The low, throaty purr of Jeremy's sports car was a soothing counterpoint to the blur of city lights melting into the dark ribbon of the highway.
Inside the leather-and-chrome cocoon, Everly was a whirlwind of domestic bliss, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like the jingle from a dog food commercial.
She was meticulously stuffing the reality show contract—now adorned with a few doodles of stick figures being chased by bears—into her oversized tote bag. This was followed by the careful placement of several bags of artisanal chips and a box of ridiculously expensive macarons she'd managed to charm out of Ivy before leaving.
She patted the bag with the smug satisfaction of a squirrel that had just robbed an entire bird feeder.
