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The response to her candid explanation of our unusual beginning was explosive—equal parts supportive messages from fans who appreciated the honesty and critical think-pieces about "performative authenticity" in influencer culture. Victoria Ellis loved it, immediately repositioning the Luminous Beauty campaign to capitalize on the "real love story" angle. Tori has been fielding interview requests from magazines and podcasts eager to explore our "fake-to-real relationship journey." Even Ryan and Drew have been insufferable, smugly taking credit for "facilitating true love" through that stupid bet that almost destroyed us.

Through it all, Lena has navigated the attention with surprising calm—answering questions honestly but maintaining boundaries, sharing genuine moments while preserving others just for us. She seems lighter somehow, as if the alignment of her public and private selves has lifted a weight she carried for years.

As for me, I've become something of a minor celebrity by association—"Bartender Who Stole Influencer's Heart" according to one particularly dramatic headline. The Copper Key has seen an uptick in business from curious customers hoping to encounter me mixing drinks. Ryan jokes that I should create signature cocktails named after relationship milestones: "The Fake Date," "The Contract Extension," "The Big Confession."

But the public interest, while occasionally overwhelming, feels secondary to what we've built between us—a relationship founded on truth and trust after navigating the strangest of beginnings. Which is why this weekend matters so much. Just us, no obligations, no photoshoots, no analyzing engagement metrics or responding to comments. Just Max and Lena, away from it all.

She stirs as I turn onto the gravel drive leading to the cabin, sitting up groggily and wiping a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. "Are we there?" she mumbles, immediately trying to fix her hair.

"Almost," I reply, smiling at her automatic grooming impulse. "And you don't need to fix your hair. You look beautiful."

"I was drooling," she protests, though her hands drop from her messy bun.

"Adorably."

She squints out the window at the trees surrounding us. "Where exactly are we again?"

"Dave's cabin. Remember Dave? Tall guy, works Thursdays and Sundays at the bar, has that elaborate mustache?"

"Handlebar Mustache Dave," she nods, recognition dawning. "He has a cabin?"

"Inherited from his grandfather. He lets friends use it occasionally." I navigate the final curve, bringing the small, rustic structure into view. "And here we are—home for the weekend."

The cabin isn't luxurious by any standard—a simple one-bedroom structure with a small porch, surrounded by towering pines. But it's clean, private, and nestled in the kind of peaceful natural setting that feels worlds away from Brooklyn.

Lena's eyes widen as she takes it in. "It's perfect," she declares, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Like something from a rustic fairytale."

"Complete with slightly unreliable plumbing and possibly a family of raccoons living under the porch," I add, pulling to a stop. "But Dave swears the bed is comfortable and the fireplace works."

"You had me at fireplace." She leans across the console to kiss me quickly. "Thank you for planning this. I didn't realize how much I needed to escape until right now."

We unload the car—groceries, overnight bags, the guitar I brought at Lena's insistence. The interior of the cabin is exactly as Dave described: cozy if somewhat dated, with a stone fireplace dominating the main room, a small kitchenette in the corner, and a bedroom just big enough for a queen-sized bed. The furnishings are mismatched but comfortable, evoking a simpler time before mid-century modern became trendy again.

"No proper lighting for photos," Lena observes, a teasing glint in her eye. "Whatever shall I do?"

"You could try just experiencing things without documenting them," I suggest, playing along. "I hear some people do that occasionally."

"Sounds fake, but okay." She wanders to the large windows overlooking a small clearing behind the cabin. "Wow. The view is incredible."

I move to stand behind her, arms encircling her waist as we both take in the vista—dense forest, a slice of lake visible in the distance, the late afternoon sun casting golden light through the trees. She leans back against me, a comfortable weight, her hands coming to rest on mine at her stomach.

"This was a good idea," she says softly. "Just us, no distractions."

"That was the plan." I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. "No schedule, no obligations. We can do whatever we want."

She turns in my arms, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Whatever we want, huh?"

"Within reason," I clarify. "Dave specifically mentioned no skinny-dipping in the lake because, and I quote, 'the neighbors are cool but not that cool.'"

"Noted." She rises on tiptoes to kiss me properly, her body pressing against mine in a way that suggests she has very specific ideas about how to start our weekend. "But there are plenty of other options."

My hands slide to her hips, pulling her closer. "I'm open to suggestions."

"First," she says, surprising me by stepping back, "I want to explore. I haven't been in a proper forest since I was a kid at summer camp."

"Explore now, other activities later?" I confirm, amused by her enthusiasm.

"Exactly." She's already heading for the door, pausing to slip on her shoes. "Coming?"