Stevie poked her head around the corner to survey the living room and kitchen area. Upon determining that the coast was clear and free of Maverick, she stepped out.

"... That smells good."

Everleigh looked up from her baking duties with her sous chef Brendon next to her. "You're welcome to however many you want, babes."

Instant relief flooded her with the first bite of what was probably the best sugar cookie she had ever eaten in her life, and that declaration had nothing to do with her currently starving. She should have been more embarrassed by the sound she made after that first bite, but she honestly couldn't muster up the energy to care, and it wasn't like either of the two people who heard her cared.

"Sweet Jesus. I really needed this, thank you." A thick blanket of snow clung to the kitchen windows, and more and more fell by the second. "How long have I been out?"

Everleigh checked her watch. "Um, couple hours. Not bad."

Stevie's eyes widened. "Yikes. I get so sleepy when it's cold."

"Understandable." Everleigh shrugged. Her invisible nurse hat went on. "The body goes into survival mode for below what it's used to. A lot of energy gets used up."

Before she could joke about better ways to use up her energy, the front door swung open revealing the man himself. Nearly every inch of him covered in snow except for his Rudolph-red nose. He shook himself off like a dog.

"Fuck, it's cold outside. I clear one window and it's covered by the time I'm done the next one. I don't think—" He stopped short when he noticed Stevie had reemerged from her cave. "Oh. Sorry. I don't think you're getting out of here soon. I did try."

Stevie took another bite of her cookie in silence.

"Thanks, Mav," Brendon replied for her. "We made cookies if you want some."

"Thanks."

After shrugging off his coat and hanging it up, Maverick braved his way over to the kitchen counter where the plate of hot and fresh cookies awaited him. Stevie stood her ground, watching him. Brendon snuck a glance at her with a laugh, entirely too amused by the game they were playing. The amusement only grew when, for whatever reason made sense to someone like him, likely as an attempt at some kind of solidarity, Maverick ate a Milkbone instead.

He swallowed. "Not that bad."

Everleigh snorted. "Well, help yourself to another one when you want it."

She hadn't finished her sentence by the time Maverick rushed over to the trash can and held onto it for dear life, spilling every drop of Milkbone into the opening. "No, it's really fucking bad. Jesus."

The only reason Stevie felt bad about watching him voluntarily eat a dog treat was because she knew how truly awful it was. Enough that she debated whether it was moral or humane to let Dewey keep eating them.

Stevie slid the human cookies closer to Maverick. "Everleigh, I hope we have more cookies if we're gonna be stuck in here all day."

Everleigh quickly took a visual audit of the ingredients. "We have enough to make a couple more batches. Just say the word."

"Would be better to... record on a full stomach. Maybe," Maverick said. "Thank you for the cookies." He tried to thank Everleigh with a kiss, but she smacked him away before making contact.

"If you kiss me with your dog food mouth, you're sleeping outside."

"Mav and I can always trade places," Stevie suggested. Promptly ignored the pointed stare from Brendon's direction.

"Dewey's the only man allowed in that bed," Everleigh said.

"Maverick," Brendon jumped in, "did you need help setting anything up—"

"Only if Stevie's staying," said Maverick a little too quickly.

Stevie chomped on another cookie, crumbs falling to the floor for Dewey to vacuum up. "I don't really think I have a choice right now."

"Yes, I did need help setting up. Thank you," Maverick interrupted before Stevie could make another comment. "No take backs, Stev."

Whether she was creatively up for it or not, Stevie had no choice but to suck it up and fulfill her end of the bargain. A Christmas album would be released in less than a week no matter what. But that didn't mean she would survive until then. A posthumous Christmas album would be entirely on brand for Stevie Kealoha.

"Everleigh," she warned, "I think we'll need that next batch."

"So, Stev, you'll help Mav out while I help Everleigh then?" Brendon asked.

"That's... that's not what I said..."

"Okay." He waved at everyone under 5'5". "See yall in a bit!"

Everleigh joined in with sending them off. "Have fun!"

"Guys—" Maverick gulped.

"The cookies will literally not taste the same without my favorite sous chef," Everleigh insisted. A statement that couldn't be argued against with any real merit since Brendon's secret superpower was his impressive skills in the kitchen, something Stevie, unfortunately, did not relate to. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Stevie grumbled. "... No. I guess not."

"You'll just have to work while we batch these up. If that's okay, babes."

"Fine," Maverick and Stevie replied at the same time.

The two singers left their partners behind without so much as a second glance because that meant admitting defeat. Maverick directed Stevie to the remaining third bedroom where he had already set up most of his studio equipment. If the cold hadn't bothered her so much, Stevie would have admitted how cozy the studio felt. Hell, the entire cabin. Instead, she admired the atmosphere quietly, soaking all of it in. Thought a little too hard about how the first time she saw snow in person was in her twenties, and how it realistically wasn't that long ago, yet it felt like forever had passed since then.

"Please tell me there's a piano in here somewhere," Stevie said before her eyes fell upon the beautiful grand piano in the corner.

"Why would I book a place without a piano?" he asked. "That's like baking cookies without sugar."

"The same way you book a trip to an F1 Grand Prix without flying in for the entire Grand Prix." Stevie rolled her eyes. "Oh, wait, I'm sorry. The Piston Cup."

Maverick paused his attempt at detangling a web of cords. "I get that there was, like, rehearsal or something that we missed, but you don't have to say the other shit like they're different."

Stevie stared. "... I'm sorry, but what do you mean?"

He sighed, exasperated, before dropping the cords into his lap. Surely exhausted that he had to explain such a simple concept to her. "The Grand Prix and the Piston Cup. Aren't they the same thing—"

"The Grand Prix and the Piston Cup are not the same thing. Did Everleigh or Roman not go over this with you yet?"

"Roman tried but he got aggressive." And nobody would blame him for it. "Is it just like... the Grand Prix is awards seasons and the Piston Cup is the Oscars, then? Or—" An imaginary light bulb lit above his head. "—The Hudson Hornet Piston Cup if you want to be picky about it."

"Kingston Maverick." Stevie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hudson hornet—may he rest in peace—is a fictional character and the Piston Cup is a fictional race in the Disney animated fuckin' movie Cars. You cannot be serious"

"I fucking know it's from Cars—Wasn't it just a retelling with cars instead of people so kids could watch it—Why are you yelling at me?"

"Because Cars is entirely fictional. There is no Piston Cup. I thought you were joking about this—"

"Then what the fuck did Brendon win?"

Stevie felt like she was talking to a child. Probably would have had better luck trying to explain F1 to Brendon the Teddy. "He won the Formula One World Drivers' Championship—you rotten brussel sprout."

"I—Why did nobody tell me?"

"I literally thought you were joking," Stevie said. "Or that if you weren't Everleigh or Roman would've explained it by now. He's won two titles—"

"I thought it was two Piston—" Maverick stopped moving. Took a deep breath. Pointed at her with the still tangled mess. "—That doesn't lessen my happiness for him—"

"Consider this revelation your Christmas miracle," she replied.

Maverick finally getting the cord loose was almost as impressive as Brendon winning his first championship. It amused her more than it should to watch him struggle.

"Do you want to play the piano or do you want me to?"

"I'm on piano. You go—" Stevie twirled her hand around. "—set up the rest of that equipment."

"You're such a great help. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, TowMaverick."

"Do you have any lyrics ready?" Maverick sifted through a cardboard box filled with more equipment while Stevie plucked away at the piano keys.

"Do you think I'm an amateur or something? Of course, I do."

"Any of them not about making the yuletide gay with Everleigh?"

That shut her up. "You shouldn't steal people's journals, Mav. It's an invasion of privacy."

"If you hadn't been nosey about what was in my journal, we wouldn't have The L."

"You're right. I would've just written a love letter to Everleigh and Brendon myself."

"You—" Maverick stumbled. "You wouldn't have met Everleigh if I didn't introduce you. You're lucky I didn't take the snooping into my life personally."

Stevie remembered the phone call where Maverick begged her for tickets to their Las Vegas New Year's show like it was yesterday and not three years ago. Entire lifetimes worth of memories had been made since then, and Stevie wouldn't trade a single one of them for the world.

But the rewriting of history part did amuse her as well. "Begging me for tickets so Everleigh could see her favorite artists is snooping into your life? What a creative way to describe that. Should write a song about it."

"You'll get no more songs that involve you from me," Maverick declared. "That's what retiring is."

"Just like Curtain Call was your final album ever," Stevie replied.

"Productivity-wise, that remains true."

Maverick gave up on trying to make sense of the mess he had packed himself. Everleigh's experience as a flight attendant didn't quite translate over to him in that way. Instead, he pulled the acoustic guitar from where it sat leaned up against the wall, and brought it to his lap. Immediately started plucking at the strings. Even absentmindedness sounded like the most beautiful melody she had ever heard.

"We all definitely believe you, Mav."

"Good. Because it's true," he said, even while getting lost in this music.

"Nothing but the truth from our favorite Piston Cup truther."

"That was a misunderstanding," he retorted. Strummed a few chords. Made a little magic.

It sounded just like one of Stevie's favorite Christmas songs, so she switched her tune to follow along with him. No matter what was happening or where she was in the world, a bright smile would always find a way to Stevie's face as soon as she heard Christmas music. It felt like watching her childhood come back to life.

"Of course, of course," Stevie mumbled. "Whatever you say, TowMaverick."

"This is the last thing I'm writing for myself, Stev. I'm being serious. I can't do it anymore."

Few things in the world resonated with Stevie more than the sound of Kingston Maverick's voice. It helped inspire her to become the artist she grew into. And when the world didn't make sense to her anymore—and that happened quite often these days—his voice brought her back down to Earth in ways that nobody else's could.

So when he said he couldn't do it anymore, Stevie stopped playing.

"You know, even if you stop writing at some point, it doesn't make you a lesser version of who you are."

"Ew—don't." Maverick winced. "Gross."

"You're the one that brought it up."

"You're the one making fun of me for saying I'm done."

"I think at this point, we've established that I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. So forgive me for believing that deep down, I know you've got more stories to tell. And lest you ever forget, I'm always going to be the first one to hear every single one of them."

"I—sure." He didn't give her much to work with, but the fact that he hadn't sprinted straight out of the room as soon as he faced her calling him out gave her a little encouragement. "You can be the first person to hear all the songs I'll never write. You have my word. Thanks."

Stevie was determined to push him on this later, but right now, they needed to finish at least one song, and the only viable option at the moment seemed to be one of the covers they previously discussed recording.

"Now, if you don't mind, what do we think about an irritated version of Baby It's Cold Outside, because I need to release some of them—" She narrowed her eyes. "—anger."

"Are you staying in or trying to leave?" he asked. The guitar chords quickly melted into said tune.

"Is that even a question—"

"Could be fictional like the Piston Cup."

Stevie cracked her fingers before starting up again. "Let's say this fictional woman is trying to leave so she can hang out with the bear instead."

"Valid," he replied.

Stevie stared longingly at the door and the scent of warm sugar cookies wafting over to them. "I hope those cookies are done soon."