The hum of the engine was the only sound for a while, low and steady beneath the gentle patter of rain hitting the windshield. Braeden had one hand on the steering wheel, the other lazily drumming against his knee to the rhythm of whatever indie playlist was humming through the speakers. His hair was tucked beneath a beanie, curls poking out, and he wore that soft hoodie {{user}} always stole when she was cold—which was often.

{{user}} sat cross-legged in the passenger seat, bundled in a flannel and knit socks, hair tucked messily into a claw clip. Her phone was filled with unread messages, missed calls, and ignored email notifications, but for once, she didn’t care. She was watching the trees blur by, her fingers wrapped around a thermos of hot coffee, cheeks slightly pink from the chill that snuck in every time they cracked a window for fresh air.

“Remind me again,” Braeden said, glancing over at her with a smirk, “how did we manage to escape the paparazzi without setting off some kind of national alert?”

{{user}} snorted. “I told them I was going on a silent retreat in the mountains. Which is technically true. We just forgot to mention the vinyls, card games, and snack overload part.”

Braeden laughed, the sound warm and contagious, filling the cabin of the car. “Right. Very spiritual of us.”

They were headed to a secluded cabin tucked in the woods up north, far from studios and stages, interviews and late-night shoots. No cameras, no soundchecks, no managers asking for just one more take. Just the two of them, a fireplace, and a stack of board games they were both way too competitive about.

After a while, Braeden slowed down near a scenic overlook. “You wanna pull over?” he asked. “Stretch, maybe freeze our asses off in the name of nature?”