Early next morning
The motel was alive with noise long before Harley opened her eyes. Someone was blasting music from a phone speaker, Riley was loudly declaring that the vending machine coffee was "better than Starbucks," and Cass kept yelling at Jake to stop hogging the bathroom mirror.
It was chaos — the good kind. The "first day of the trip" kind.
Inside her room, though, it was strangely quiet. Quiet until Harley felt the press of warm lips on her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open, instantly met with a smirk. Ethan leaned over her, already dressed, damp hair falling neatly over his forehead, the faintest scent of soap and cedar clinging to him. His jaw was freshly shaved, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, and the early light coming through the blinds made him look unfairly cinematic.
"Morning, sunshine," he murmured, brushing another kiss against her temple.
She groaned, tugging the sheets over her head. "How are you already this put together? It's a vacation, not a runway show."
"Habit," he said simply, tugging the blanket down again. "And maybe I like seeing you all messy when I'm not."
Her heart kicked against her ribs. She hated how easy it was for him to do that.
After a shower and a lot of stalling, Harley came out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair damp, skin flushed from the steam. Her bag sat open on the bed, clothes spilling everywhere. She sighed dramatically.
"I have no idea what to wear," she said, dropping onto the mattress beside him. "Pick for me."
Ethan arched a brow. "Dangerous request."
"You're picky," she teased. "Let's see if you actually have taste."
He leaned back, scanning the chaos of fabric in her bag, then looked back at her — at the towel slipping lower as she reached for a hairbrush. "You know," he said slowly, "I could pick better if I had… a better view."
Her jaw dropped. "You wouldn't."
His smirk answered before he moved. With a playful tug, the towel slipped loose, pooling at her waist.
"Ethan!" she hissed, grabbing at it, cheeks flaming.
"Relax," he murmured, eyes flicking over her with deliberate slowness. "I'm just… considering options."
She wanted to punch him. She also wanted to melt into the carpet.
Finally, he plucked a sundress from the pile — light, flowy, perfect for the trip. He stood, holding it out with mock formality. "Your outfit, milady."
She snorted. "You're ridiculous."
He stepped closer, lowering the dress over her head himself. His fingers brushed along her shoulders as he slid the straps into place, smoothed the fabric over her waist, adjusted it until it sat perfectly on her curves. Every touch lingered a fraction too long, every movement deliberate.
"There," he said finally, voice low near her ear. "Perfect. Almost like it was made for you."
Harley's breath hitched. "You're insufferable."
He smirked, brushing one last stray lock of hair from her face. "And yet, you asked me to pick."
Outside, Riley yelled something about hitting the road in fifteen minutes. Inside, Harley tried not to combust.
The motel breakfast smelled like syrup and burnt coffee — not exactly five-star, but to a bunch of sleep-deprived twenty-somethings, it might as well have been heaven.
They piled into a long booth, loud from the second they sat down. Riley immediately tried stacking creamers into a pyramid, Cass swiped the syrup bottle before anyone else could, and Jake demanded extra bacon before the waitress had even introduced herself.
Timothy, Harley's older brother, slouched into the booth next to Ethan, already shoving hash browns into his mouth. "Man, you're looking fresh this morning," he said, nodding at Ethan's crisp shirt.
Ethan smirked. "Habit."
"Yeah, well," Timothy said through a mouthful, "you make the rest of us look like we just rolled out of a dumpster."
"Not wrong," Cass muttered, pointing at Riley, whose hoodie looked like it had survived three separate wars.
"Hey!" Riley protested. "This hoodie is vintage."
"It's moldy," Cass shot back.
The whole table burst into laughter.
Harley sat across from Ethan, trying not to notice the way his hand rested casually near his coffee cup, fingers tapping in a rhythm only she seemed to understand. His eyes flicked up, caught hers, and for a second the chaos of the table melted into static.
Then Timothy clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "So, road trip MVP already, huh? You're the only one who hasn't embarrassed yourself yet."
Ethan smirked. "Give me time."
"Oh, we will," Riley said. "I'm planning to embarrass everyone today."
"Newsflash: you already do that just by existing," Cass deadpanned.
Riley threw a sugar packet at her. It missed and hit Jake, who immediately launched into a rant about respect and personal space.
"God, it's too early for this," Harley muttered, sipping her orange juice.
Ethan leaned across the table just enough for only her to hear. "You're glowing this morning."
Her cheeks warmed instantly. "Shut up."
"Not a complaint," he said softly, eyes glinting.
Timothy glanced between them, oblivious but curious. "What are you two whispering about?"
"Nothing," Harley said too quickly.
"Breakfast strategy," Ethan answered smoothly, lifting his coffee. "She's plotting to steal the last pancake."
Timothy laughed, shaking his head. "Figures. That's classic Harley."
The waitress dropped off another plate of bacon, and the table dissolved into chaos again, everyone reaching, arguing, stealing from each other's plates. Ethan sat back, calm in the storm, watching Harley fumble a laugh as Riley and Cass wrestled over toast.
And the day had only just started.
With all the chit chats at evening , the motel parking lot looked like a battlefield: snack bags, tangled chargers, and an entire argument about who called shotgun.
"I called it last night!" Riley yelled, already halfway into the passenger seat.
"You can't call shotgun in advance," Cass argued, tugging at his hoodie sleeve. "That's like… road trip law."
Timothy leaned against the hood, sipping his iced coffee like a referee. "Rock, paper, scissors. Final call. No whining."
Two rounds later, Cass won. Riley sulked, muttering about corruption and "rigged systems" while Harley stuffed the backseat with pillows.
By the time they hit the highway, the car was alive with music, everyone screaming lyrics completely out of key. At one point, Jake leaned out the window to dramatically wave at a truck driver, who honked back so loudly Harley nearly spilled her drink.
"Tell me that wasn't the peak of our trip already," Jake said, grinning like an idiot.
"It's 10 a.m.," Cass deadpanned.
They stopped at a gas station where Riley insisted on buying "mystery snacks" — off-brand gummies that looked radioactive. Ethan stared at the bag like it was an active health hazard.
"If I die, avenge me," Riley said before shoving a handful into his mouth.
Later, Timothy tried to lead a car karaoke session, only to forget half the lyrics and make the rest up. Harley laughed so hard she had to cover her face, while Ethan just shook his head with that smirk — the one that said he was enjoying this more than he'd admit.
It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't Instagram-perfect, but with the wind through the windows, the dumb arguments, and the music blasting… it was theirs...
By the time the sun dipped and everyone piled back into the motel, the energy was still high. Too high. No one wanted to actually sleep, so naturally Riley leaned back on the bed with a grin that spelled bad idea.
"Okay, hear me out," he said, waving a soda can like it was a mic. "Classic ghost game. After midnight. One by one, we sneak into each other's rooms and 'haunt.' Whoever screams the loudest loses."
Cass snorted. "So basically a competition to see who can commit a felony and a heart attack at the same time."
Jake perked up. "I'm in. I'll win. My scream's basically nonexistent. Dead inside, baby."
Timothy laughed so hard he almost choked on his chips. "Cap. You shrieked last night when the vending machine made a weird noise."
"THAT was a ghost noise," Jake argued.
Harley threw her hands up. "No. Nope. Count me out. I'm too scared of this shitty game."
Everyone turned to her.
"You'll survive," Riley teased. "It's just a game."
"It's literally breaking and entering," she fired back. "Plus jump scares? Absolutely not."
Timothy leaned back with a grin. "Oh, I've got an idea. Ethan ghosts really well."
Ethan, quiet until now, raised an eyebrow. "Do I."
"Yeah," Timothy nodded eagerly. "When we were kids, we used to play this all the time. He was terrifying. Like, Oscar-worthy ghost acting. Harley, you'd be done in five minutes."
The room erupted in laughter.
"Nope," Harley said, pointing at Ethan. "If he even tries, I'm locking my door and sleeping with a frying pan."
Ethan finally smirked, leaning just slightly in her direction. "Guess you'll just have to trust me not to go too hard."
She groaned. "That's exactly what I don't trust."
Cass clapped her hands together. "It's settled then. Ethan haunts Harley."
The group cheered, already spinning ridiculous ideas about ghost costumes, glow sticks, and fake moaning from the hallways.
Harley buried her face in her hands. "I hate all of you."
Ethan's low chuckle followed, calm but promising mischief. "Sweet dreams, Harley. You'll need them."