AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol stood and examined herself in the mirror. She smoothed her dress down. She admired the fit. She swung her hips, purposefully sending the dress swishing from side-to-side. She couldn't help but smile at the movement of the light fabric. The dress wasn't truly vintage, but it looked vintage. It was the most precious blue A-line dress with small white flowers all over it that Carol had ever seen. It was entirely impractical, and a little bit out of place. It was ridiculous, and it had been the very first dress that Carol had bought herself when her divorce had been final.

Ed would have hated it. He would have said she wasted her money—which she probably had—and he would have said she looked ridiculous—which she probably did.

But she loved it.

Unfortunately, the dress had never been out of the house except for on two different occasions when the Glory Gals had planned retro-themed parties. Carol got the distinct feeling that they tried, from time to time, to plan a retro-themed party simply to give her an excuse to wear her dress since she loved it so much but felt silly slipping into it to simply go and buy groceries.

She had another A-line that was similar. It was white and pink and a little more understated. She'd worn it a time or two, feeling a little more inconspicuous. She loved it, too, but not as much as the blue one.

Carol had expected Daryl to call her to tell her what time to be ready for him to pick her up for dinner—it was Friday night, after all, and she'd known to expect the date—but it had been odd that he'd requested she dress for the meal and that, in particular, she dress in something vintage from the fifties or sixties. She'd pressed him a little for information, but he'd said he didn't want to tell her anything, and she didn't want to press too much.

She was excited, though, simply for the excuse to wear the blue dress with white flowers that made her feel so incredibly feminine that it was almost overwhelming. Carol had just finished touching up her makeup and dabbing on her cologne when she heard the knock at the door—Daryl didn't like using the doorbell because he didn't care for the sound.

Carol scolded herself, internally, when she smiled over nothing more than the sound of a doorbell and practically skipped to the door. She threw it open. Daryl was standing on her porch, smiling at her the moment she stepped out on the porch.

"You look—amazing," he offered.

Carol smiled at him, over her shoulder, as she locked the door and slipped the keys into her purse.

"You look pretty handsome, yourself," she offered. He was wearing jeans and a pastel yellow button-down shirt, his practical uniform for dates. Carol couldn't complain, though, he looked good in the outfit that he clearly found comfortable and reliable, and he must have had a veritable rainbow of shirts in his closet for any occasion. Daryl requested a kiss, and she obliged him, nipping at his lip as she pulled away.

"You feelin' alright?" He teased.

"I'm curious about what's going on," Carol said.

"We're goin' to dinner," Daryl said. "I didn't figure it was a big secret. I been talkin' about it for a while. Gotta eat after work."

Carol laughed to herself. Her face ached already, and it was sure to be a long night, but she was growing accustomed to the sensation of having smiled too much in Daryl's presence. Admittedly, the smiling she did in Daryl's presence had started to bleed into moments of absence, as well. All it took was a text or a certain mention, and Carol caught herself acting like she was a teenager instead of a mature woman.

"You ready?" Daryl asked. He offered Carol an arm and she hooked her arm through his. Until that moment, she hadn't really noticed anything except Daryl. She'd been entirely focused on him. It was only, stepping down off the porch steps, that she realized his truck wasn't parked in her driveway, beside her car, where he'd taken to parking it now, she thought, as a sign that he was feeling a little more like he belonged than before. His truck was also not parked against the curb, where he'd once parked it. Instead, against the curb, there was a cream-colored convertible.

"What's that?" Carol asked.

"This," Daryl said, as they reached the car and he opened the passenger side door for her, "is a 1957 Thunderbird." Carol got in the car when Daryl gestured that she should, and he closed the door when he was satisfied that she was inside. He walked around the front of the car quickly and let himself into the driver's side. "You need help with the buckles?"

"No," Carol said. "I've got it."

Daryl put his own seatbelt on and cranked the car. Carol watched him drive as he pulled away from the curb.

"You can sit back," he said with a laugh. "Relax."

"Where did you get this?" Carol asked. "Is this yours?"

"No…no…it ain't mine," he said. "Belongs to a buddy of mine. It's his baby. Like Cinderella's pumpkin, this baby's due back by midnight. Promised we'd bring it by and pick up my truck when we were comin' back from dinner. Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Carol said. "I just—don't understand."

"I just thought you might like the car," Daryl said. "Thought you might like to ride in it with me…that's all."

Carol sat back in her seat. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rush of the wind.

"I do like riding in it with you," she offered.

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The restaurant was in a town that was about an hour away from Living Springs. It was the most adorable little diner that Carol had ever seen. It had the checkerboard floors, the themed art, the retro booths, and a row of styled bar stools at a long counter. There was a large, garish jukebox in the corner, and every last member of the waitstaff was dressed like they'd come straight out of a fifties themed movie.

It was the stupidest thing in the world to feel so emotional about, but Carol had nearly cried when Daryl had hooked his arm through hers and led her through the door to find a booth that he liked—one that gave them a little privacy.

They ordered burgers and shakes—the specialties there—and Daryl flicked through the tiny booklet on the table that listed all the era's best music that was available on the jukebox.

He looked at Carol out the corner of his eye, blushed red, and laughed to himself.

"What?" He asked. "Why you lookin' at me like that?"

"Because of this," Carol said.

"You like it?" Daryl asked. "Hey—why you look so sad?"

"I'm not sad," Carol said.

"You look like you're gonna cry," Daryl said, abandoning his booklet and sitting up with an expression of panic. Carol quickly plucked a few napkins from the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes, doing her best to catch any stray tears before they had a chance of ruining her makeup entirely.

"It's not that kind of crying," Carol said. "It's not sad crying."

"I'm not too familiar with any other kind," Daryl said. Carol laughed to herself.

"The restaurant, the car…you asked me to wear my dress…why?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"You like it, don't you?"

"I love it!" Carol said.

"Then that's why," Daryl said. "Hell—just—just that. Just because you like it."

"It's too nice," Carol said. "It's too much."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"It's just a burger joint, really," Daryl said. "And the car—hell, Crumb's got about four old cars. He lets people borrow 'em all the time. Proms and weddings…just about anything. Says it's good for 'em to get out and get a little exercise every now and again. He was happy to let us take her out. Please don't cry. Even if you say it's happy—I'm not gonna lie, you can say it's happy, but it just confuses the hell outta me. Like my brain can't handle that."

Carol laughed to herself, and Daryl echoed it.

She stopped, her blood running almost cold, at the words that her brain had offered her to say to him—words that it was far too soon to say. Words that terrified her. But, for just one instant, and in light of everything he'd done and what he'd just said, her brain had thought them perfect.

"It's perfect," she said, settling on that instead. "You're perfect."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Now you're just—givin' me hell."

"No," Carol assured him, shaking her head. "I'm not."

"You know I can't lie," Daryl said. "I mean—I can—but I'm not real good at it, and I don't like it. So, I can't take all the credit for this." He stopped talking long enough to thank the waitress that brought their milkshakes—chocolate for Carol and strawberry for Daryl. As soon as she left, he started speaking again. "I can't take credit for everything. It weren't my idea—at least not all of it. I talked to Andrea. I asked her—you know—what was some things I ought to know about you or…what was some things you liked."

"And she told you this?" Carol asked.

"Not this exactly," Daryl said. "She said you had a real thing for the fifties and sixties, but the fifties in particular. Said you loved the whole aesthetic. She told me you even had a couple dresses and you wear 'em every chance you get to parties and things."

Carol felt her face grow warm.

"She didn't lie to you."

Daryl nodded.

"So, as soon as she told me that, I thought about this place. I stopped here once when I was comin' back from a huntin' trip with Merle. It was just a thing that we pulled in here, but I never forgot it. You know? I thought there was somethin' kinda magical about it. Bein' drawn back in time or something. Anyway—I'm kind of a nerd like that. I like goin' places where you can sort of pretend you're someplace else…or, I guess…sometime else, as the case may be."

"I like that, too," Carol said. "Very much."

"So, when I heard you liked the fifties," Daryl said, starting to pick at the little booklet of songs, "I thought you'd like to come here. I remembered—your dress that she told me about. Thought you might wanna wear it." He smiled at her. "It's a pretty dress, for the record. And you look real pretty. If I was you—I'd wear it more often."

"You like the style?" Carol asked. Daryl nodded.

"Looks good on you."

"You don't think—I look ridiculous?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not at all," he said.

"But it's a little old-fashioned," Carol said. Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe I'm old-fashioned," he offered. "I like it. Besides—I don't know that much about fashion. Personally? I just see—a pretty woman in a pretty dress."

Carol felt her face run warm. Other parts of her, too, woke up and ached in response to Daryl's words. They were simple words, really. They were casually and sincerely offered. And everything, at that moment, in Carol yearned to repay back such a sincere kindness in every way she possibly could.

She was glad that Daryl couldn't read her mind. There would be time, later, to tell him exactly what had flashed through her mind.

"Ed never would've brought me somewhere like this," Carol said. "He would have said—it was ridiculous. That I looked ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous. And the whole thing was just…"

"Ridiculous," Daryl offered. Carol nodded. Daryl mirrored her nod. "But—I'm not Ed. And—I may be wrong, but I don't recall callin' a single thing you ever told me about yourself ridiculous."

"No," Carol said. "You're not like Ed. And—you haven't insulted anything about me. You've been nothing but…wonderful."

"I don't know about all that," Daryl offered. "But—my point is…let's forget about Ed. The way I see it—he don't even exist right now. This ain't his world."

"No?" Carol asked, smiling to herself at Daryl's expression.

He hummed and shook his head. He laughed to himself and flicked absentmindedly through the pages of the little book that gave his fingers something to do.

"No. Because—I don't even know him. All I know is—it's 1957 and…I'm takin' my best girl, Carol, out for a burger and fries."

Carol smiled at him. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Your best girl?" She asked.

"You ain't?" Daryl asked.

"I can't—think of anything else I'd rather be right now," Carol offered. "Tell me—if I'm your best girl, what does that make you?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Can I just be your boyfriend? I'm still kind of likin' that."

Carol slid her hand across the table and wrapped her fingers around Daryl's. He squeezed her fingers in his.

"Of course you can be my boyfriend," Carol said.

Daryl cleared his throat and smirked.

"Gotta be honest," he said. "I'm not entirely innocent in all this. I don't wanna be pushy or anything, but I gotta admit that I'm hoping that there's at least a little sugar in it for me, tonight."

Carol smiled at him.

"I wasn't the one who said no the past two nights we were together," Carol offered.

"I'm—not sayin' no tonight," Daryl said.

"Neither am I."