"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" The sound came from in front of Emily, who beamed at the melodic voice coming from the girl standing not two feet away from the counter.

"Hey, Ali. What brings you here?" she questioned, looking up from the cash register at the twinkling blue eyes of the girl in front of her. Ali was wearing her uniform—black pencil skirt, blazer, and a colorful necklace. Emily held on to the idea that she was the only person in the store who could really pull off the weird business-casual thing they had going on. It looked good on her. Well, everything looked good on Alison.

"I'm on break, and so are you as of," she glanced at her watch, "two minutes ago. So, we're going to Buffalo Wild Wings because I'm hungry and you love me," she finished, flashing a puppy dog look that she knew her coworker couldn't resist.

Emily shook her head, blushing slightly at the use of the L word. She could never say no to Alison, even if she wanted to. The hold the blonde had on her was astounding.

"Fine, but you're paying," she surrendered, standing up. Ali squealed, hooking arms with Emily and dragging her off down the mall. Emily knew she would end up paying anyway, but she tried to hold onto as much of her dignity as she could, if she wouldn't do anything at the drop of a hat for her crush.

"Hey Em. Look," Ali prompted Emily.

"What?" Emily mumbled, engrossed in the menu.

"No, Em, look," the blonde girl insisted. Finally Emily glanced up—only to crack up laughing.

Alison had a bright yellow and orange paper crown on her head that read "WING MAN" across the front in a large, white font. Emily knew the restaurant provided these hats but it looked absurd on Ali. She was always so immaculate—beauty and grace seemed to just flow from head to toe on her. But when Emily saw a giant, lopsided hat on her head, especially one with such a goofy phrase on it, Emily couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it out. I'm hilarious. Let me put yours on," Ali reached over to grab the crown labeled "WING NUT" and Emily bowed her head to let her place it on top. After making sure it would stay on, Ali slowly let her hands fall down the sides of Emily's face and arms to lightly grab her hands, which were resting on the table between the pair.

"You look good." She commented. Emily rolled her eyes, blushing cherry red at the soft touch.

"I look like a dork," she mumbled, but Ali smirked.

"A very cute dork," the blonde corrected, patting her hand. "So," she changed the subject, "what are you getting?"

"Probably this pepperoni five-cheese-flatbread thing. I've had it before. You?"

"Hmm," Ali thought out loud, "I'm gonna go with the usual wings. Mild, so we can share—you like mild, right?" Emily nodded. "Good. Then you better not be surprised when I steal some of that flatbread pizza. It looks good."

Emily opened her mouth to say something, but the waiter came before she could speak. HELLO, MY NAME IS greg, his nametag read in a messy scrawl. Emily thought he looked like a Greg, as he took their orders awkwardly.

"How's bed and bath these days?" Emily asked, making small talk.

"Oh, you know; beds, baths, the usual," Ali said, quirking her lips up into a side smile. Emily adored that smile, secretly relishing in the fact that she seemed to be the only person on the receiving end of it. Caught up in her thoughts, she didn't realize that Ali was still talking.

"—would be nicer if you worked in my section, but you know. Can't complain about seeing that face from afar every day," she finished. The tanned girl felt butterflies bubble up in her stomach. As confident that she was that her crush remained completely oblivious to her affections, sometimes Emily wondered if maybe, just maybe, Ali felt the same way.

"I could say the same thing about you. You know—," once again she was cut off by the waiter. She very nearly glared at the boy—tall, gangly, and freckle-faced, he couldn't have been over the age of seventeen. The grumbling in her belly won out, however, and she instead took a bite of her dinner. The two ate in silence for a bit, grabbing bites of each other's meals before starting up another conversation.

One of their preferred pastimes was people watching. Alison, who was majoring in journalism, was an avid storyteller. Emily, on the other hand, just thought it was fun, not to mention how much she enjoyed the sparkle in Alison's eyes as she came up with outlandish tales about the various people who wandered the mall.

"Okay, get this—that guy over there, in the gabardine suit? Spy."

"Spy?" Emily questioned her reasoning. Ali nodded, expanding on her story.

"An American spy, but he's watching that woman over there. Tall, posh, in a Burberry jacket. She's British. They're enemies, but secretly lovers, both acting as double agents on the secret societies they're in. They're planning to run away together and live out their days in Paris," she resolved.

If there's one thing Alison never failed to do it was surprise Emily. Sometimes she thought her coworker would be better off as an author as opposed to a journalist, but Alison maintained that she wanted to find the truth and write about it. Emily admired her passion for the pen. In fact, it reminded her of her own love for swimming.

"Be careful, his bowtie might actually be a camera. Maybe they're watching us—commit any crimes lately?" she asked.

Alison winked, "If I told you I'd have to kill you," and laughed. "What do you think of Paris, Emily? Ever been?"

"No, never. I'd like to go though. I hear it's beautiful, and I've seen a lot of pictures. With my student loans I'll be lucky if I ever end up on a vacation to the Jersey shore," she groaned.

"I'll take you, one day, when I'm a famous journalist and you're a world champion swimmer," Ali decided, "you and me in sweet Paris. How does that sound?"

"I think I'd like that. How long would we go for?"

"Forever. How else would I see how good you look on top of the Eiffel tower?" Ali said, almost flirtatiously, as she sipped her glass of cherry coke. Emily couldn't hold her grin in at that. Alison compliments were the best compliments.

Alison signaled for the check, which their fumbling waiter took a full two minutes to get to them. As the Greg returned to the table, Emily gestured to herself, "give me the check, I'm paying-," only to be interrupted by Ali.

"No, I'm paying. I told you I'd pay!" Ali fought playfully, but both girls knew she would admit defeat eventually.

"Yeah, not gonna happen. Kid, hand it over," she tried again. The poor boy looked terrified—he probably wasn't used to this. Then again, most people weren't used to their banter.

"No way. I dragged you here. Em, come on," she dragged out the last syllable. Emily rolled her eyes, raising an eyebrow at the waiter. Call her old fashioned, but the tanned girl was raised a gentlewoman.

"As if. I've got it. You can pay next time," she reasoned, even though she knew that wouldn't happen either.

Alison crossed her arms and pouted, but Emily could see she was holding back a smile.

The acne-riddled boy shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably before he finally handed the check to Emily and stuttered, "Uh, enjoy your date, I guess," before he ambled away.

"Oh, no, we're not-," Emily interjected, but the boy had already walked away.

"Is the idea of a date with me that bad? I'm hurt." Ali feigned offense.

Emily immediately shook her head, "No, of course not. I only meant, uh," she panicked, but Alison laughed, dissipating any tension.

"I'm messing with you. Come on, we have to get back to work. Thanks for the lovely date," Ali teased, winking and emphasizing the last word before waltzing to the door. She tossed her hair over one shoulder and looked back at Emily expectantly. "Coming?" she asked.

Emily jumped out of her frozen state and ran after Ali, holding the door open for her. "After you, Al."

The two girls walked arm in arm towards their workplace, chatting and giggling the whole way.

Maybe Spencer isn't always wrong, Emily's lips quirked up at the thought, this could work out.