Maverick woke up to the distinct feeling of a foot that he assumed belonged to Stevie Kealoha in the side of his leg.

"I specifically wrote For Her when I sent that sweater."

Stevie didn't need to explain that to him. Her and Everleigh had matching Christmas sweaters every year—it was one of the most consistent things in their lives for the last couple years.

It was a sweater with rhymes about working 12 hours in a hospital ward on Christmas day. Maverick didn't have the heart to tell her that was absolutely happening that year, too, so Christmas was happening early in their household that year. Maverick needed something to pretend Christmas was ever going to be normal.

Maverick groaned and pushed himself up off the three airport chairs he'd fallen asleep across in the worst position possible. He rubbed his eyes. "We share a closet."

It was nice seeing Stevie again, despite the fact it hadn't been that long since he'd last seen her. There was something calming about not having anything in the works, but something that brought him the most intense anxiety he'd ever felt—it took little to no thought to see if Stevie was free for a weekend to record and drop a surprise Christmas album for nothing more than shits and giggles.

"I thought you said you were arriving at four." Maverick stretched his back out and felt every single vertebrate crack. God almighty. He checked his phone. "It's fucking eleven."

"It's not my fault you picked somewhere without any direct flights from LA," Stevie said. "And I refused to fly Air Canada, so we had to transfer from Delta to WestJet. And I've never been to this airport so I got lost trying to find baggage claim."

"We could've gone to Windsor," Maverick said. He knew that airport like the back of his hand. There was no doubt in his mind he could close his eyes, turn his cochlear implants off, and still find his gate no matter what.

"Remember when I suggested that, but you, and I quote, didn't want that monster let loose on my record collection again?" Brendon said.

Maverick was still trying to figure out what she'd taken from the last time she was there and find replacements for them. It was self-preservation for his wallet—Calgary was never his first choice. "Do you have all your luggage?"

"One of my suitcases is just every parka I own," Stevie said. That would explain why there was three suitcases and Brendon's duffel bag. "Plus all of Lauren's and Seira's."

"It's really not that bad outside right now," Maverick said. Maybe that was his fault for growing up in the boonies of Canada. Everleigh's crewneck was more than enough warmth for him at that moment. "The blizzard isn't supposed to hit until tomorrow."

Brendon looked like he contemplated jumping on the next plane to take flight. "Why would you say th—"

Stevie gaped at him. "You had us come here during a blizzard—"

"It's driveable, relax," Maverick said. Because telling her he couldn't control the weather was rude. "Aren't we going to be inside?"

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to be excited to be stuck inside a cabin with you?" Stevie asked. "This is why I don't trust Canadians."

"Don't be dramatic," Maverick said. "It's like two degrees out, it can't even snow right now."

"It's fuckin' what—" Stevie asked. Eyes wide. They might've been soulmates, but that didn't mean Maverick knew how to convert to Farenheit—both homes he had resided in countries with the metric system—nor did that mean Stevie had any idea of the conversion, either.

"35," Brendon said. A mediator.

"Equally as ridiculous," Stevie said.

"It's fine." Maverick thought about Stevie's comfort for a moment. "Do you want my swe—Everleigh's sweater?"

"I want something to eat. It's eleven," Stevie said.

Maverick fought an eye roll. "I was going to make dinner after we got back at 4:30. I'm assuming Everleigh made something. I don't know. I was asleep—"

"Typical man behaviour making your girlfriend cook dinner," Stevie said. "Bet it's gonna be fuckin' beans on toast."

Maverick wasn't the biggest fan of it, but there was no denying he'd eat it smugly if he had to watch Stevie try not to gag while eating it. At least he'd been used to it after living in London on and off for the better part of almost three years.

"As long as she's got Marmite, I'm good," Brendon said.

Any smugness at the thought of Stevie begrudgingly eating beans on toast was lost at the mention of the poop spread. They both made a vomiting sound as their brain cell bounced between them. They both managed a fierce, "Disgusting," in the athlete's direction.

"The cabin's actually a no-Marmite zone," Maverick said. "The owners told me."

"I packed some Vegemite too," Brendon said. "Just in case."

Maverick grimaced. "You'll have to get rid of that before it poisons the dog."

"You didn't tell me my son was going to come," Stevie said. Staring at Maverick like he'd announced an engagement she didn't know about—never going to happen. "Why are we still here?"

Maverick wrinkled his nose at her. "He told me he doesn't want to see you because you're late."

"That's funny because he told me he barely remembers what you look like after your absent father era," Stevie said, not a moment's hesitation. Ouch. That was a bad Christmas. Maverick was hoping this one was much better. And every other one.

"He's making royalties from my album, he's fine," Maverick said. Had to pay Dewey for his incredible work of barking during one of his takes in just the right key that Maverick could reverb it to sound like a drum beat.

"You have to pay him for his love?" Stevie asked. "How—"

Brendon bashed her with a suitcase. "Can we leave now? Before the blizzard?"

"You can cuddle the dog. I'll cuddle Bash—" Maverick stopped himself. "Okay, this way."

As they left the airport, Maverick tucked his hands in his pockets. Led the way to the car. Didn't really think that much about how there was a bit of snow on the ground, he'd worn ankle boots and the snow wasn't over the edge. Not that bad in his books if it hadn't passed the point of his socks.

"Not that bad my ass," Stevie said. "It can't even snow, he said."

"That was when I checked the weather for four—" Maverick pulled out his phone and ignored the notification bar at the top. He'd check his voicemail later. He opened his weather app and quickly pocketed his phone again without breaking stride. "Yeah, says it's minus one now, so. Sorry about that. Car's over here."

The trio walked over to the rental car—Maverick had paid extra for the winter tires even though he argued those should've been on anyway—and Brendon loaded the suitcases into the trunk. Maverick almost felt bad for how cold Stevie looked but if she was ever going to come visit them in Toronto or London, she was going to have to get used to less than desirable weather.

"I could be on a beach right now. I need to tell Jun to send me pictures so I can remember what warmth and sunshine feel like." Stevie pulled out her phone and took it off airplane mode. She frowned at the screen. "Who the hell is calling me while I'm on vacation—"

Brendon looked at his phone. "Probably the same person who left me 100 messages."

Stevie dove into her voicemail inbox and pressed play on them after a moment.

"Hiya!" Maverick looked at Stevie with wide eyes—undeniably Everleigh's voice. "Just wondering if you're stuck in baggage claim. I can see Kingston's still at the airport. Wanted to check in!" Another message. "Okay, now I'm a little worried. It looks like he's still there. Did he lose his phone? He's not replying to any messages." Another one. "Hi. Okay, the inbox is filling up but please tell me everything's okay because now nobody is replying and I'm starting to wonder where the fuck everyone is are you okay? There's a blizzard on the way." And another one. "Where the fuck are you—I'm going to file three missing persons reports—" Surely there couldn't be more. "Sorry about that, lovely, just a little worried. I recognize that was rude. Call me, please!" Oh, man. "Pick up the fucking phone one of you, I swear to fucking god—"

Maverick and Stevie stared at each other. Agape. Scared.

"I—" Maverick winced. "Oh shit."

Stevie gulped. "Um..."

Brendon's eyes darted across his phone as he read quickly. "Leigh texted me saying I need to reply within five minutes or else she's throwing out all the Marmite."

"And that was—" Stevie started.

"About two hours ago."

Maverick considered taking his next nap in the Calgary airport's parking lot and hoping someone ran him over. "Respectfully, you can't eat shit spread when you're six feet under. Toast topping is the least of our issues."

"I think you're forgetting that she's definitely going after both of you first," Brendon said. "So I have time to run."

"I don't think Everleigh's ever been... that mad at me." Stevie drew in a breath that told Maverick she was close to tears. He didn't have it in him to make fun of her.

"Stev—" Maverick took out his phone and played a voicemail for her.

"Kingston, I swear to fucking god if they caught an Uber because you were fucking late to the airport why the fuck hasn't your icon moved on the map—"

"I think you're okay." Maverick pocketed his phone again.

"Remind me to turn off my location when I'm running behind to meet Everleigh," Stevie said.

"I think that'll just make her panic more," Brendon said.

"You should've been there when my phone died an hour from home," Maverick said. "Nail in the coffin for the hearing in my left ear."

Stevie sighed. "Deserved."

"Bash," Maverick said. No more trying to help her feel better. "You can have the front seat. It's the only other heated one."

"I call shotgun, you damn daikon," Stevie said.

"I already gave it to Bash."

"How about I give you another slap—"

Brendon slammed the trunk shut. "This is going to be a long weekend."