a misshapen face, illuminated with white crayon.

The partner question goes unanswered. She’d never say no even if she wanted to, that much is clear. Lydia’s now studying her with a fresh, intense gaze as the woman assesses the picture, releasing her lip from the clutches of her teeth. “Who are you?” She finally asks, wonderstruck.

"i ain't pulling your leg, yankin' your chain, or bustin' your chops. the only reason i'm back in town is because of that son of a gun." tully's eyelids are fluttering towards lydia like she was falling in love. falling in love with someone just as crazy and overcome by the same delusions. it didn't matter though, lydia knew about this unproven myth. not only did she know, lydia believed and for the first time since tully entered womanhood, she felt seen and heard. a warmth creeping into her heart but she was unsure if she deserved a friend akin to lydia.

“ah, a bait? that's one thing, uh, i've been struggling to figure out. seems like old king has a craving for one thing only though… if you catch my drift. you're gonna have to introduce me to this doc fella.” tully notes, unaware doc was an old friend of hers named wes. she’d been too caught up with her own endeavors to reach out to most of the people of from her past. the recent knowledge of the old king had taken a grip on tully. fevered with the same obsession that had taken her father decades before this encounter with lydia.

she'd been spending restless nights, tossing and turning before finding herself back at the corkboard which took up most of the space in her room at birchwood inn. rereading the same news articles about sightings of the damned creature and a couple reports regarding missing people who had last been seen at swan lake. all chalked up to large bodied catfish and people who hadn't taken the proper safety procedures.

this could explain why lydia's thoughtfully ( yet poorly ) drawn out portrait of the old king looked eerily similar to the same fuzzy images that she found hidden within the rest of her dad's research. mouth stretched out to her neck as she let out a gasp that probably swallowed both of them whole. snatching up lydia's drawings, she traces the hideous monster's features with the tip of her finger over and over again. trying to brand the legend who a taken her father into her mind. completely perplexed by lydia's creation... tully had almost missed her question.

More than anything, though, the Stag is an ideal place for some easy town gossip. Locals three shots deep, after a long day tending the fields or caring for livestock? Bone tired and fueled by booze, they are bound to drop an interesting tidbit or two about what their neighbors have been up to, or some strange things they've heard go bump in the night.

Unfortunately, tonight is a bit slow on that front. Even Greg hasn't come out to knock back his typical Corona—she knows why, of course; he's getting up to some late-night shenanigans with Q. So the dance floor is dead, her drink is down to the last dregs, and she's considering heading back home with her tail between her legs. That's when a stranger plops down next to her—big mop of curly hair, cool clothes matched by an equally cool demeanor—and immediately launches into an introduction about Swan Lake, a documentary, and cryptids.

She picked the right person to ask.

"I'm always in the mood for questions." A true summation of Patty Finch. She loves asking and receiving in equal measure—anything that can reveal an interesting new discovery is game. But before readily handing out any information, she needs to suss out this woman's intentions. (From the meager $5 offer pulled from a pile of loose trash, Patty suspects this is probably an innocent request, but better safe than sorry.)

“ah, you like answering questions, huh? well, i’d gamble you’re the sharpest tool in the shed.” tully beams, patty had a head on her shoulder that screamed unwavering. a trait tully desperately desired for herself. she’d probably be a lot farther in life if she was but tully was fully aware nobody had it all. and based purely off her first impression, she was already assuming… what she lacked patty didn’t and she was revelling in this discovery.

until patty’s introducing herself and wanting to ask questions of her own. something tully’s not exactly jumping for joy about. as talkative as she can be, she prefers to keep most of her truths to herself. dancing around the unimportant questions and downright bluffing when it came to inquiries of serious matters. this wasn’t because she thought her responses weren’t important enough. or now that she thinks about it, that might be exactly what her problem was. much as tully wanted to, she couldn’t go spoiling the milk yet.

“you can call me tully, last name’s, uh, wolfe… and erm, i’m guessin’ you’re not gonna take no as an answer so hit me with your best shot.” the words fall out of her mouth in a fight and tully’s nibbling on her pinky nail, feigning with regret. being in the hot seat was not the way she wanted to spend her night. she was starting to think she should have skipped the interviewing part and dove right into swan lake, using herself as her own bait.

“you aren’t some kinda undercover or somethin’? cause i’m not doing anything illegal alright… just needin’ some first hand accounts to add to my, eh, portfolio is all.” tully pauses, she’s fighting an internal battle to put her trust into patty or give into her skepticism. the latter being her usual route but in order to get her hands on swan lake’s beast, she’d have to step out of her comfort zone eventually. “kidding, kidding.” tully fabricates, lips curving upwards in an exaggerated expression to further ice the lie on her cake.

“just blowin’ smoke up your ass is all but i’m done playing games, alright. you can bet your bottom dollar on that. so go on, ask away.”

She’s slouched forward, unceremoniously stuffing an off-brand Cheeto puff into her gob when Tully approaches, brows lifting beneath her bangs and wide eyes shining like stars the second she begins speaking. “A documentary?” She repeats, mouth full, chewing slow and thoughtfully as she assesses the stranger in front of her, still gripping tightly onto her pencil. Her hair is big like mine, she thinks, sunburned cheeks rounding with a crooked smile. She knows absolutely nothing of that sort of business, but one thing she does know about is Swan Lake.

One look down to the scattered purse contents brings forth a wave of excitement burgeoned by trepidation, dusting her orange-tipped fingers off on her dated floral button-down before her hands are moving to smooth out the fiver, before sliding it back over with a quick shake of her head. “I— I couldn't take your money, miss,” she says, swallowing and sliding her elbows forward against the tabletop.

tully only needed one look at lydia before promptly seeing herself. albeit, slightly weirder and a tad more off-putting. regardless, she couldn’t not be in awe. it was like looking at a younger version of herself from a different dimension. one who’d somehow managed to tug at tully’s heart the way no one else had in only a matter of seconds. “yeah, just a documentary. definitely not something else or an investigation of uh any sort.” tully replies, matter of factly.

scooting herself closer to the other woman after she’s told the money is hers again. a hand reaching out to stuff abe back where he came from. hues peaking down at the elaborate illustrations of times long gone and tully’s fully emersed. what a woman this lady is. she gives the lady an impressed look, pointing at the art with teeth on full show as she smiles widely. “you’ve got one hell of a talent, y’know?” tully remarks, grabbing one of the cheeto puffs and popping it right into her mouth. the cheesy powder much needed with the conversation they’re about to embark on.

“wait a damn minute, you know about the old king?” an eyebrow raises, kissing her bangs that are poorly cut and still in need of a trim. tully’s hand meets lydia’s shoulder in a triumphant pat. with nothing but admiration for a short-lived stranger. a friendship bonding before they’d even had the proper introductions. “between the two of us, there’s no documentary.” tully cackles, shaking her head at the thought of her filming an actual documentary. “i, uh, i’m here to catch that sly fucker with my own bare hands.” she pauses, looking at lydia with intrigue. a spark of trust behind her hues as she leans in closer.

A husky voice calling to Frankie forces his nose out from his book, a plastic wrapped copy of The Vampire Knitting Club, watery blue eyes blinking once, twice. Not a familiar mop of hair, but he smiles nonetheless, lest his momma finds out he was less than kind to someone. He's about to open his mouth, but he's stopped, quick...and he glances down to the the five dollar bill in question, slid over in comical fashion. Knitting vampires are put on hold, the glint of his mermaid bookmark reflecting against the dull lights of the bar before he shuts the book with a hum.

Now, this might be kismet. Not talking about any local cryptids, no, but that five dollar bill -- after a lost bet involving a banana peel and a bruised ego, he owes Freddie an Abe Lincoln. So, Frankie, slides that bill closer to him, the paper touching the condensation puddle from his ice cold Shirley Temple. "Cryptids?" He repeats, elbows on the all too sticky counter. "I don't know if it's really what you're lookin' for, but my Mama used to tell me and my siblin's a crazy story about Swan Lake." He pauses, picking up his Shirley Temple and taking a quick sip. Refreshing and worth the ridicule of ordering it.

"You wanna hear it?"

tully wasn’t so sure if she’d get what she was looking for with a guy who had ordered a shirley temple. not in the slightest. in fact, what drew her in was the plastic covered book he was hidden behind. titled the knitting vampire’s or something a long those lines. a book she was already considering adding to her outdated list she still hadn’t gotten around too. yeah, that was it. a man who found comfort in a book about vampires in a knitting club was exactly the kind of man worth questioning.

“hm, a shirley temple. classy drink of choice. hey, uh, you wanna know what they say about people who order shirley’s?” tully pauses, letting her question build up before hitting the punch line she was still searching for. “they know how to hide a dead body.” that wasn’t her finest joke and was only met by a hesitant laughter from herself. a sigh of relief marking the end of her banter when he pulls the money towards him. she’s all ears and a lit-up pall mall after that.

“your mama has stories, huh. this will be good. yeah, real good. moms always have the best stories.” she takes a drag of her cigarette, tapping the edge of her stool rapidly with her foot on the topic of moms. she should really give hers a call but that was for another time. tully’s anticipation was more important while she waited to hear about this story. and she had stories of her own regarding swan lake. the one about her missing father and the ones she found in the little box filled with his research about swan lake’s monster. maybe she’s finally found someone worthy enough to tell.

“i definitely wanna hear it… after i get your name. i’m, uh, tallulah but you can call me tully. wait, ya’ mind if i get this on recording? for, ah, y’know… eh… documentary purposes.” ensues tully searching her carhartt jacket for a camcorder she frequently misplaces. when she finally finds it, she taps the thing about a hundred times before the camcorder realizes it’s job. a shiny red light blaring right at the guy beside her who had yet to give the okay.

If there was one thing Ms. Misty Apple knew about mornings, it was that they never went according to plan. Not that she was what you’d call meticulous — Lord no, that wasn’t her style — but she did like to tell herself she was a woman with a system. Four a.m. start for the morning prep, doors open at seven sharp, afternoon prep by ten. It was a rhythm she’d been keeping time with for more years than she cared to count. A person would think, by now, she’d stop being surprised when something went sideways.

And yet, here they were.

The merengue — her beautiful, delicate, perfectly whipped, had-such-potential merengue — had the audacity to collapse in her oven. Betrayal of the highest order. Did it stop to consider her feelings? Her schedule? The tiny, flickering hope she might get through one morning without a crisis? It did not.

But Misty Apple isn't a quitter. She's a fixer. A scrappy, flour-dusted, sleep-deprived problem solver.

What she needs is another set of hands.

tully was strolling around town, enjoying a summer day that wasn’t too humid or hot for her to get stuck inside, murmuring to herself about climate change. she’s puffing on a cigarette that’s already reached the filter like it’s a lifeline to the other world. this is when she finds herself right in front of the happy apple.

‘happy’ and ‘apple’ lead her to a trail of memories brimming with laughter and midnight dances fueled by the warmth of beer provided by parents who didn’t know it had been taken. memories tully pushed out of her mind the way she’d learned to push everyone out these days. her heart aches with a question she was dying to know. could this place be misty apple’s?

misty apple was a name that hadn’t left tully’s lips since she’d called to say goodbye twenty eight years ago. yet, she was someone who tully frequently thought about when she saw fields of lavender or tasted anything sweeter than sour lemons. and it was the first name blurted out when she pushed herself through the bakery’s doors, immediately enveloped by the scent of fresh baked goods and a sugared melancholy one only felt when meeting with an old friend.

Haerin has done so much for Minjun, from helping him with starting up happymugs inc to moving to Bleeding Springs-- he owes his younger sister so much. Which brings him to this: starting a garden in their backyard. During their move, Haerin made it her goal to start a garden and later become a farmer. Like any proper older brother, Minjun supported her desires and wishes. He got her books, found videos, and even got all the materials. It just... never happened because of how busy Haerin became with her job.

It's okay, oppa, I'll get to it when my schedule opens up. That's what she told him, three weeks ago. And from the heavy eye bags and Haerin sitting at her work laptop 'till late at night... Minjun figured that his younger sister won't be able to start the garden anytime soon.

And that brought him to the bulletin board and requesting from some help. It's the perfect opportunity to meet others and get some help with the garden. After all, the people of Bleeding Springs love to talk and help their neighbors.

"Thank you for taking up my offer," Minjun says, leading the other around the house and to the Kim's backyard. "I don't know much about gardening, just the stuff that I've read in books and seen on Tiktok. So, I'm glad to get some help today."

“no need to thank me, kid. it’s the least i can do. your bulletin, ah, touched me, truly. helping your sister with her dream? commendable. i have to say.” tully meant that, growing up an only child was lonely. seeing the way minjun looked out for his sister made her heart leap. she reaches her hand out to shake his before following him to the kim’s backyard. she pulls the dingy cap over her mane further down to block the sun out and take in the full view. a sense of pride washing over her knowing she’s getting to help out someone who was a part of the community she’d spent half her life missing.

“it’s intimidating at first, uh, but i find taking small steps makes it more digestible. got any ideas for a layout? that’d be the first thing i’d think about. then we can start off by leveling the area.” tully was more than happy to give minjun her insight. with her past experience in landscaping, a job she frequently took on. she had some wisdom when it came to gardening and there was a lot of potential for a perfect garden in this backyard. by now, tully could vividly picture an assortment of plants in such a way that they were already there.

“what are you wanting in your garden. fruits? veggies? flowers? the whole shabang.” she chuckles at the word shabang. a favorite word of hers she has to repeat. “or just half the shabang?” tully let’s out a laugh similar to the sound of an old engine turning over. bending forward and holding onto her knees for support while the howling encompasses her. solely gaining composure after remembering the task at hand. “oh, and uh, i did bring a can of raid for the spiders. unless, you don’t believe in murdering innocent arachnids.” tully was fine with either choice. spiders were afraid of humans like humans were afraid of spiders and she never was one to dust off a cobweb anyways. she fetches the can out of her jacket, tossing it to minjun. “that’s, ah, all i brought though… and i took it off the maid’s cart at birchwood inn… so i’ll need the can back. empty or not.”

Osvaldo parked the three tone silverado, content to finally be home. Or in this case , Granny’s. The first order of business after returning to town should’ve been to stop by the post office to pick up mail that has undoubtedly piled up from the last couple of weeks. Or maybe use the landline at his house to call his cellphone company for a replacement, his previous one having been lost ( or stolen? ) somewhere between here and Texas. But he had pushed through the last leg of the road trip with nothing more than alien jerky and a can of redbull to hold him over and dammit if everything else couldn’t wait until he got his burger and float.

He exited the truck, stretching his limbs this way and that. He could’ve spared himself the muscle stiffness that resulted from being seated for hours on the road with a simple plane ride. Would’ve been faster too. He just preferred to drive. Not like he was afraid of flying or anything. After a satisfying stretch and pop of the spine, he made his way inside the diner to place his order to-go.

The tailgate of his truck swung down, hinges creaking sharply as he prepared to enjoy his meal outdoors. Taking a seat, he began unpacking the food, dropping a couple of fries onto the dirt below. He was immediately reminded of an old superstition he heard years ago, something about how when you accidentally drop food it meant someone in the vicinity craved it first. “A quien se le antojó?” He glanced around for the culprit, spotting the other as they walked by, “You.” The accusatory glare was short lived as he cracked a smile and dug into his burger, “It’s fine. Hey, I got an extra if you wanna join me.” He motioned at the bag with his elbow, “Cheerwine float's mine though.”

tully was hungry, it was true. being back in town on an impulsive whim and bad with finances meant she was living off 30 cent ramen and free ketchup packets from granny’s. a valuable lesson tully had learned on her adventures was how ketchup didn’t only go on top of burgers or a sauce to dip a fry in. no, not at all. ketchup mixed with enough water could transform into tomato soup and tully was already salivating at the thought of the delicacy as she hopped out of her van. sunglasses meant to block the sun were drooping below her eyes and nevertheless, she hadn’t noticed the man about to enjoy his meal. not until his fries found their home in the dirt, a sweet melody hypnotizing tully immediately. bringing her to a complete stop.

“ah, this ain’t some kind of social experiment to see what people do when offered food from strangers?” tully questions, she didn’t care if it was a social experiment though. plops herself right next to the man. grabbing the extra burger and taking a large bite from the real delicacy. her eyes rolling to the back of her head when the grease meets taste buds. she could have planted a kiss on the kind stranger’s forehead right then and there but tully didn’t kiss on the first date. “generosity killed the cat or… uh, whatever the saying is.” muffled voice and mouth still full, she takes a big gulp before beaming widely at the man.

“hey, you’ve gotta tell me your order… and your name but first, first, the order. is it uh number 5? i’ve been eyeing that all week.” tully’s blabbering on, hadn’t even said a thank you yet and she wouldn’t. “i’m assuming the silverado’s yours? heard they’re great for towing, i’m gonna need your number. the van’s always shitting out on me. ‘67 volkswagen though.” she takes another large bite of her burger, wiping the grease on the shirt she wore yesterday before taking a slurp from the one item osvaldo stated was his. the cheerwine float. a drink so nostalgic it almost brings tully to tears. her father would always buy her one after work, she’d almost forgotten about it until now. instead, she nods her head yes after the sip goes down. letting him know he’s got great taste and hands him back his drink without a second thought about her prior actions. “god, i missed granny’s, y’know? the name’s tully by the way.”