The scent of roasting garlic and rosemary filled the hallway of Maya and Liam’s Chicago apartment. At the stove, Maya leaned over the cast-iron skillet, searing chicken thighs while simultaneously nudging a stray lock of dark hair out of her eyes with her shoulder.

"Did you chill the Pinot Grigio?" she called out over the sizzle.

"Put it in the fridge an hour ago," Liam replied, emerging from the living room with an armful of discarded mail and a pair of Maya’s sneakers. He tossed the shoes into the hall closet and dumped the envelopes into their designated 'deal with later' basket. "I also finally fixed the crooked throw pillows. Sarah notices everything, I swear."

Maya laughed, turning the burner down to a simmer. "Sarah just has an eye for detail. Do me a favor and set the table? They're going to be here in fifteen minutes."

"Placemats or no placemats?" Liam asked, pulling open the oak sideboard.

"Placemats. The woven ones," Maya decided, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She walked over to the dining area, adjusting the neckline of her sweater. Liam was already dealing out the stoneware plates like a deck of oversized cards. She grabbed the silverware, seamlessly falling into their familiar rhythm—forks on the left, knives on the right.

They had been living together for nearly three years, and hosting a Friday night dinner had become a well-choreographed dance. Liam uncorked a bottle of Cabernet to let it breathe, setting it next to a glass water pitcher, while Maya lit the taper candles in the center of the table.

"You look great, by the way," Liam said, pausing to press a quick kiss to her temple.

Before Maya could reply, the sharp buzz of the apartment intercom echoed through the hallway.

"Showtime," she smiled.


Maya stirred the bubbling marinara sauce, the rich scent of roasted garlic and oregano filling the narrow kitchen of their rented Austin bungalow. She bumped her hip against the counter, stretching to grab a tasting spoon from the drawer.

"How are we on time?" she called out over the soft indie folk playlist drifting from the living room speaker.

Ethan appeared in the doorway, a stack of mismatched ceramic plates balanced against his chest. He was wearing his good dark jeans and a slightly wrinkled button-down. "Twenty minutes," he said, stepping past her to set the plates on the dining table. "I still need to decant the wine. Did Sarah say they were bringing a cabernet or a pinot?"

"Cabernet, I think," Maya said, blowing on the sauce before taking a quick sip. "Needs more salt. Can you grab the sea salt from the pantry? The good one, not the grinder."

Ethan navigated back around the kitchen island, retrieving the small glass jar and handing it to her. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "It smells amazing. You’re stressing over nothing."

"I'm not stressing," Maya laughed, though she knew her shoulders were tight. It was the first time they were hosting this particular group of college friends since moving in together six months ago. She wanted the space to feel like an established home, not just an apartment where two people happened to split rent.

Ethan walked into the living room, quickly straightening the throw pillows on the couch and nudging a stray pair of Maya's running shoes out of sight under the entryway bench. He adjusted the smart bulbs to a warm, inviting glow.

The doorbell chimed, sharp and sudden.

Maya tossed her dish towel onto the counter and smiled. "Ready?"

Ethan walked up beside her, lacing his fingers through hers. "Ready."


The clock on the microwave read 6:42 PM. Liam wiped the kitchen island for the third time, chasing a rogue speck of flour, while the rich scent of roasting garlic and rosemary filled their Chicago apartment.

"Did you chill the wine?" Maya asked, emerging from the hallway. She was barefoot, struggling to fasten a silver hoop earring, her dark curls still damp from a rushed shower.

"Two whites in the fridge, and the red is breathing on the sideboard," Liam said, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder. He walked over, gently brushed her hands aside, and secured the earring clasp for her. "There."

"Thank you." Maya smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "You're a lifesaver. How's the roast?"

"Almost there. Just waiting on the internal temp to hit 135." Liam pivoted back to the stove to stir the green beans. They had moved in together six months ago, and hosting dinner parties was still a new, slightly chaotic dance for them. But they were finally finding their rhythm.

Maya moved to the dining table, straightening the linen napkins. She dimmed the overhead lights and clicked on the floor lamp to give the living room a softer, more inviting glow. "Did Sarah say if she was bringing Dave?" she asked, arranging a set of slate coasters.

"She texted an hour ago. Just her tonight. Dave got stuck at the clinic," Liam replied, opening the oven door. A cloud of savory steam billowed out. "Okay, this is perfect. I’m pulling the pork out to rest."

Maya struck a match, lighting the pillar candles in the center of the table. "Perfect timing."

Just as Liam set the heavy roasting pan onto the stovetop, the sharp buzz of the apartment intercom echoed through the hallway. Maya caught Liam’s eye, a warm, shared look of anticipation passing between them.

"I'll get it," she said, turning toward the door.


The scent of roasting garlic and rosemary filled the small Seattle apartment, battling the lingering smell of the lemon-scented cleaner Julian had just hastily sprayed across the living room coffee table.

"Did you hide the mail stack?" Maya called out from the kitchen, wiping a stray streak of flour from her cheek with the back of her wrist. She leaned over the open oven door, checking the edges of the bubbling lasagna.

"Shoved it in the bedroom desk drawer," Julian replied, walking into the kitchen. He adjusted the collar of his navy button-down and reached past her to grab a stack of ceramic plates. "Are we doing the cloth napkins tonight, or is paper fine? It’s just Mark and Chloe."

"Cloth," Maya said, closing the oven with a satisfying click. "Mark’s bringing that expensive Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley. We should at least pretend we’re fancy adults."

Julian chuckled, opening the overhead cabinet to retrieve the wine glasses. They had lived together for two years, and the frantic but familiar rhythm of their shared hosting routine was deeply ingrained. He polished a stubborn water spot off a glass with a dish towel. "Right. Fancy adults who hid a pile of overdue utility bills and takeout menus so our friends think we have our lives completely together."

"Exactly." Maya washed her hands at the sink and dried them on her apron before untying it. She smoothed down her dark jeans and sighed. "How do I look? Do I look like I've been slaving over a hot stove?"

"You look beautiful," Julian said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "The food smells amazing, by the way."

Before Maya could respond, the sharp buzz of the apartment intercom echoed down the hallway.

"They're early," Julian said, his eyes widening slightly in mock panic.

"Glasses on the table, grab the opener!" Maya commanded with a warm grin, already moving toward the front door. "Showtime."


The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary drifted through the hallway of their Chicago apartment, effectively masking the faint smell of the dog Maya had bathed that morning. She pulled a tray of crostini from the oven, nudging the door shut with her hip.

"Liam, can you grab the good wine glasses?" she called out, sliding the hot pan onto the stovetop. "The ones from the top shelf, not the mismatched ones."

"Already on it," Liam replied from the living room. He walked into the kitchen balancing four crystal glasses by their stems, a damp microfiber cloth draped over his shoulder. He had spent the last twenty minutes aggressively fluffing couch pillows and hiding their assorted daily clutter—mostly junk mail and his PlayStation controllers—inside a woven decorative basket.

Maya offered him a quick, appreciative smile as she carefully transferred the crostini to a wooden serving board. They had been living together for nearly two years, but hosting a dinner party for their friends still brought out a mild, frantic energy in both of them.

"Did Sarah say she was bringing red or white?" Liam asked. He set the glasses on the small dining table, meticulously aligning them with the folded linen napkins.

"She said a Pinot Noir, I think. So red." Maya wiped her hands on her apron before untying it and tossing it over a kitchen chair. She checked her reflection in the dark glass of the microwave door, quickly smoothing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "How do I look? Do I look like I've been standing over a stove?"

"You look beautiful," Liam said, stepping up behind her and planting a quick kiss on her temple. "And the apartment looks like actual adults live here. We pulled it off."

Right on cue, the harsh buzz of their apartment intercom blared through the kitchen.

"Showtime," Maya smiled, reaching for the corkscrew.


The smell of roasting garlic and rosemary drifted through the Austin bungalow, masking the faint scent of the lemon cleaner Maya was currently spraying across the coffee table. She wiped the glass surface in swift circles, glancing at the clock on the mantel. Six-forty. Their friends were due in twenty minutes.

"Liam, do we have enough ice?" Maya called out, tossing the paper towel into the recycling bin and moving toward the dining area to straighten the woven placemats.

"Should be plenty," Liam replied from the kitchen. He stood over the butcher block island, carefully transferring sliced flank steak onto a warm ceramic platter. "I bought an extra bag this afternoon when I went to get the wine."

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and walked out to the dining room, watching her fuss over the silverware. Reaching out, he nudged a stray fork a quarter-inch to the left with a quiet chuckle. "Relax, it looks great. Dave and Sarah don't care if the forks are perfectly aligned."

"I know, I know," Maya sighed, leaning into his shoulder for a brief moment. "I just want it to be nice. It’s the first time we’ve hosted a real dinner since we moved in together."

"And it will be perfect," Liam said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "The chimichurri is done, the potatoes are keeping warm in the oven, and the cabernet is breathing. All we need to do is put on some music."

Maya smiled, her pre-hosting jitters finally melting away. She walked over to the smart speaker on the bookshelf, cuing up a soft indie-folk playlist. Just as the warm acoustic guitar filled the living room, a heavy knock echoed from the front door, followed by the muffled, cheerful sound of Dave's voice.

Maya and Liam exchanged a glance, their shared home suddenly feeling complete. "Ready?" she asked.

"Always," Liam smiled, walking over to unlock the door.


Maya zipped her duffel bag shut and tossed it onto the unmade bed. "Did you pack the good coffee this time, or are we relying on whatever’s been in the cabin's pantry since 2019?"

"I packed the good coffee," Sam called from the kitchen. The sound of the refrigerator door thudding shut echoed down the hallway. "And the French press. I also grabbed the leftover cheddar and those honeycrisp apples we need to eat."

"Perfect." Maya grabbed her sunglasses from the dresser and walked out to the living room. They had been sharing their cramped Brooklyn apartment for three years, and the prospect of a quiet, unstructured weekend in the Catskills was the only thing that had gotten them through a grueling work week.

Sam stood by the front door, stepping into his sneakers. He held out the car keys. "You want to drive first, or should I?"

"I'll drive," Maya said, plucking the keys from his palm. "You're worse at navigating the outbound bridge traffic anyway."

"Fair point." Sam hoisted both their bags onto his shoulders, groaning theatrically. "Did you remember to water the pothos?"

"Yes, and I left the spare key under the mat for Sarah so she can feed the cat." Maya did a final sweep of the living room, bumping the thermostat down and double-checking that the stove was off. "Alright. I think we’re good."

They locked the apartment door behind them, the familiar heavy click signaling the official start of their getaway. Down on the street, they loaded the trunk in practiced unison. Maya slid into the driver's seat, plugging her phone into the dashboard to bring up the map.

"Two hours and forty minutes," she announced, clicking her seatbelt.

Sam leaned back, scrolling through Spotify on his phone. "Queueing up the playlist. Let's get out of here."


Sarah zipped her duffel bag shut and left it at the foot of the bed. In the kitchen, Mark was staring into the open refrigerator, holding a reusable grocery bag.

"Are we bringing the rest of the oat milk?" he called out. "It's going to go bad by Sunday night."

"Yeah, throw it in the cooler," Sarah said, walking in with her keys dangling from her hand. "Did you grab the dog's food?"

"Got it." Mark placed the milk next to a container of leftover pasta and zipped the soft-sided cooler. They’d been sharing this Portland apartment for two years, and their weekend packing routine had become a well-oiled, if slightly mundane, machine. This weekend, they were just heading down to Astoria to escape the late August heat.

"Okay, I have the Airbnb confirmation pulled up," Sarah said, scrolling through her phone. "Check-in isn't until four, so if we leave now, we can stop at that diner in Seaside for lunch."

"Sounds good. I’ll drive first," Mark stated, grabbing the cooler by its shoulder strap.

Sarah didn't argue. She preferred navigating and DJing anyway. She grabbed her duffel, followed him out, and locked the apartment door behind them, jiggling the handle to double-check the deadbolt out of habit.

Down in the parking garage, they loaded their minimal gear into the trunk of Mark's hatchback. He adjusted the driver's seat and mirrors while Sarah plugged her phone into the dashboard console.

"Which playlist?" she asked.

"The road trip one from last year. The one with all the Fleetwood Mac," he suggested, merging out of the garage and into the light Saturday morning traffic.

Sarah tapped the screen, and the familiar guitar chords filled the car. She rolled her window down an inch, letting in the crisp morning air, comfortably settling into the rhythm of their weekend getaway.


Maya shoved a second fleece pullover into her duffel bag, debating whether the coastal wind warranted a third. Across the bedroom, Liam was scrutinizing a tangled knot of charging cables.

"Do we really need the heavy-duty cooler for a two-night stay?" he asked, tossing a phone charger into his backpack. "We’re just going to be eating out mostly anyway."

"Let's just take the insulated tote," Maya decided, zipping her bag. "We only need it to keep the cheese and milk cold until we get to the Airbnb. Are you bringing your laptop?"

"I shouldn't," Liam sighed, "but I'm going to. Just in case I need to check my email."

By eight o'clock the next morning, their apartment was a flurry of routine departure checks. Liam washed the last two coffee mugs while Maya adjusted the thermostat and made sure the balcony door was locked. Together, they carried their bags down the stairs to their Honda Civic.

The autumn morning air was already crisp. Liam popped the trunk, rearranging his backpack to make room for Maya’s oversized duffel and the grocery tote.

"I'll drive the first leg if you want to navigate," Liam offered, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Deal," Maya said, pulling her seatbelt across her chest. She pulled up the map on her phone, zooming in on the blue route. "Traffic on the interstate isn't terrible right now, but there's a slow down near the toll bridge. If we stop for coffee first, it might clear up."

"Drive-thru or the local place?"

"Drive-thru," Maya said without hesitation. "Let's just get on the road."

Liam put the car in gear and pulled out of their apartment complex, the comfortable rhythm of their shared routine settling over them as the GPS chimed its first direction.


Sarah stared down at the open duffel bag on the bed, holding a thick wool sweater in one hand and a lightweight cardigan in the other.

"The weather app says it'll drop to the fifties at night," Mark called from the kitchen, his voice competing with the hiss of the espresso machine. "Bring the wool one."

"You're right," Sarah said, shoving the heavy sweater into the bag and zipping it shut. "Did you water the pothos?"

"Yesterday. And I took the kitchen trash out this morning." Mark appeared in the bedroom doorway holding two insulated travel mugs. He handed the teal one to Sarah. "We should probably hit the road before nine if we want to beat the traffic out of Portland."

It was their first weekend away together in months—a rented cabin near the coast, just a three-hour drive away. They had spent the previous evening debating whether to pack groceries or buy them there, ultimately compromising. Mark had packed his favorite local coffee beans and a loaf of sourdough, while Sarah planned to scout a seaside market for dinner ingredients once they arrived.

Sarah took a sip of her coffee and grabbed her sunglasses from the dresser. "I’ll take these bags down. Can you grab the cooler from the fridge?"

Ten minutes later, they were buckling their seatbelts in the driveway of their apartment building.

"Do you want me to drive first?" Mark asked, tossing his keys into the center console.

"I'll drive," Sarah said, pressing the push-to-start button. "But you're in charge of the audio. No true crime podcasts this time, okay? I want to actually relax."

Mark laughed, pulling out his phone. "Deal. Acoustic road trip playlist it is."

Sarah put the car in drive, the familiar rhythm of their shared routine settling over them as they pulled out onto the street.


Maya zipped her canvas weekender bag, leaning her weight onto it to coax the zipper around a bulky knit sweater. "Liam, did you pack the good coffee, or should I grab it?" she called down the narrow hallway.

"I put it in the grocery tote with the snacks," Liam yelled back from the kitchen. The refrigerator door slammed shut. "But we need to stop for oat milk on the way out. The carton we have expires tomorrow."

Maya carried her bag into the living room, where Liam was wrestling a tangle of phone charging cords into a neat loop. They’d been living in their cramped Chicago apartment for three years, and by now, their weekend getaways operated on a well-rehearsed, if slightly chaotic, routine. This time, it was a two-night stay at a modest Airbnb up in Door County.

"Are you sure we don't need heavier coats?" Liam asked, eyeing the light denim jacket draped over Maya's arm. "The weather app says it's dropping to forty degrees up there tonight."

"I have my fleece stuffed in the bag," Maya said, checking her pockets for her wallet. "And we’re just going to sit by the fire pit anyway. Did you water the pothos?"

"Watered the plants, locked the back door, and took out the kitchen trash," Liam recited, ticking the mundane chores off on his fingers. He hoisted the canvas tote and tossed Maya his keys. "You want to drive the first leg?"

"Yeah, I'll drive until we clear Milwaukee," she agreed.

They walked down the two flights of stairs to the street, the crisp Friday morning air hinting at the autumn weekend ahead. After tossing their bags into the trunk of Liam’s Honda, Maya slid into the driver's seat, queued up a podcast, and pulled out into the city traffic.


Sarah stared at her phone screen, leaning against the kitchen island. "The weather app says it’s going to rain Sunday morning in Astoria, but tomorrow looks clear. Should I pack my heavy raincoat or just the windbreaker?"

"Bring the heavy one," Mark called from the bedroom. He walked out carrying a canvas duffel bag and a tangled mess of phone chargers. "We’re going to the Oregon coast in October. It’s definitely going to rain." He dropped the bag by the front door and began untangling the cables.

"Good point," Sarah said, heading into the bedroom to retrieve her jacket. When she returned, she tossed it onto the growing pile of luggage. "Did you set the auto-feeder for Barnaby?"

"Filled the hopper to the top and set the timer for six a.m. and six p.m.," Mark replied, checking his pockets for his wallet and keys. "He’ll probably still yell at us when we get back on Sunday." As if on cue, the orange tabby meowed from his spot on the living room rug.

Sarah laughed and gave the cat a quick scratch behind the ears. "Okay, we have the bags, the small cooler, and the road snacks. Do we want to make coffee here, or just grab something at the drive-thru on the way to the highway?"

Mark glanced at the clock on the microwave. "It’s already nine. If we make it here, we have to wash the French press before we leave. Let’s just stop at the place on Hawthorne."

"Deal." Sarah grabbed her sunglasses and slung her tote bag over her shoulder. Mark picked up the duffel and the cooler. They did a final sweep of the apartment—checking the stove, locking the deadbolt—and headed down the hallway, ready for a quiet weekend away from the city.


Mark shoved his heavy wool sweater into the canvas duffel bag and pulled the zipper shut. "Did you grab the phone chargers?" he called down the narrow hallway.

"I have mine," Sarah yelled back from the kitchen, followed by the soft click of the refrigerator door. "I also packed the leftover pasta so we don't have to buy lunch on the road. Grab your own charger!"

Mark rolled his eyes affectionately, snagging his white cable from the nightstand. They had been living in their cramped Chicago apartment for three years, long enough to know that forgetting a charger meant a frustrating twenty-dollar pit stop at a highway gas station.

He hauled the bag into the living room just as Sarah was adjusting the apartment's thermostat. "Set to sixty-five," she muttered to herself, running through a mental checklist. "Plants are watered. Trash is out."

"Ready?" Mark asked, jingling the car keys.

"Ready." Sarah grabbed her canvas tote bag and followed him out, firmly locking the deadbolt behind them.

Down in the parking garage, the chilly Friday morning air made them move quickly. Mark tossed their shared duffel into the trunk of their Honda Civic while Sarah settled into the passenger seat, immediately pulling up the navigation app on her phone.

"Okay," Sarah said as Mark started the engine. "The rental cabin is about three hours away. Maps says there's heavy construction on I-94, so we should probably take the state highway. It adds fifteen minutes, but we avoid the tolls."

"Sounds good to me," Mark said, shifting the car into reverse. "But only if we can stop at that drive-thru Dunkin' in the suburbs. I need an iced coffee if I'm driving."

"Deal," Sarah smiled, plugging her phone into the dashboard. "I'll queue up a podcast."


Maya tossed her toiletry bag into the canvas duffel on their unmade bed. "Did you pack a heavier jacket?" she called out, glancing at the weather app on her phone. "It says it might drop to the forties up in Door County tonight."

Liam emerged from the kitchen, holding a half-empty jar of salsa and a block of sharp cheddar. "Yeah, I grabbed my fleece," he said, setting the food on the dining table. "Should we bring these, or just hit the grocery store when we get to Sturgeon Bay?"

Maya considered the cheese. "Let's just bring it. It'll save us a few bucks, and I really don't want to deal with grocery shopping the second we arrive. Toss it in the small cooler with the sparkling waters."

"Done," Liam said. He paused, eyeing the living room. "Did you set the thermostat to away?"

"Doing it now." Maya tapped the smart panel on the hallway wall, lowering the temperature. They had lived in the Chicago apartment together for two years, long enough that their travel prep had settled into an efficient, if slightly mundane, routine.

Within twenty minutes, they were hauling their bags down the stairs and loading up Liam’s Subaru. Friday afternoon traffic heading north was already thickening, a ribbon of red taillights stretching out beneath the overcast sky.

Liam merged onto the interstate, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Alright, we've got about four hours if the bottleneck in Milwaukee clears up," he said, plugging his phone into the dashboard. "Are we finishing that true crime podcast, or do you want the driving playlist?"

"Podcast," Maya said, reclining her passenger seat a few inches and kicking off her sneakers. "But if I fall asleep, you have to promise not to listen ahead without me."

"Deal," Liam smiled, hitting play.


Mark zipped his canvas duffel bag and set it by the front door of their apartment. In the kitchen, Sarah was still staring at her phone, her brow mildly furrowed.

"The weather app says it’s going to drop to forty degrees in Asheville tonight," she said, looking up as he walked in. "Did you pack a real jacket, or just that thin fleece?"

"Just the fleece," Mark admitted, walking over to pour the remaining morning coffee into two travel mugs. "I'll go grab my parka. Better safe than freezing."

They had been looking forward to this weekend away for a month. Between Sarah's late shifts at the veterinary clinic and Mark's endless remote meetings, they desperately needed two days of hiking and doing absolutely nothing.

"Did you get the snacks from the pantry?" Mark called out from the bedroom.

"Got them," Sarah replied, tossing a canvas tote bag of pretzels, apples, and trail mix next to his duffel. "I also grabbed the spare phone charger. Are we taking your car or mine?"

"Let's take yours," Mark said, emerging with a heavy olive-green winter coat. "The Bluetooth in mine is still glitching, and I am not driving three hours without that true-crime podcast."

Ten minutes later, they were in the apartment building's parking garage. Mark loaded the bags into the trunk of Sarah’s Civic while she settled into the driver’s seat, plugging in her phone to queue up the GPS.

"ETA is one-fifteen," she announced as Mark climbed into the passenger side, handing her a warm travel mug.

"Perfect. We can grab lunch at that brewery when we get there," he said, adjusting his air vent.

Sarah smiled, put the car in gear, and pulled out into the bright Saturday morning traffic, ready for the weekend.


Maya zipped her olive-green duffel bag with a soft grunt, pressing down on a stray sweater sleeve. Across their cramped Chicago bedroom, Liam was tossing a tangle of charging cables into his backpack.

"Did you grab the sunscreen?" Liam asked, pausing to look at her. "The weather app says it's going to break eighty in South Haven tomorrow."

"It's in the side pocket of my bag," Maya said, hoisting the duffel onto her shoulder. "Did you clear out the fridge?"

"Ate the last yogurt, threw away the questionable spinach," he confirmed, following her down the narrow hallway. He grabbed his keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. "Do you want to drive first, or should I?"

Maya considered it while slipping on her sneakers. "I'll navigate until we get out of the city traffic. You can drive."

"Deal."

They locked the apartment door together, a quiet routine they’d perfected over their two years of cohabitation. In the elevator, Liam patted his pockets—wallet, phone, keys—while Maya pulled up the GPS on her phone, mentally calculating their arrival time.

Their shared Honda Civic was parked three blocks away, baking in the late Friday afternoon sun. Once inside, Liam rolled down the windows to let the stifling heat escape while Maya plugged her phone into the dashboard. A familiar indie-folk playlist automatically kicked in over the car speakers.

"Two hours and fifteen minutes if we don't hit a major bottleneck on 94," Maya announced, buckling her seatbelt.

"We'll definitely hit traffic," Liam laughed, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. "But we've got podcasts and those peanut butter pretzels you bought. We'll survive."

Maya smiled, adjusting the air conditioning vent toward her face. "As long as we're out of the apartment, I don't care how long it takes."


Maya zipped her duffel bag shut, pressing down hard on the canvas to make room for her bulky hiking boots. Across the bedroom, Liam was tossing a tangle of charging cables into his backpack.

"Did you remember the dog food?" Liam asked, pausing to check his phone for the cabin host's check-in instructions.

"Yes, and I dropped Buster off at your mom's an hour ago," Maya said, hoisting her bag off the duvet. "Can you check the fridge? I really don't want to come back to sour milk on Sunday night."

Liam nodded, heading out to the kitchen. He poured the last inch of milk down the sink, rinsed the carton, and tossed it into the recycling bin. He double-checked the stove knobs out of habit, grabbed his sunglasses from the counter, and met Maya by the front door.

"All clear," he said, taking her duffel and shifting it to his other shoulder alongside his own bag.

"Did we decide on the I-95 route or the back roads?" Maya asked as she locked the apartment door behind them, jiggling the handle twice to be sure it latched.

"Maps says I-95 is backed up near the bridge. Let's take the scenic route," Liam suggested, following her down the hallway. "It adds twenty minutes, but at least we won't be staring at taillights."

"Deal. As long as we can stop at that drive-thru coffee place on Route 7. I need an iced latte if I'm navigating."

They carried their bags out to their Subaru. Liam loaded the trunk while Maya slid into the passenger seat, immediately adjusting the air conditioning and plugging her phone into the dashboard.

As Liam climbed in and started the engine, Maya pulled up their shared weekend playlist. "Cabin weekend, officially commencing," she announced. Liam smiled, backed out of their parking spot, and pointed the car toward the highway.


Maya zipped her olive-green duffel bag and hauled it to the apartment door, dropping it next to Sam’s faded canvas backpack.

"Did you remember the coffee beans?" she called out, leaning back into the kitchen.

Sam emerged from the hallway, tossing a pair of sunglasses between his hands. "Got them. The good roast from the cafe down the street, plus the travel French press. I'm not trusting that Airbnb to have anything more than stale instant."

They had been living together in their cramped Brooklyn apartment for three years, long enough that their packing routines were practically a choreographed dance. This weekend was just a quick, two-night getaway to a small rented cabin in the Catskills—a much-needed break from their monitors and the stifling August heat.

"Okay, bags are ready," Maya said, scanning the living room. "Thermostat is set to seventy-eight. Plants are watered."

"Did you check the stove?" Sam asked, grabbing his keys off the kitchen island.

"I haven't turned it on since Tuesday, but yes, it's off." Maya rolled her eyes playfully, picking up her water bottle. "Are you going to drive first, or should I?"

Sam checked his watch. "I'll take the first shift to get us over the bridge. You can navigate and play DJ. Just please, no true crime podcasts until we're actually on the highway. I need to wake up a bit more before I hear about unsolved mysteries."

"Deal. Indie folk it is," Maya agreed, grabbing her duffel.

They locked the apartment door, the familiar heavy deadbolt clicking into place. Downstairs, the street was already buzzing with Friday afternoon traffic. As Sam started the engine of their shared Honda and Maya queued up a playlist, the anticipation of the open road finally settled over them.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and dropped it by the apartment’s front door. "Did you remember the extra phone chargers?" she asked, leaning into the kitchen.

Liam looked up from the small cooler he was stocking on the island counter. "Got two of them. And I packed the leftover pasta so we don't have to buy lunch on the road."

They had been looking forward to this weekend trip to the Oregon coast for a month. Living together in a cramped third-floor walk-up in Portland had its charms, but they both desperately needed a break from the relentless sirens and heavy-footed upstairs neighbors.

"Are we taking your car or mine?" Liam asked, tossing a bag of pretzels on top of the Tupperware before zipping the cooler shut.

"Mine," Maya decided. "I just got the oil changed, and the Bluetooth is actually working this week. If we leave by eight tomorrow, we’ll beat the worst of the westbound traffic."

The next morning, the apartment was a flurry of quiet, synchronized routine. Maya watered the drooping pothos on the windowsill while Liam unplugged the toaster, checked the thermostat, and took out the kitchen trash.

"Got the keys?" Liam asked, hoisting the cooler onto his shoulder.

"Keys, wallet, sunglasses," Maya chanted, patting her jacket pockets. She pulled the front door shut and turned the deadbolt, the familiar, heavy *click* signaling the official start of their weekend.

Down at the street, the crisp morning air smelled vaguely of pine and wet pavement. Liam loaded the trunk while Maya started the engine, quickly connecting her phone to cue up their designated road-trip playlist.

As Liam slid into the passenger seat, handing Maya a travel mug of black coffee, he smiled. "First stop, gas station. Second stop, the ocean."

"Perfect," Maya said, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb.


Sarah zipped her canvas duffel bag, double-checking her mental list. "Did you pack the good coffee, or should we just stop somewhere on the way up?" she called out.

Mark emerged from the kitchen of their shared Chicago apartment, holding a Tupperware container and a half-empty bag of pretzels. "I packed the French roast," he said, setting the snacks by the door. "And I'm bringing the leftover pasta. I figured we won't want to cook right away when we get to the cabin."

"Smart," Sarah said, grabbing her raincoat from the hallway closet. "The weather app said it might drizzle tomorrow afternoon in Door County."

They had been looking forward to this weekend getaway for a month. Living together for two years had taught them a lot about each other's travel habits. Mark was a chronic over-packer of snacks; Sarah always needed absolute control of the Spotify playlist.

"Are you driving first, or am I?" Mark asked as he hoisted both their bags over his shoulder.

"I'll drive," Sarah offered, grabbing the apartment keys and her travel mug. "You navigated the awful grocery store parking lot yesterday. It's only fair. Plus, I want to listen to that new true-crime podcast."

Mark groaned playfully but held the front door open for her. "Fine, but if they start detailing gruesome unsolved mysteries before we even hit the interstate, I’m putting on my headphones."

Downstairs in the parking garage, they loaded the trunk of Sarah's Honda. Mark secured the small cooler while Sarah adjusted the driver's seat and synced her phone to the car's Bluetooth. As he slid into the passenger seat, she handed him his travel mug.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready," Mark smiled, clicking his seatbelt. Sarah shifted into drive, steering them out of the dim garage and into the bright Saturday morning traffic.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag, tossing it onto the foot of their shared bed. "Did you remember to pack the good coffee?" she called out, leaning into the hallway.

From the kitchen, Liam’s voice drifted back over the sound of the running faucet. "I put the French roast in the grocery tote with the snacks. Are we taking the toll road or the scenic route to the cabin?"

"Scenic," Maya said, walking into the kitchen to find him scrubbing their breakfast plates. She grabbed a dish towel and started drying. "It only adds twenty minutes, and we're in no rush. Plus, I want to stop at that farm stand we saw last year in upstate."

"Scenic it is," Liam agreed, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He pulled out his phone to double-check the GPS traffic. "I fed the cat and topped off her water. The automatic feeder is loaded, and Mrs. Gable across the hall said she’d pop in to check on her tomorrow afternoon."

"Perfect." Maya grabbed the tote bag from the counter while Liam slung both of their duffels over his broad shoulders.

The August evening was still thick and warm as they navigated the apartment stairs down to Liam's Subaru. They played their usual game of trunk Tetris, tucking the small cooler behind the passenger seat and wedging the bags securely in the back.

"I'll drive the first shift," Liam offered, passing Maya the charging cable for her phone. "You're in charge of the playlist and keeping me awake."

Maya climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up as the engine rumbled to life. "I hope you're ready for three straight hours of nineties alternative," she teased.

Liam just smiled, shifting the car into drive. He pulled out of their parking lot and merged onto the busy interstate, leaving the heavy work week in the rearview mirror.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag shut and tossed it onto the bed. "Did you grab the extra phone charger?" she called out, pausing to check the weather app on her phone. Rain, predictably, was forecasted for their weekend in the Catskills.

From the kitchen, Liam appeared in the bedroom doorway holding a half-empty jar of peanut butter and a spatula. "I packed the long one," he said. "And before you ask, I already took out the kitchen trash and checked the stove. Are we bringing this peanut butter, or leaving it?"

Maya laughed, sliding her arms into her denim jacket. "Leave it. We’re only going for two nights, and the Airbnb host said there’s a grocery store five minutes from the cabin."

"Fair enough." Liam retreated to the kitchen, leaving the jar on the counter. He returned a moment later hauling his own backpack and a travel mug of coffee. "I’ll drive first if you navigate us to the highway. Traffic on 87 is supposed to be brutal right now."

"Deal," Maya said. She grabbed her purse from the entry table while Liam locked the apartment's deadbolt behind them.

Walking down the building's carpeted hallway, they fell into a comfortable, familiar rhythm. Having lived together for two years, the mechanics of a weekend escape had become a practiced routine.

Inside their Honda Civic, Liam adjusted his seat and started the engine, the radio quietly humming a local station. Maya plugged her phone into the dashboard, pulling up the map.

"ETA is 8:15," she announced, buckling her seatbelt.

"Not bad," Liam said, checking his mirrors and pulling out onto the street. "Want to stop for drive-thru dinner, or wait until we're out of the city?"

"Drive-thru," Maya said instantly. "I'm starving."

Liam smiled, merging into traffic. "Fries it is."


Maya yanked the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, tossing it onto the foot of the bed. "Are you bringing the heavier jackets?" she called out to the kitchen.

"Just the rainshells," Liam yelled back over the sound of the refrigerator door shutting. "The forecast for the coast says mid-sixties, but you know how the wind gets. Do you want me to toss out this leftover Thai food, or risk it until Sunday?"

Maya grabbed her sunglasses from the dresser. "Toss it. I don't want to come home to a funky fridge."

She walked into the living room, pausing to double-check that the apartment's thermostat was set back to sixty-five. Liam was by the front door, slipping on his sneakers and holding two insulated travel mugs. He handed her the blue one. "I made extra dark roast. Figured we'd need it for the Friday afternoon traffic on I-95."

"You're a lifesaver," Maya said, taking a grateful sip. "Who's driving first?"

"I can take the first shift," Liam offered, grabbing their keys from the entryway bowl. "As long as you navigate and manage the playlist."

"Deal."

They made their way down the two flights of stairs to the parking garage. The trunk of Liam’s Honda shut with a hollow thud after they tossed in the shared duffel and a tote bag filled with road snacks. As Liam adjusted the driver’s seat, Maya plugged her phone into the dashboard, pulling up the map to their rental cabin in Mystic.

"ETA is two and a half hours," she announced, buckling her seatbelt.

"Not bad," Liam said, checking his mirrors before shifting into reverse. "Wait, did you lock the bottom lock?"

Maya rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes, Liam. Both locks are locked. Just drive."


Maya yanked the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, tossing it onto the foot of the bed. "Did you grab the phone chargers?" she called out.

From the kitchen, Liam’s voice drifted back, muffled by the sound of the refrigerator door shutting. "Got them. I also grabbed the leftover grapes and that half-empty bag of pretzels. No point in buying gas station snacks if we don't have to."

"Practical," Maya said, walking into the living room and grabbing her sunglasses from the entryway table. "Are you driving first, or am I?"

Liam appeared in the hallway, tossing his keys in the air and catching them. "I don't mind starting. The traffic on I-95 shouldn't be too brutal right now, but I want to get past the city limits before rush hour actually hits."

"Good call." Maya glanced around their shared apartment one last time, checking for lingering hazards. "Thermostat is set to seventy-five. Coffee pot is off. I think we're good."

They carried their bags down the two flights of stairs to the parking garage. It was a humid Friday afternoon in late June, and the promise of a quiet weekend at a rented cabin in the Shenandoah Valley felt like a necessary exhale for both of them after a long work week.

Liam loaded the duffel into the trunk while Maya settled into the passenger seat, plugging her phone into the console to pull up the GPS. As Liam slid behind the wheel, he adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced over at her.

"ETA is two hours and forty minutes," she said, tapping the screen. "Want me to put on that true crime podcast, or are we feeling music?"

"Music first," Liam said, putting the car in gear. "Let's leave the murder mysteries for the woods."


Maya stared into the open refrigerator, holding a half-empty carton of oat milk. "Should I toss this, or do you think it’ll survive until Sunday night?"

"Toss it," Liam called from the bedroom. He walked into the kitchen, a tangled phone charging cable in one hand and his faded canvas duffel in the other. "I’m not risking sour milk in my coffee on Monday morning."

Maya dumped the milk down the sink and rinsed the carton for recycling. They had been looking forward to this weekend rented cabin in the Catskills for a month, a much-needed break from their cramped Brooklyn apartment and conflicting work schedules.

"Did you pack the dog's food?" Liam asked, setting his bag by the front door.

"Yeah, it’s in the canvas tote with the road snacks," Maya said. She grabbed her own weekender bag from the sofa. "I also packed those cheddar jalapeño chips you like, plus two bottles of wine."

"Perfect." Liam pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. "If we leave right now, Google Maps says we can beat the worst of the George Washington Bridge traffic."

They did a final coordinated sweep of the apartment—Maya checking the stove burners while Liam adjusted the thermostat. After locking the deadbolt, they headed downstairs. The crisp October air hit them as they loaded the trunk of Liam’s aging Subaru.

Once settled in the driver’s seat, Liam plugged in his phone. The dashboard screen flickered to life, displaying a route glowing in a hopeful, traffic-free blue. "Do we want to stop for coffee now, or wait until we're out of the city?"

"Let's get through the toll first," Maya said, adjusting her air vent and leaning back into the passenger seat. "Then we can find a drive-thru. Put on that playlist we made."

Liam grinned, shifting the car into drive. "Road trip mode activated."


Maya zipped her duffel bag and set it by the apartment door, double-checking her phone for the weekend weather forecast. "It says it might drop to the forties at night in the mountains," she called out toward the bedroom. "Did you pack a heavier jacket?"

Ben emerged, holding a navy fleece pullover and a tangle of phone chargers. "Got the fleece. Do you think we need the big hard-sided cooler, or just the insulated tote bag for the snacks?"

Maya surveyed the kitchen island, where two bags of pretzels, a block of sharp cheddar, and a six-pack of sparkling water sat waiting. "Let’s just use the tote. The Airbnb has a full fridge, and we’re only stopping for lunch on the way up anyway."

They had been sharing their cramped Chicago apartment for two years, and these short weekend escapes to Wisconsin had become a necessary routine to shake off the workweek. It was Friday at five-thirty, and the dull roar of rush-hour traffic was already vibrating through their living room window.

Ben grabbed the tote bag and began neatly arranging the groceries inside. "I checked the route while you were in the shower. I-94 is backed up near the city, so Maps is routing us through the western suburbs. It adds about twenty minutes, but we keep moving."

"Works for me," Maya said, grabbing her keychain and a reusable water bottle. "Can you grab the kitchen trash on your way out? I'll go start the car."

Ten minutes later, the apartment was locked, the trash was in the alley dumpster, and they were merging onto the avenue. Ben adjusted the climate control while Maya queued up their shared road-trip playlist. As a familiar acoustic guitar intro filled the sedan, Ben glanced over and smiled. "Ready?"

"Definitely," Maya sighed, kicking her shoes off and leaning back against the headrest. "Let's get out of here."


Mark zipped up the canvas duffel bag, pressing down hard on a protruding fleece jacket. "Did you grab the extra phone chargers?" he called out toward the bathroom.

Sarah emerged, tossing a tangle of white cords onto the unmade bed. "Two of them. Plus the portable battery, just in case the cabin’s outlets are as weird as the Airbnb reviews claimed." She slung her canvas tote bag over her shoulder. "Did you deal with the fridge?"

"I tossed the milk and the takeout boxes," Mark said, hefting the duffel. "I left the condiments and the eggs. They’ll survive until Sunday night."

They moved through their shared Chicago apartment in a familiar, coordinated dance. Mark checked the stove dials to ensure they were off, while Sarah adjusted the thermostat to sixty-two degrees and double-checked the deadbolt on the sliding patio door. Living together for two years had honed their weekend departure routine into a quiet science.

Downstairs, the crisp October air bit at their jackets. Mark popped the trunk of his Civic, wedging the bags beside a grocery sack of road trip snacks.

"Wait," Sarah said, pausing at the passenger door. "Did we pack coffee grounds? The listing said they only have a French press."

Mark froze, then smiled. "Bottom of the grocery bag. Dark roast."

"You're a lifesaver," she sighed, slipping into the car and pulling up the GPS on her phone. "Two hours and forty minutes to the lake," she announced as Mark started the engine. "If we skip the drive-thru, we can beat the worst of the outbound city traffic."

"Pretzels for lunch it


Maya zipped her duffel bag shut and tossed it onto the unmade bed. "Did you pack the phone chargers?" she called out, leaning out the bedroom door.

From the kitchen, Liam held up a tangled white cord. "Got two of them. And the insulated travel mugs. Do you want me to make coffee now, or should we just stop at the drive-thru on the way out?"

"Let's just stop," Maya said, carrying her bag into the hallway. "If we make it now, we won't leave for another twenty minutes."

They were heading up the coast to a rented A-frame for the weekend, a much-needed two-night escape from their cramped apartment and relentless work schedules.

Liam grabbed his backpack and set it by the front door next to Maya's. "Fair enough. Do we have all the road trip snacks?"

"In the canvas tote," Maya pointed. "I got the white cheddar popcorn you like, plus the trail mix."

"You're the best." Liam did a final sweep of the living room, pausing to lower the thermostat to sixty degrees and double-check that the balcony door was locked. Maya, meanwhile, watered the wilting pothos plant on the windowsill, giving its leaves a gentle flick.

"Ready?" Liam asked, jingling his car keys.

"Ready."

They carried their bags down the two flights of stairs to the apartment parking lot. The crisp Saturday morning air held a slight chill. Liam popped the trunk of his sedan and tossed their luggage inside, while Maya settled into the passenger seat and immediately connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth.

By the time Liam slid behind the wheel and started the engine, an acoustic playlist was already softly filling the cabin. He shifted into drive, pulled out onto the main avenue, and they headed north, leaving the city behind.


Elena zipped up the canvas duffel bag on the bed, giving it a firm pat. "I packed the thick wool sweaters just in case," she called out. "The forecast for Woodstock dropped to forty degrees for tomorrow night."

Mark appeared in the bedroom doorway, tossing a ring of keys in his hand. "Good call. I already put the hiking boots and the cooler in the trunk. Did you grab the phone chargers?"

"In my purse," Elena said, grabbing her denim jacket.

They had been sharing their cramped Brooklyn apartment for three years, and escaping for a two-night weekend trip had become a well-choreographed routine. Mark walked through the living room, double-checking the locks on the windows and unplugging the toaster and coffee maker. Elena lingered by the front door, pouring a splash of leftover bottled water into the potted pothos plant.

"Ready?" Mark asked, holding the apartment door open.

"Ready. Let's just hope we beat the George Washington Bridge traffic."

Downstairs, the crisp Saturday morning air woke them up better than coffee. Mark loaded the duffel into the back of their aging Subaru while Elena climbed into the passenger seat and immediately pulled up the GPS on her phone.

"ETA is two hours and fifteen minutes," she announced as Mark started the engine and the radio sprang to life. "If we stop at that diner in New Paltz for breakfast, add forty-five minutes."

"Diner, absolutely," Mark said, pulling out of their parking spot. "I need coffee and I can't survive on trail mix alone."

He merged onto the avenue, navigating the early weekend traffic. Elena connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth, scrolling through her saved playlists. "True crime podcast or a music mix?" she asked.

"Surprise me," Mark smiled, keeping his eyes on the road as they finally headed north.


Maya tossed a second thick knit sweater into the shared canvas duffel bag on the bed. "Did the forecast change?" she called out to the living room.

"Still mid-fifties during the day," Sam replied, walking into the bedroom with his phone in one hand and a tangle of charging cables in the other. "But it always drops near the lake at night. You’ll want the fleece, too."

Maya nodded, rolling up her gray jacket and shoving it beside her jeans. They had been looking forward to this weekend in the Catskills for a month—a rare two-night getaway where neither of them had to answer work emails.

"Are we good on snacks?" Sam asked, tapping his screen to check the northbound traffic on I-87. "I grabbed the trail mix from the pantry, but we’re out of apples."

"Let's just hit the drive-thru for coffee on the way and get something there," Maya said, wrestling the zipper of the overstuffed bag closed. "If we detour to the grocery store now, we won't get out of the city before noon."

Sam agreed. "Good point. I’ll go load the car. Can you double-check the thermostat?"

Ten minutes later, Maya stood by the apartment door, running through their standard departure checklist. Stove off. Windows locked. Trash taken out. She adjusted the thermostat to sixty-five degrees and pulled the front door shut, listening for the familiar heavy click of the deadbolt.

Down in the parking garage, Sam already had the trunk shut and the engine running. Maya slid into the passenger seat, immediately reaching for her phone to queue up their road-trip playlist.

"Ready?" Sam asked, adjusting his rearview mirror.

"Ready," Maya said, buckling her seatbelt. "Let’s get out of here before traffic hits the bridge." Sam shifted into drive, and they rolled out into the hazy Saturday morning light.


Mark zipped his canvas duffel bag and tossed it onto the edge of their unmade bed. Beside it, Elena’s neatly packed suitcase was already waiting.

"Did you grab the phone chargers?" Elena called from the kitchen, followed by the clinking of Tupperware.

"Got two of them," Mark said, walking down the narrow hallway of their Chicago apartment. "What are you packing?"

"Just some grapes and the rest of the cheddar cheese. No point letting it go bad while we're in Michigan." Elena closed the fridge and pressed her hip against the door to make sure it sealed. She handed Mark a reusable grocery bag heavy with road trip snacks.

"Perfect. I checked the route on my phone," Mark said, taking the bag. "Traffic on I-94 looks a little heavy right now, but if we leave in the next ten minutes, we should beat the absolute worst of the Friday rush hour."

"Let's do it. Do you have the Airbnb confirmation pulled up?"

"Emailed it to both of us," Mark confirmed.

Elena nodded, grabbing her denim jacket from the back of a dining chair. They fell into their standard departure routine, a silent dance perfected over two years of living together. Mark checked that the stove was off and locked the patio door; Elena adjusted the thermostat, turned off the bathroom light, and filled the automatic feeder, giving their tabby cat a scratch behind the ears.

"Be good, buddy. We'll be back Sunday," she murmured.

Downstairs in the parking garage, Mark loaded their bags into the trunk of Elena's Honda Civic while she connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth. As Mark slipped into the passenger seat and buckled his belt, Elena put the car in drive.

"Podcast or playlist?" she asked, pulling up to the garage exit.

"Playlist," Mark said, adjusting the AC vent. "Let's save the true crime for the way back."


Sarah wrestled the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, giving it a final pat before hauling it off the bed. From the kitchen, the clatter of Tupperware echoed down the hallway of their shared apartment.

"Are we bringing the leftover cold brew, or pouring it out?" Mark called out.

"Bring it! It'll save us buying coffee tomorrow morning," Sarah shouted back, grabbing her sunglasses from the nightstand.

She met Mark by the front door. He was holding a reusable grocery tote filled with snacks, a couple of apples, and a tangle of phone chargers. He set the bag down to adjust the apartment's thermostat, clicking the heating down to sixty degrees for the weekend.

"Did you remember to lock the back patio?" Mark asked, double-checking his pockets for the car keys.

"Locked and bolted," Sarah said, pulling on her denim jacket. "And I took out the bathroom trash. We're good to go."

They carried their weekend gear down the single flight of stairs to the parking lot. The crisp Friday afternoon air held the promise of the autumn foliage they were driving north to see. Mark unlocked their Subaru, and they tossed the bags into the trunk, wedging the groceries safely beside the duffel.

Once settled in the front seats, Sarah pulled up the map on her phone. "So, GPS says two hours and forty minutes to the Airbnb if we take I-95, or a little over three hours if we take the scenic route up the coast."

Mark started the engine. "Let's just take the interstate to get out of the city traffic, and we can switch to the coastal road once we hit Portsmouth. Deal?"

"Deal," Sarah agreed, plugging her phone into the dashboard. "But we are absolutely stopping for bagels first."

Mark shifted into drive, pulling out of their complex. "I wouldn't dream of skipping it."


Maya folded a pile of thick sweaters into her canvas duffel bag, leaving just enough room for her hiking boots. In the doorway of their cramped bedroom, Liam leaned against the frame, scrolling through a map on his phone. They had been living together for three years, long enough that packing for a two-night trip to the Catskills was a seamless, practiced routine.

"Are we taking I-87 or the scenic route?" Liam asked, looking up.

Maya paused, tossing a stray pair of socks into her bag. "Let's do the scenic route. Check-in at the cabin isn't until three anyway, and I want to stop at that antique barn we saw last year."

Liam nodded, tapping his screen. "Route secured. I’ll clean out the fridge and load the cooler with the perishables so they don’t go bad while we're gone."

They agreed to wake up at seven the next morning, though they both knew it would be closer to eight.

Saturday arrived with a heavy frost. While Maya brewed a strong pot of coffee and wiped down the kitchen counters, Liam carried their bags and the heavy cooler down three flights of stairs to his Subaru.

When Maya finally emerged into the crisp New Jersey morning air, carrying two insulated travel mugs, Liam was slamming the trunk shut. "I had to fold the back seats down, but it all fits," he said, rubbing his cold hands together.

She handed him his mug, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "You're a hero. Did you remember the phone chargers?"

He patted his jacket pocket with a grin. They climbed into the front seats, the heater already blasting. Maya synced her phone to the dashboard. "True crime podcast or indie folk?" she asked, buckling her seatbelt.

"Indie folk until we hit the highway, then murder," Liam decided, shifting the car into drive. As they pulled out of the apartment complex, the residual stress of their workweek finally began to fade.


The weather app predicted a sudden temperature drop for Saturday afternoon, so Maya tossed an extra fleece into her duffel bag just in case. Across the bedroom, Liam was struggling to zip his battered weekender.

"Did you pack the good coffee?" he asked, throwing his weight onto the canvas bag to compress his clothes. "The Airbnb reviews said their machine is ancient."

"I put the French press and the dark roast in the grocery tote," Maya said, walking over to help him pull the stubborn zipper closed. "And yes, I grabbed the oat milk."

They had been talking about driving up to the Catskills for months, needing a break from the relentless noise of their shared Brooklyn apartment. Now that Friday evening was finally here, the rush to leave was a familiar, frantic dance.

Liam carried the heavier bags down the three flights of stairs while Maya did the final apartment sweep: unplugging the toaster, ensuring the thermostat was dialed back to sixty-five, and double-checking that the front door deadbolt caught.

When she reached the street, Liam had already loaded the trunk of their leased Subaru and was wiping a smudge off the passenger side window.

"Who's navigating?" Liam asked, tossing her the keys.

"I'll drive first," Maya volunteered, sliding into the driver's seat and adjusting the rearview mirror. "You can DJ, but please, no true crime podcasts until we're at least past the George Washington Bridge. I want to decompress."

"Deal. Indie folk playlist it is." Liam climbed in and plugged his phone into the center console.

Maya pulled out into the sluggish outbound traffic and let out a long exhale. "Two whole days of nothing."

"Just us, the trees, and the good coffee," Liam agreed, as the city began to blur past their windows.


Maya zipped her duffel bag and tossed it onto the bed, glancing at the screen of her phone. "The weather app says it might drop to the upper forties in Shenandoah tonight. Did you pack a fleece?"

From the hallway bathroom, Liam emerged holding two toiletry bags. "Packed my blue pullover, and I grabbed your moisturizer." He set the small bags next to hers. "Do we have any of those peanut butter granola bars left, or do we need to stop at a Wawa on the way?"

"I put the rest of the box in the canvas tote with the apples," Maya said, scanning the bedroom one last time. "I think we're good here."

Living together for two years had streamlined their weekend escapes into a comfortable, efficient routine. Liam slung the duffel bags over his shoulder and headed down to his Subaru, while Maya did the final apartment sweep. She nudged the thermostat down to sixty-two degrees, double-checked that the coffee maker was unplugged, and locked the deadbolt behind her.

When she got to the parking lot, Liam already had the engine running. He was frowning at the dashboard screen. "Google Maps says I-66 is a parking lot right now. We can take the state highways, but it adds twenty minutes to the drive."

"Take the back roads," Maya said, pulling her seatbelt across her chest. "I'd rather be moving than staring at someone's bumper for an hour." She reached for her phone to connect to the Bluetooth. "Are we finishing that true crime podcast, or do you want a playlist?"

"Podcast first, then music when we lose cell service in the mountains," Liam decided, shifting the car into drive.

Maya pressed play, and the familiar, moody theme music filled the cabin. As Liam navigated out of their apartment complex and merged onto the busy Friday afternoon street, Maya kicked her shoes off and settled in for the ride.


"Did you pack the good coffee?" Elena called from the bedroom, struggling to zip her canvas duffel bag.

Mark leaned around the kitchen doorway, a damp dish towel slung over his shoulder. "The whole bean bag from the local place? Yeah, it's in the tote with the French press. Should I grab the oat milk from the fridge, or do we just buy some when we get to the mountains?"

"Grab it. The listing said the cabin is twenty minutes from the nearest grocery store," she said, appearing in the hallway. She wore faded jeans and a comfortable sweater, her car keys already jingling in her hand. "Plus, I really don't want to run errands once we're finally out of the city."

It was Friday afternoon, and their apartment was in its usual pre-trip state of mild disarray. Having lived together for three years, they had established a strict road-trip routine. Mark handled the food, chargers, and electronics; Elena managed the Airbnb itinerary, the dog drop-off, and the driving.

Mark opened the fridge and retrieved the carton of milk, wedging it into a small cooler beside a block of sharp cheddar and two Tupperware containers of leftover pasta. He zipped it shut. "Alright, provisions are set. Did you text the sitter?"

"Dropped Buster off an hour ago. He didn't even look back," Elena sighed, though she smiled. She grabbed Mark’s denim jacket from the hall hook and tossed it to him. "You ready? Traffic on I-87 is going to be brutal if we don't leave right now."

"Ready." Mark hoisted the cooler while Elena grabbed the duffel.

They met at the front door. Elena did her customary double-check—stove off, thermostat down, deadbolt clicked—before following Mark down the apartment stairs.

When they reached Elena’s Subaru, Mark popped the trunk. "I'll navigate and manage the snacks if you want the first shift behind the wheel," he offered.

"Deal," Elena said, sliding into the driver's seat and starting the engine. "Just find us a good playlist."


Maya wrestled the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, leaning her weight onto it. "Did you remember the extra phone chargers?" she called out to the living room.

"Got them in the backpack," Sam replied. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding a half-empty bag of pretzels and two stainless steel travel mugs. "I watered the pothos, turned the thermostat down to sixty-two, and locked the patio door. Are we good?"

Maya grabbed her sunglasses from the dresser. "I think so. We can grab ice for the cooler at the gas station on Route 9."

Living together for three years had turned their weekend getaways into a well-oiled, slightly chaotic routine. They didn't need grand romantic gestures to show they cared; they just needed someone to remember the toll pass and the good coffee beans.

Downstairs in the apartment parking lot, the October air was brisk. Sam popped the trunk of their shared Honda Civic, wedging the duffel bag beside the small cooler while Maya double-checked the locks on their front door. Sliding into the passenger seat, she immediately plugged her phone into the car's charging cable.

"Who's navigating?" Sam asked, climbing behind the wheel and handing her one of the warm travel mugs.

"I'll set the GPS," Maya said, blowing on the hot dark roast. "It says two and a half hours to the cabin if we avoid the interstate. Oh, and I queued up a playlist. Mostly indie folk, some classic rock."

"Perfect. The interstate is always backed up on Friday mornings anyway." Sam put the car in reverse, glancing over his shoulder. "Should we stop at that diner near Woodstock for lunch?"

"Only if I get to steal your fries," Maya smiled.

"Deal." Sam pulled out onto the main road, the tires humming against the asphalt as they left the city behind.


Sarah zipped her duffel bag shut and left it by the apartment door. "Did you grab the cooler?" she called out, walking into the kitchen to make sure the coffee maker was unplugged.

"Yeah, it’s already in the trunk," Mark replied, emerging from the hallway with his own backpack and a tangled phone charger. "I put the leftover hummus and those apples in there. Figured we'd want a snack before we hit the cabin."

Sarah nodded, satisfied. They had lived together for three years, and their travel routine was a finely tuned machine, mostly born out of previously forgotten items and minor roadside arguments. "Thermostat is set to sixty-two," she said, tapping the wall dial. "Did you leave the spare key for the cat sitter?"

"Under the mat," Mark assured her, tossing her the car keys. "You're driving the first shift, remember? I'm on DJ duty."

"Fine, but no heavy metal before ten a.m.," Sarah teased, pulling the door shut and locking the deadbolt behind them.

The damp Saturday morning air of Seattle greeted them in the parking lot. They loaded the last of their bags into the back of their Honda Civic. Mark settled into the passenger seat, immediately plugging his phone into the dashboard. "Maps says traffic on I-5 isn't terrible yet. We should reach the coast by noon. Want to stop for breakfast in Olympia, or push through?"

Sarah adjusted the rearview mirror and started the engine. "Let's grab drive-thru coffee now and stop in Olympia for something real. I can't survive two hours on an apple."

"Drive-thru it is," Mark agreed, queuing up a true-crime podcast they both liked. As the car pulled out onto the main road, the shared stress of the workweek finally began to dissolve into the quiet promise of the weekend.


Maya yanked the zipper of her canvas duffel closed and tossed it onto the bed. "Are we taking the cooler?" she called toward the kitchen.

"Only if you want the rest of this oat milk and the deli turkey," Liam yelled back. A cabinet door slammed. "I vote we toss the turkey and just buy coffee when we get up there."

Maya walked into the kitchen, finding Liam staring into the open refrigerator, a half-empty bag of pretzels in his hand. They had lived together in their cramped Chicago apartment for two years, long enough that weekend trips to southern Wisconsin no longer required meticulous itineraries—just a mutual desire to escape the city noise.

"Toss the turkey, keep the pretzels," Maya decided, grabbing her travel mug from the drying rack. "Are you driving first, or am I?"

"I can drive," Liam said, tossing the pretzels into a canvas tote bag on the counter. "But you're in charge of the playlist. If I have to listen to another true-crime podcast while I navigate Friday traffic on the expressway, I'm turning the car around."

Maya laughed, filling her mug with the last of the morning's cold brew. "Deal. Acoustic indie it is."

They did their standard departure sweep: Liam unplugged the toaster and double-checked the stove burners, while Maya watered the drooping pothos plant by the window and adjusted the thermostat.

Ten minutes later, they were in the parking garage, tossing their bags into the trunk of Liam's Honda. The early evening air was thick with Midwestern summer humidity, but the car's AC kicked on immediately as Liam started the engine. Maya leaned back in the passenger seat, queued up a familiar playlist on her phone, and watched the concrete pillars of the garage roll past as they headed toward the open highway.


Maya wrestled the zipper of her duffel bag closed, sitting back on their shared bed with a sigh. "Did you pack the rain jackets?" she called out to the living room.

"I put them in the trunk already," Sam yelled back, appearing in the bedroom doorway with a half-empty bag of pretzels and two steaming travel mugs. "Coffee for the road. And I figured we’d need car snacks before we hit the highway."

Maya smiled, grabbing her bag. "You’re a lifesaver. Did you remember to water the pothos?"

"Watered and moved away from the radiator," Sam confirmed. He took her duffel, slinging it over his shoulder alongside his own battered backpack.

They had been living together in their cramped Seattle apartment for three years, but getting out the door for a weekend trip always involved the same low-stakes, chaotic checklist. They were driving two hours north to Bellingham for a quiet weekend in a cheap Airbnb—nothing extravagant, just two days away from their glowing office monitors.

In the hallway, Maya locked the deadbolt, double-checking the handle out of habit. Downstairs in the parking garage, they tossed their bags into the trunk of Sam’s aging Subaru.

"Do you want me to drive first, or do you want to navigate?" Maya asked, pausing by the passenger door.

"I'll drive," Sam said, sliding behind the wheel. "You're better at picking the audio anyway. Just queue up that history podcast we started last week."

Maya settled into the passenger seat, adjusting the heat and plugging her phone into the dashboard. The familiar scent of stale coffee and pine air freshener comforted her. As Sam navigated out of the dimly lit garage and merged onto the busy Friday afternoon interstate, Maya felt the tight knots in her shoulders finally begin to loosen.


Maya leaned against the kitchen island, scrolling through the weather app on her phone. "It's supposed to drop to the low forties up at the lake tomorrow night," she said, looking over at Liam. "Did you pack your heavy fleece?"

Liam paused over the open cooler on the living room floor. He was meticulously arranging Tupperware containers of leftover pasta and a six-pack of local pale ale. "I grabbed the gray one. And the extra quilt from the guest room, just in case." He shut the cooler lid with a satisfying *thump*. "Are we good on groceries, or do we need to hit the Wegmans on the way out?"

"We have enough for breakfast," Maya decided, double-checking their shared digital checklist. "We can just grab lunch in town once we check into the Airbnb. Oh, can you water the pothos before we leave? I'll take out the kitchen trash."

They moved through the familiar choreography of two people used to sharing a space. It was their first weekend away in months, a much-needed two-night escape from their crowded inbox queues. While Maya tied off the garbage bag and checked the thermostat, Liam grabbed the watering can, giving the droopy plant by the window a quick soak.

Fifteen minutes later, they were hauling their duffel bags out to the parking lot and loading the trunk of Liam’s Subaru. Maya claimed the passenger seat, immediately plugging her phone into the dashboard to bring up the GPS. "It says two hours and ten minutes if we take the interstate."

"Let's do it," Liam said, sliding into the driver's seat and adjusting his mirror. "But only if I get veto power over the playlist for the first hour."

"Deal," Maya smiled, opening Spotify. "Stop at the drive-thru for coffee first?"

"Always." Liam shifted into drive, and they pulled out of the apartment complex, turning north toward the highway.


Maya shoved her hiking boots into the bottom of the shared canvas duffel bag, making room for Ben’s thick wool sweaters.

"Did you check if the Airbnb has a French press?" she called out from the bedroom.

Ben leaned against the doorframe, scrolling through his phone. "The host's listing just says 'fully stocked kitchen,' but I’ll pack our travel coffee maker just in case. I'm not risking three days in the Catskills with only instant coffee."

"Good call." Maya zipped the bag shut. "If we leave by seven tomorrow, we should beat the worst of the bridge traffic. Do you want to drive first?"

"Sure. I'll drive, you DJ," Ben agreed, tossing her a tangle of phone chargers. "Just don't forget to lower the thermostat before we go. Last time we went away, our heating bill was astronomical."

The next morning came with a flurry of quiet, practiced routine. At 6:45 a.m., Ben lugged the heavy duffel down the apartment stairs while Maya did a final sweep of their home. She unplugged the toaster, set the living room thermostat to sixty degrees, and double-checked that the sliding balcony door was locked.

When she finally climbed into the passenger seat of Ben’s dusty Subaru, the heater was already blasting. He handed her a travel mug radiating warmth.

"Turkey sandwiches and water bottles are in the cooler behind your seat," Ben said, checking his mirrors and shifting the car into drive. "I figured we'd stop for gas once we hit the highway."

"Perfect." Maya took a careful sip of the dark roast and opened the music app on her phone, queuing up a playlist they had slowly curated over their three years of living together. She leaned her head back against the headrest, watching the early morning suburban sprawl blur past the window.


"Are we taking the cooler?" Mark called out from the kitchen, the refrigerator door humming quietly as it hung open.

Sarah pressed her knee into the overstuffed canvas duffel bag on their mattress. "Just the small one," she replied, finally wrestling the brass zipper closed. "We only need it for the oat milk and the leftover turkey sandwiches. We can buy beer when we get there."

By seven o'clock on Saturday morning, their apartment was a flurry of practiced, sleepy efficiency. Mark did the final sweep of the rooms, checking the gas stove dials—all pointing safely upward—while Sarah gave the drooping pothos plant by the window a quick drink of water.

"Got the toll pass?" she asked, slinging her heavy tote bag over one shoulder and grabbing her sunglasses.

"Always in the glovebox," Mark said, jingling the car keys by the front door. "Thermostat is set to sixty-two. Let's go."

They navigated the two flights of stairs to the apartment parking lot. The crisp autumn air practically demanded a weekend away at a rented cabin in the Catskills. Mark tossed the duffel and the small cooler into the trunk of his Honda Civic, slamming it shut with a solid metallic thud.

Sarah climbed into the passenger seat and immediately plugged her phone into the center console. "True crime podcast or music?"

"Let's start with music. Put on that autumn playlist," Mark said, checking his mirrors and backing out of their assigned spot. "And map us to that diner in New Paltz first. I need a real coffee before we lose cell service in the mountains."

Sarah typed the address into the GPS. "Two hours and fifteen minutes. Not bad." She reached over, resting her hand casually on his shoulder as they merged onto the interstate.


Maya zipped the canvas duffel bag closed, giving it a final pat before dragging it off the mattress.

"Did you remember the good coffee?" Liam called from the kitchen, the refrigerator door shutting with a soft thud.

"I put the French roast in the tote bag!" Maya yelled back, grabbing her denim jacket from the closet. She walked into the living area to find Liam wrestling two overflowing grocery bags into a single, sturdier canvas tote.

"We’re only going to the Poconos for two nights, but somehow we have enough snacks for a month," Liam said, chuckling as he wedged a box of crackers next to a bunch of bananas.

"Better safe than sorry. The Airbnb host said the nearest grocery store is twenty minutes away." Maya checked her phone. "It’s already four-thirty. If we don’t leave now, we’re going to hit terrible traffic on I-80."

"Right. I’ve got the cooler. Can you grab my backpack?"

They did their standard apartment sweep: Maya checked the stove dials twice, while Liam made sure the thermostat was lowered. Satisfied, they locked the deadbolt behind them and carried their gear down the apartment stairs to Liam's Subaru.

As Liam arranged the bags in the trunk, Maya slipped into the passenger seat and pulled up the GPS on her phone. "It says two hours and fifteen minutes if we take the highway, or two and a half if we take the scenic route."

Liam climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the ignition. "Let's stick to the highway. I just want to get there, drop my bags, and open a beer."

"Highway it is," Maya agreed, plugging her phone into the center console to start their road-trip playlist. As they pulled out of the apartment complex, the exhaustion of the workweek finally began to fade.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and set it by the front door of their apartment. "Did you remember the coffee beans?" she called out, glancing toward the kitchen.

Sam emerged holding a bag of dark roast in one hand and a half-empty box of crackers in the other. "Got the beans. And I’m taking these for the road." He shoved the coffee into his worn leather backpack. "Are we taking the toll road or the scenic route?"

Maya checked her phone, tapping her maps app. "Toll road saves us forty minutes, but we’re not in a rush. Let's do the scenic route. I want to see the leaves changing."

"Scenic it is," Sam agreed, tossing her the car keys. "You drive first, I'll DJ?"

"Deal. Just don't put on that experimental jazz playlist again." Maya smiled, double-checking the lock on the sliding glass door. They had been living in their cramped Chicago apartment for three years, and this quiet weekend in a rented Michigan cabin was desperately needed.

Sam unplugged the toaster and checked the stove burners out of habit. "All clear here. Ready?"

They grabbed their bags and headed down to the parking garage. The October air was brisk. As they loaded the trunk of Maya’s hatchback, a brief debate ensued over the cooler placement, ultimately solved by Sam wedging it behind the passenger seat for easy access to the sparkling water.

Once settled in the car, Maya adjusted her mirrors while Sam synced his phone to the Bluetooth. A familiar indie folk song filled the cabin.

"Seatbelt," she reminded him gently.

Sam clicked it into place. "Destination set. Next stop: nowhere near a spreadsheet."

Maya laughed, shifting into drive. She merged out onto the street, the stress of the workweek already beginning to fade in the rearview mirror.


The zipper of the canvas duffel bag stuck halfway, prompting a heavy sigh from David. "Do we really need three pairs of shoes for a two-night stay in Asheville?" he called out from the bedroom.

Elena appeared in the doorway, a travel mug of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. "One for hiking, one for walking around town, and one for dinner. Yes, we do," she stated, taking the bag from him and expertly jiggling the zipper past the snag. "Besides, we’re driving. It’s not like we’re paying for checked bags."

"Fair enough," David conceded, grabbing his much lighter backpack. "Did you pause the mail?"

"Yesterday. And I watered the pothos." Elena tapped the screen of her phone. "GPS says traffic on I-40 isn't terrible right now, but we should still get moving if we want to beat the afternoon pileup near Knoxville."

They moved through their shared apartment in a practiced choreography. David lowered the thermostat to sixty-two degrees to save on the heating bill while Elena checked the burners on the electric stove, a lingering anxious habit from her twenties. At the front door, they paused.

"Got your wallet?" Elena asked.

"In my jacket. Keys?"

"In my hand," she smiled, pulling the door shut and locking the deadbolt with a solid click.

Down in the apartment complex's parking garage, the chilly Friday afternoon air smelled vaguely of damp concrete. David tossed their bags into the trunk of their Honda Civic while Elena settled into the passenger seat and synced her phone to the car's Bluetooth.

"Are we doing the true crime podcast or the history one?" she asked as David slid behind the wheel.

"History," he said, pulling out of the parking space. "I’d like to make it to the mountains without feeling paranoid."


Maya tossed a bag of pretzels into the canvas tote on the kitchen island, then added a cluster of apples. "Are we making coffee at home or stopping on the way?" she called out.

From the bedroom, Liam emerged holding two jackets. "Let's make it here. That drive-thru off the interstate always burns the beans." He dropped a heavy fleece jacket and a lighter windbreaker on the sofa. "The weather app says it’s dropping to the forties in the Catskills tonight. Should I bring the winter coat just in case?"

Maya walked over and inspected the pile. "You’ll overheat in the winter coat. Just bring the fleece and a hoodie." She handed him his toiletry bag. "Did you grab the extra phone chargers?"

"Got them," Liam said, zipping his duffel bag. "I also packed the good hiking boots. I figure we can tackle the overlook trail tomorrow morning before it gets crowded."

"Sounds perfect." Maya smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I'll drive the first leg if you navigate."

The next morning, their departure was a practiced routine. Liam adjusted the apartment thermostat down to sixty-five degrees while Maya watered the wilting pothos plant by the window. They met at the front door, double-checking their pockets for keys and wallets before pulling the door shut and locking the deadbolt.

In the parking lot, the crisp morning air hinted at the coming autumn. Liam loaded their two duffel bags into the trunk of their hatchback while Maya settled into the driver’s seat, plugging her phone into the console to pull up the GPS.

Liam climbed into the passenger side, blowing on his steaming travel mug. "ETA is exactly two hours and fifteen minutes," he announced.

"Playlist is ready," Maya said, shifting the car into drive. "Let's get out of here."


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and hoisted it off the bed. "Did you grab the phone charger?" she called out, pausing to double-check the bedroom window lock.

"The long one or the short one?" Liam shouted back from the kitchen. The refrigerator door thumped shut.

"The long one! The outlet at that Airbnb looked really far from the bed in the pictures."

Liam appeared in the hallway, holding two travel mugs and a coiled white cord. "Got it. And I made coffee. We should probably hit the road before traffic backs up on I-95."

"You're a lifesaver," Maya said, taking the mug. She took a tentative sip—perfectly hot, just a splash of oat milk, exactly how she liked it. "I’ll drive the first leg if you want to navigate."

"Deal," Liam said. He hoisted his own backpack and the canvas tote bag filled with the pretzels and apples they’d hastily bought the night before.

They walked out to the apartment parking lot, the crisp Saturday morning air carrying a faint chill. Maya popped the trunk of her Honda Civic. Liam arranged the bags, deliberately tucking the snack tote behind the passenger seat for easy access.

Once inside the car, Maya adjusted her rearview mirror while Liam plugged his phone into the dashboard console. "Apple Maps says it’s two hours and forty minutes to the cabin," he announced. "No tolls?"

"No tolls," Maya agreed, shifting the car into reverse. "Let's save the five bucks for a coffee stop later. Did you queue up that playlist you made?"

Liam grinned, tapping the screen. A mellow indie-folk track filled the car. As Maya steered them out of the complex and toward the highway on-ramp, Liam leaned back in his seat. "Alright," he said. "Let's go look at some trees."


Maya pressed her weight against the overstuffed duffel bag, finally yanking the zipper shut. "Liam, did you pack the phone chargers?" she called toward the kitchen.

"Got two of them in the center console," Liam shouted back. The refrigerator door thumped shut. "I threw out the expired milk, but the leftover lasagna should survive until Sunday. Are we taking the toll road or the scenic route?"

Maya hauled the bag into the narrow hallway of their apartment. "Let’s do the toll road. I want to get to the cabin before it gets completely dark. We can take the lake route on the way back."

Liam emerged holding a canvas tote bulging with snacks—mostly pretzels, apples, and the dark chocolate Maya liked. He handed her a steaming travel mug of coffee. "Fair enough. You want to drive first, or should I?"

"I'll drive," Maya said, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. "But you’re on DJ duty. I can't listen to another true crime podcast today."

They did their standard departure sweep: Liam lowered the thermostat to sixty-two degrees while Maya double-checked that the oven was off and locked the deadbolt. Down in the parking garage, the chilly Friday afternoon air reminded them why they were so eager to escape the city. Liam tossed the bags into the trunk of their Honda Civic, wedging the snack tote behind the passenger seat for easy access.

Once they were buckled in, Liam pulled up the GPS on his phone and connected it to the car's Bluetooth. The dashboard screen illuminated with a glowing blue line pointing north toward Wisconsin.

"ETA is three hours and fifteen minutes," Liam announced, scrolling through his playlists. "Assuming we don't hit terrible traffic on I-94."

"We will," Maya laughed, shifting the car into drive. "Just play the music."


The trunk of Liam’s Subaru slammed shut with a muffled thud. He double-checked the latch, turning back toward the open front door of their shared townhouse. "Okay, the cooler and both duffel bags are in," he called out. "Did you grab the phone chargers?"

Maya appeared in the doorway, a steaming travel mug in one hand and a tangle of white cords in the other. "Got them," she said, using her hip to bump the screen door open. "And I filled up the water bottles. Did you remember to turn the thermostat down?"

"Set to sixty-two," Liam confirmed, taking the cords from her and tossing them onto the passenger seat.

They had been planning this two-night trip to the Shenandoah Valley for a month, though the actual packing had been left entirely to a frantic hour on Friday night. Now, at eight on a brisk Saturday morning, the relaxing reality of the weekend was finally settling in.

Maya locked the front door, pulling the handle twice to make sure it caught—a habit Liam had long stopped teasing her about. She walked over to the car and slid into the passenger seat while Liam got behind the wheel.

"Are we taking I-66 or the back roads?" Liam asked, starting the engine. The dashboard lit up, connecting to his phone automatically.

"Maps says the interstate is actually clear right now, so let's just get the highway driving out of the way," Maya said, tapping the screen on the center console. "We can take the scenic route on the way back on Sunday. Podcast or music?"

"Let's start with music until we stop for real coffee," Liam decided, putting the car in reverse.

Maya nodded, queueing up their shared road-trip playlist as they backed out of the driveway, settling in for the drive ahead.


Mark zipped his canvas duffel bag and set it by the front door. In the kitchen, Sarah was staring into the open refrigerator, evaluating the week’s leftovers.

"Do you think this milk will still be good by Sunday night?" she called out, pulling a half-empty carton from the shelf.

"Probably not," Mark said, walking into the kitchen. "Just toss it. Or we can put it in the cooler for the road."

"Cooler it is," Sarah decided, placing the milk next to a container of grapes and a block of sharp cheddar. "We’re going to need snacks for the drive anyway."

They had rented a small Airbnb in Astoria for the weekend, a much-needed bid to escape their cramped Portland apartment and the endless cycle of work emails. It was only a two-hour drive, but the preparation still required their usual division of labor. Mark handled the electronics, gathering chargers and the portable speaker, while Sarah organized the snacks and double-checked their shared toiletry bag.

"Are we still aiming to leave by eight tomorrow?" Mark asked, leaning against the counter.

Sarah sighed, wiping down the kitchen island. "Make it eight-thirty. I want to grab a decent coffee from down the street before we get on the highway. Not the gas station stuff."

"Deal," Mark smiled.

The next morning, the air was crisp and overcast. Mark loaded their bags into the trunk of Sarah’s Subaru, expertly wedging the cooler behind the passenger seat. Sarah emerged from the apartment building a few minutes later, holding two steaming paper cups. She double-checked that the building's lobby door locked securely behind her, handed Mark a latte, and slid into the driver's seat.

"Ready?" she asked, adjusting her rearview mirror.

"Ready," Mark replied. He pulled up their shared road-trip playlist, and they pulled away from the curb, merging onto the highway to leave the city behind.


Maya yanked the zipper of her canvas duffel bag shut and left it at the foot of the bed. In the kitchen, the refrigerator door was wide open, casting a pale glow on Liam’s face as he inspected its contents.

"Should we toss the spinach?" Liam called out, holding up a plastic clamshell. "It’s already looking a little sad."

"Toss it," Maya said, walking into the living room to grab her sunglasses. "We won't be back until late Sunday. I don't want to come home to a swamp in the crisper drawer."

Liam nodded, dumping the greens before tying off the garbage bag. They had been living together in their Chicago apartment for two years, and the routine of prepping for a weekend away was comfortably familiar. While Liam took the trash down the hall, Maya did a final sweep: thermostat lowered to sixty-five, coffee pot unplugged, bedroom windows locked.

When Liam returned, he slung Maya’s duffel over his shoulder and grabbed his own beat-up backpack. "Do you have the Airbnb door code for the cabin?"

"Screenshot and saved in my favorites," Maya confirmed, locking the deadbolt behind them and testing the handle twice.

Down in the parking garage, they tossed their bags into the trunk of Liam’s Subaru, right next to a reusable tote stuffed with trail mix and sparkling water. Maya claimed the passenger seat, immediately plugging her phone into the dashboard console.

"I'


Maya shoved the last canvas tote into the trunk of the Subaru, her breath pluming in the crisp October air. "Did you grab the cooler?" she called toward the open front door of their apartment.

Sam appeared in the doorway, lugging the small blue cooler with both hands. "Got it. I also double-checked the thermostat. Set to sixty-two." He bumped the trunk closed with his hip after sliding the cooler in beside her bag. "Are we forgetting anything? Phone chargers? The dog's leash? Wait, we don't have a dog."

Maya rolled her eyes, smiling as she slipped into the passenger seat. "Chargers are in my backpack. And I left the spare key under the mat for Sarah so she can water the plants tomorrow."

"Perfect." Sam climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The dashboard clock read 8:14 AM. Their rented cabin in Astoria was only two hours away, but they had agreed to an early start to beat the weekend traffic out of Portland.

"Coffee first, right?" Sam asked, adjusting his rearview mirror. "Or do we want to power through until we hit the highway?"

"Coffee now, definitely," Maya said. She pulled out her phone, already opening her maps app. "Drive-thru at the corner? It’s on the way."

"Drive-thru it is." Sam pulled out of their apartment complex, the tires crunching over fallen autumn leaves.

"Okay, navigator duties," Maya announced, swapping from her maps to her audio library. "Are we feeling a true crime podcast, or the acoustic playlist we made last month?"

"Let's start with music," Sam said, signaling a right turn toward the coffee shop. "Save the murder mysteries for when we're actually in the woods."

Maya laughed, hitting play on the music, and settled back into her seat as they headed toward the coast.


Maya zipped her duffel bag and set it by the apartment door, checking the weather app on her phone one last time. "It says it might rain Sunday morning," she called toward the kitchen. "Did you pack your waterproof jacket?"

Liam emerged holding a half-empty jar of salsa and a block of cheddar. "I grabbed the green rain shell," he said, gesturing with the cheese. "Should we bring these, or just buy groceries when we get to the coast?"

"Bring the cheese, leave the salsa," Maya decided, walking over to inspect the fridge. "We’re only going for two nights. Let's not overcomplicate it. Did you set the timer for the grow lights?"

"Yep, the living room plants are covered," Liam said, putting the salsa back on the shelf and tossing the cheese into a small cooler bag.

The next morning came early. By seven, the cramped hallway of their Seattle apartment was clear, their weekend bags transferred to the trunk of Liam’s Civic. Maya stood on the sidewalk in the crisp morning air, holding two insulated travel mugs of coffee, while Liam did a final lap around the apartment to ensure the stove was off and the deadbolt clicked into place.

He jogged down the front steps, taking his mug with a grateful nod. "Heater’s down to sixty, door’s locked," he said, sliding into the driver's seat.

Maya climbed in beside him and clicked her seatbelt. "I'll navigate until we get out of the city," she said, tapping the address of their coastal Airbnb into her phone. "You want music, or are we finishing that true-crime podcast from last week?"

"Podcast," Liam said, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb. "Let's find out who actually robbed that museum before we hit the highway."


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag, tossing it onto the foot of their shared bed. "Liam, did you pack the good sunscreen or the spray?"

"The spray," Liam called from the kitchen. The refrigerator door thumped shut. "And I grabbed the leftover pasta for lunch tomorrow. Are you bringing your heavy jacket? The weather app says it might drop to the forties up in the Berkshires."

Maya glanced out the window. It was a sunny Friday morning in suburban New Jersey, but New England weather was notoriously fickle. She pulled her denim jacket out of the bag and swapped it for a thick, insulated fleece. "Good call."

They met in the narrow hallway, smoothly performing their usual departure dance. Maya unplugged the toaster and double-checked the stovetop dials, a habit she couldn't break, while Liam quickly watered the drooping potted pothos by the front door.

"Got the keys?" Liam asked, hoisting both of their bags onto his shoulders.

"Got them," Maya said, pulling the door shut and locking the deadbolt behind them.

Down in the apartment complex parking lot, the trunk of Liam’s aging Honda Civic easily swallowed their weekend gear. Maya slid into the passenger seat and immediately plugged her phone into the dashboard cord.

"Coffee first, or just get straight on the highway?" Liam asked, adjusting the rearview mirror and buckling his belt.

"Let's hit the drive-thru on Route 17," Maya decided, queuing up a true-crime podcast they had been saving specifically for a long drive. "If we keep moving, we can beat the worst of the George Washington Bridge traffic."

Liam shifted the car into drive. "Sounds like a plan. Next stop, Massachusetts." As they pulled out into the street, Maya relaxed against her seat, ready for the weekend to begin.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag, pressing down on the sides to make room for one last heavy sweater. "Do you think it'll drop below freezing?" she called out to the kitchen.

Sam appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding a half-empty carton of oat milk. "Weather app says lows in the thirties. Better safe than sorry." He gestured with the carton. "Should I throw this out, or pack it in the cooler?"

"Just dump it," Maya said, gathering her chargers from the nightstand. "We can stop at the grocery store in Woodstock once we get to the cabin."

They had been talking about a weekend away in the Catskills since November, but between Sam’s busy season at the accounting firm and Maya’s erratic graphic design deadlines, they hadn’t managed to align their schedules until now, late February.

By Saturday morning, their apartment was a flurry of coordinated routine. Sam lugged the duffels and a tote bag of snacks down the two flights of stairs to their Honda Civic while Maya did the final sweep. She turned the thermostat down to sixty degrees, unplugged the toaster, and double-checked the apartment deadbolt before hurrying out into the brisk morning air.

In the car, Sam adjusted the rearview mirror and tapped the steering wheel. "Coffee first, or hit the highway?"

"Drive-thru first, absolutely," Maya said, buckling her seatbelt and plugging her phone into the center console. "I'm not navigating Route 17 without caffeine."

Sam chuckled and pulled out of their parking spot. "Fair enough. You’re on DJ duty, though. No depressing true crime podcasts until we’re at least past the suburbs."

"Deal." Maya pulled up an indie-folk playlist they both liked, the familiar acoustic chords filling the car as they merged onto the interstate, leaving the city behind.