"Hm?"
Ryder parted her lips slightly, tilting her head with a bright and curious expression as she looked at Lance. Her lively, beautiful eyes began to glimmer with an understated, jasmine-like radiance—subtle but intoxicating, a quiet kind of beauty.
Then—
Her lips curved into a wide smile. She couldn't hold back her laughter. "Twelve hundred?"
"Ha, hahahaha."
The more she thought about it, the funnier it became. Her refined features bloomed into a dazzling grin, and her eyes returned to studying Lance's own, probing and playful.
"So… have you met one now?"
Lance didn't hesitate. He nodded softly. "Of course."
No more words followed. Lance simply gazed quietly into her eyes.
Ryder froze.
She could see that Lance was a little drunk—his gaze unfocused, hazy—but his deep, jet-black eyes still shimmered, filled with soft amusement. So calm, so direct.
Before she realized it, her cheeks flushed.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Reflexively, Ryder looked away.
But as soon as she dropped her gaze, she regretted it. Then she heard a low voice by her ear.
"My name is Lance. May I ask your name?"
Ryder lifted her eyes again and found Lance still looking at her. But there was nothing threatening in his gaze. There was a haze of wine and warmth, relaxed features and an easy smile, like sunlight falling on a quiet spring.
"Talia," Ryder replied.
Lance's eyebrows lifted. "Wow, that's a unique name."
Ryder shrugged. "My father gave it to me."
"Were your parents hippies?" Lance asked curiously.
Ryder looked confused.
Lance explained, "They always give their kids names from nature—like River, Leaf, Rain. It's like they're children of the Earth."
Ryder laughed. "No, they weren't. But I get what you mean. At school, names like ours always got teased."
"That's not right," Lance said with a small shake of his head. "It's a beautiful name. You should've stood up and told those kids who treated 'Twilight' like the baby name bible that you pity their mediocrity."
Ha.
Ryder burst out laughing—then quickly tried to stifle it. She glanced sideways at Lance. "You're drunk."
Lance didn't deny it. He rubbed his warm temples. "Yeah… trying to take the edge off."
Ryder looked over her shoulder—checking where the night manager was—then lowered her voice. "Wait a sec."
She disappeared for a moment, then returned holding two popsicles.
She handed one to Lance, then quickly unwrapped the other and began crunching away. "I've never drunk alcohol, so I don't really know what being drunk feels like, but I saw my mom do this once. She said it helped her headache."
Lance looked at the popsicle in his hand and laughed quietly.
He wanted to ask if she was sure this wasn't meant for an ice pack instead of eating it—but seeing her so earnest, he swallowed the question and joined her in biting into it.
Ouch. His head somehow hurt worse.
"Wait—Talia, is this the kind that turns your tongue colors?"
Instead of answering, Ryder stuck out her tongue.
Lance blinked. Her tongue was bright blue.
Ryder giggled. "Makes me feel like I'm from Pandora in Avatar."
Lance raised his yellow popsicle. "So what does this make me?"
"A Minion."
Lance: ...
"Ha! Hahaha!" Ryder laughed freely, not even trying to hold back.
And Lance's smile spread naturally too. "Wanna know something?"
Ryder tilted her head, wide-eyed, listening intently.
"No part of tonight has made me happier than this moment."
Crunching on her popsicle, Ryder asked, "Even happier than winning the Super Bowl?"
That sobered Lance a little. He stared at Ryder in stunned silence.
Ryder shrugged. "Because of the Super Bowl broadcast, our diner made five times the usual profit tonight. Our manager's smile nearly cracked his face."
Lance laughed. "Oh God. I must've looked like such an idiot."
Ryder didn't deny it—just smiled brightly. "So… the victory parties weren't fun?"
Lance thought about it. "Not really. I saw a new world, but… yeah. Not fun."
He didn't explain further—
Alcohol, people, noise. At first novel, but then—just empty. The louder it got, the lonelier he felt. The more crowded, the more alone.
He looked at Ryder. "I must seem like some ungrateful jerk right now."
"I don't think you're a jerk," Ryder said.
Lance paused, staring into her clear eyes, then exaggeratedly said, "Thank you. You saved my night."
Ryder chuckled.
After a pause, she asked—slightly hesitant—"Can I ask you something? Have you ever been depressed?"
Lance's eyes widened. "Yikes. Mood killer alert."
Ryder looked away shyly. "You don't need to say that. I'm just curious."
"Curious about pro athletes' mental health? Or about whether some stranger's ever felt lost in life?" Lance asked.
Ryder thought for a moment. "The second one."
Lance nodded thoughtfully. "I think everyone's gone through that. A little anxiety, a little depression. I'm part of this generation too. I'm not immune."
"Whoa. You just dropped the mood," Ryder smirked.
Ha.
Lance laughed brightly.
Ryder got serious again. "Was it before you got into football?"
"Yeah, before," Lance said. "That's part of why I love sports—because it gives you a goal. A visible, reachable goal. You pour your focus into it, bit by bit, until you break through. It keeps your mind off the chaos."
"In those moments… your mind finally quiets down."
Ryder didn't reply. She just stared quietly and deeply at Lance.
He laughed awkwardly. "Not exactly the kind of conversation you expect with a Super Bowl champion, right?"
Ryder nodded. "Usually they just walk in, lift their chin, and wait for girls to flash them and drag them to the bathroom."
Lance's eyes widened. "Oh God. What kind of diner is this?"
"Haha! Hahaha!" Ryder broke into open laughter again, eyes dancing with mischief.
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Powerstones?
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