You slipped into the catering trailer, the hum of the generator outside fading as the door clicked shut behind you. The smell of fresh bread hit first, and you grinned when you spotted the tray of sandwiches stacked neatly under plastic wrap. It wasn’t even noon yet, but your stomach didn’t care about the schedule.

You pulled one free, the crinkle of the wrap loud in the quiet, and balanced it on a flimsy paper plate. At twenty, you were old enough to be here on your own, but young enough that half the crew still gave you the aren’t you supposed to be in class? look when you passed by.

The door creaked again, and you froze mid-bite.

Drew Starkey stepped inside, brushing a hand through his hair as his eyes landed on you. A slow grin tugged at his mouth. “Can’t believe I’m not the only one who wants food this early,” he said, reaching past you for a sandwich of his own.

You swallowed quickly, heat rising to your cheeks. “Well, what can I say? Some of us don’t live off black coffee and protein bars.”

He smirked, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Guess some rules don’t apply to everyone, huh?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, though your heart was doing its own thing. “Apparently not. Lucky me, I get a free pass for being the producer’s kid.”

Drew’s eyes lingered on you, that faint glint of amusement and something softer tucked behind it. “Yeah,” he murmured, like he was testing the word, “lucky.”